The Hidden One
You, who is our Sanctuary
I love life. I believe in it. Everything in me believes in it. We rustle like bushes in which a great wind is stirring, and we must let it happen to us. I love the hidden one, the unseen laws which ripen us in the wrestling.
I have an irrepressible nostalgia for the unseen. I love that which is hidden, omnipresent, and invisible. So much so, I find our everyday “ordinary” reality to be dull in comparison. There would be little sense in approaching you with this article, if each word, sentence, stanza was not preceded by this conviction.
There is a Navajo prayer song that says, “I walk in beauty”. I have always felt this to be true. We live within something like a presence, a beauty. Simply to be is an act of praise. We are part of what is moving us along. The force that moves the wind, the sun, the stars, the moon, is the same force present now as you read. It is stitched in our matter holding it together.
I am not a big fan of the word God. I don’t use it much. For me, it is fretted with doctrine, dogma and violence. I do however like what the word God and all the other names given to this force point. You know that flow—the ocean of energy and intelligence that animates everything, the hidden one. The one that luxuriates, burns, transpires, converses, courses through all form, enlivening what IS, as steam, mist, clouds, blood, ocean, wine, you, me, a universe, a galaxy. Those omnipresent particles of intelligence spinning inside the 90 percent of space which our body is made. Indeed, we are part of this beauty, this presence, this majesty, this grandeur that is carrying us along.
You, who is nowhere to be found, hidden and completely obvious, why is it we long for what is closer than voice? Yes, we can describe the mystery we inhabit, but how do we touch the full presence of the truth that it inhabits us? Yes, we can sing our praises to a beloved. But how do we invoke the beloved’s hidden rivers in the rhythm of our own blood? How is it we awaken to the fact that every cell in our body is immensely alive with this presence or beauty? Truly, how defended are we?
We live in a culture that devalues the unseen. We do not know how to bring our awareness here. We also live in a culture that is preoccupied with surface meaning—literalization, functionalism, pragmatism, technological-ism. This presence or beauty within which we live is still here. It’s just that we are fixated on the visible, cut off from its roots, dangerously living in a lack of truth and dimensionality. Our rationalized approach to reality leaves little room for the mysterious—the omnipresence embedded in our nature.
As both idea and experience the invisible resists literalization. That’s a tough call in our world where public discussion is insistently literal. A notion like “everywhere-ness” does not make for easy visibility. Our accumulation of knowledge and our need to make meaning will not be an adequate currency: not challenging enough, not risky enough, and they both bleed the spirit of living out of life. How can we bring a quality of awareness to how enlivened the space is in every cell in our body; to how every cell is bathed and sipping the breath of this presence. How can we enter into a conversation or communion with the hidden one animating us?
Perhaps it will require a willing letting-in as much as a letting-go; the ability to be in uncertainties, mysteries, doubt, without reaching after fact or meaning. It may call for a rare degree of intellectual openness, even innocence of a kind, which gives curiosity and anticipation the spaciousness they need. It is likely to call for a willingness to be moved, even disrupted by the messiness of life, and not just informed or affirmed.
Can we be touched by the ungraspable, and sit in the felt sense of that? How is it we are touched at all? How will we shift our journey from identification with the individual self to identification with our true nature—our omnipresent nature connected with the divine intelligence that animates our world? We have a choice about how we use perception. We can limit or close off the vastness, or we can allow vastness to touch us. It is a felt sense. It breathes through a porous body, which is a door and gateway to be in exchange with the entire cosmos. Vastness touches. We regularly limit and close off vastness. We prefer to avoid wonderment, about that which we don’t know, we don’t know. We spend all our time trying to know—to know more and more.
Just as there exists a point on the tongue that perceives taste and a point of light within the eye that can see, is there not also a point in which the presence that inhabits us and all existence enters our awareness and touches us? In order to discern the grandeur of this we must in some way partake in it. Lay down your cap and cloak, start talking and listening to the majesty itself.
An Invitation: The Body meets Eternity
Let’s leave thinking to the one who gave intelligence. The eye that sees into eternity; may we let that in. Let’s listen with the quiet composition of our bones. The wind is pouring wine. Let’s drink in this moment with our breathing and measure this wind in stanzas.
Shhh. Everything is still asleep now. Even the motion of which we are made is asleep. Still. Still. As a delicate wind dances unseen on an inland sea—light, feather-light, thus sleep dances on us. Our eyes do not close. Our soul it leaves awake. Very light is this hidden one, feather light.
Still. Still. There is a moment when the hours stop passing, one feels their thread no more, and they mount some sort of presence which carries them. They keep so still, and only beneath them is there a presence, a beauty, that moves—passes and takes them with it. Drunk with sleep and strange, the hidden one looks at us. Its breath is warm, that we feel. And we also feel that it is movement.
Silent friend of such closeness and great distance, we feel your breath and how it expands the room. Let yourself ring out, amongst us, inside our skin.
Shhh. Listen, the wind is now speaking. Still. Still. Imagine if all the tumult of your body were to quiet down, along with all your busy thoughts about earth, sea, and air, if the very world should stop, and the mind cease thinking about itself, go beyond itself, and be quite still.
Still. Still. Imagine if all things that are perishable grew still, for if you listen they are saying: “We do not make ourselves; the one who is our sanctuary made us, who abides forever.” Imagine then, they should say this and fall silent, listening to the very voice of the hidden one, who made them.
Then you too, fall silent and hear the voice of the eternal not through the tongues of other humans, nor the voices of angels and spirit guides, nor the clouds and thunder, nor any symbol, but your very own body—the instrument through which the hidden one is awaiting to awaken from sleep, so that it can play its limitless melody of joy and eternal wisdom which abides in all things. Can you rustle like a bush in which a great wind is stirring and let it happen?
Imagine if that moment were to go on and on, leaving behind all other sights and sounds but this one vision that ravishes and absorbs and fixes us in joy; so that the rest of life were like that moment of illumination which leaves us breathless.
Shhh, everything is still asleep now. Even this motion of which we are made is asleep. The wind is done pouring wine now. The wine vat is empty.
Still, let’s ask ourselves: How afraid are we of this genuine presence and beauty and the tenderness and vulnerability it arouses—the limitless dimensions it arouses? How eager are we to tame our feelings by distancing ourselves from them or making meaning around them, essentially cutting us off from the taproot of our sanctuary? How asleep are we?
This immensity is within us. It is sleeping. It is attached to a sort of expansion of being that our current way of life curbs and caution arrests, nevertheless, which starts again when we are still. Indeed, this immensity is the movement of our motionless self. It is underneath the movement of time. It is the generative bath from which we, the perishable ones, ripen. From a place of coiled stillness, there is a profound forwarding—and we recognize and awaken inside the sanctuary of the hidden one.
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