Human identity is complex. Nothing is ever given simply or immediately. Even the simplest act of perception has many layers. Often at night a dream can take up a gesture or glimpses barely registered during the day and create a whole drama. Time and memory often reveal things later that were staring us in the eye, but we never noticed then. The quest for the truth of things is never ending. To be human is to be ambivalent. Every experience is open to countless readings and interpretations. We never see a thing completely. In sure anticipation, our eyes have always already altered what awaits our gaze. The search for truth is difficult and uncomfortable. Because the mystery is too much for us, we opt to settle for the surface of things. Comfort becomes more important than true presence. This is precisely why we need to hear the discerning voice. Somewhere in every heart there is a discerning voice. This voice distrusts the status quo. It sounds out falsity in things and encourages dissent from the images things tend to assume. It underlines the secret crevices where the surface has become strained. It advises distance and opens up a new perspective through which the concealed meaning of a situation might emerge. The inner voice makes any complicity uneasy. Its intention is to keep the heart clean and clear. This voice is an inner whisper not obvious or known to others outside. It receives little attention and is not usually highlighted among a person’s qualities. yet so much depends on that small voice. The truth of its whisper marks the line between honor and egoism, kindness and chaos. This faithful voice can illuminate the dark lands of despair. In haunted places this voice carries the light of beauty like a magical lantern to transform desolation, to remind us that regardless of what may be wrenched from us, there is a dignity and hope that we do not have to lose. This voice brings us directly into contact with the inalienable presence of beauty in the soul…….John O’Donohue
Remembering the unimpeded regard of pure joy and grit may allow our spiritual practice to live beyond those brief moments……integration sees the unknowable as simple moments of the day……being full and pure and light……may you know kindness as the path of opportunity and grace….
But on condition that we liberate ourselves
from our own interior despots,
we are the most poetic beings, the newest,
the most virgin in the world.
Sometimes, when a bird cries out,
Or the wind sweeps through a tree,
Or a dog howls in a far off farm,
I hold still and listen a long time.
My soul turns and goes back to the place
Where, a thousand forgotten years ago,
The bird and the blowing wind
Were like me, and were my brothers.
My soul turns into a tree,
And an animal, and a cloud bank.
Then changed and odd it comes home
And asks me questions. What should I reply?