Inside the Eye

The eye of a hurricane is a place of quiet, of power, of wholeness, holding steady and sure while the world spins around, out of control and taking victims with its flailing tail. Life often feels that way too - the out-of-control part anyway. I've come to discover, however, that finding the eye is not deadly business, even though it may feel that way. 

Perhaps the journey to reach that eye is a bit like the middle stage of Joseph Campbell's heroic journey - the road of trials. It often involves a bit of struggle, a bit of pain, and a concerted effort to push on when all hope seems lost. But it is the only way to reach the reward, the boon of awakening from the dream, the eye of the hurricane. 

There are no shortcuts - at least none I've found. Perhaps staying focused on the goal will facilitate its attainment, but even that offers no promise. Monks have chanted, sat, and meditated for years before (if ever) reaching Nirvana, and one can't get much more focused than dedicating one's life to practice. In fact, the rareness of attainment in monks perpetuates the idea that one must search for years, becoming ascetic, abstaining from the material and carnal pleasures of the world. 

That said, I have found that awakening is an eye-blink away, ready to fall upon us like unexpected good news. As my friend Greg Nooney says, we're always two seconds from awakening. I'd say we're always already there, but we just don't know it. 

I can say this with authority. I have had moments, moments I fully awake from the dream and I know who I am at the core of my being. I am enlightened - for a moment. I can remember a few of them clearly - those experiences that lasted minutes or hours instead of seconds. The reality of that awareness stands in stark contrast to the all-too-common somnambulism of my life. 

I no longer find this state of enlightenment, of awakening, some distant goal to be chased and yearned for, but rather my natural state - one that I can drop into with just a little bit of inquiry. In fact, its accessibility reminds me of the months and years following some pretty heavy acid use. We called them flashbacks, those times we could start tripping without the drug by conjuring up the memory of the taste or sensation of the hallucinogenic, and after some bad trips, I avoided trips down that specific memory lane whenever possible. But this ability to drop into awareness, while the process is similar in some ways, involves nothing of the fear. It's a journey home each time, a sudden recognition of who and what I am. 

So what do I find there, at the eye of the hurricane that is my life? While words cannot do justice to the reality of our authentic selves, it's all we have when trying to convey it. We have beautiful descriptions from sages, saints, and, maybe surprisingly, screenwriters. Alan Ball has given us some of the best: 

Lester Burnham's voiceover at the close of the film American Beauty is a beautiful description: 

. . .I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me – but it’s hard to stay mad, when there’s so much beauty in the world.  Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst . . . and then I remember to relax, to stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life (amused)  You have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m sure.  But don’t worry . . . You will someday (Ball 97 – 100). 

And from the same film, when Ricky Fitts is describing his epiphany gained from watching a plastic bag on a windy day, just before snowfall: 

It was one of those days when it’s a minute away from snowing.  And there’s this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it, right?  And this bag was just – dancing with me.  Like a little kid begging me to play with it.  For fifteen minutes.  That’s the day I realized that there was this entire life behind things, and this incredibly benevolent force that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid.  Ever – Sometimes there’s so much beauty in the world I feel like I can’t take it – and my heart is going to cave in (60). 

I'm not sure I can add much to these, but I will say it's as if I suddenly know, not just intellectually but also emotionally and experientially, that all the world, all of this existence, is simply a playground for learning, for awakening to my true nature. And the most lovely part of this realization - it is your playground too. While I am the hero of my journey, and all of you, all of this life, are simply the helpers on that journey, you too are the hero of your journey. Your life, along with those of us in it, is there to serve your awakening, as perfectly as mine is there for me. As Shakespeare said so prophetically: "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts." 

I've found there are no extras in this life. The worth of every single individual is the same - from the least among us to the most. From the most generous to the most heinous. No exceptions. And in a world like that, how could any of us possibly have anything to lose as we navigate the storms of our own personalized hurricanes? 

So I look forward to meeting you there, Inside the Eye, when we know, without a doubt, there there is absolutely nothing to fear, nothing to lose, in this thing we call our lives.