Today, you’ll process questions like . . . where to go? how to get there? how to better something? how to pacify? how to purify?
Before tackling any one of them, stop and consider from where you are thinking. Most likely it’s a POINT ‘A’. A place you know well; your home, your car, etc. A place in your mind which uses the same worn rhetoric and reasoning again and again.
Why not seek a starting point that is higher? Compare the vistas of POINT ‘A’ and POINT ‘B’ in the photo. Which one might be more exhilarating, more provocative, more able to bring the loftiest answers?
We start at POINT ‘A’ because of convenience. We’re always there!
There are NO rules. Today, try starting at POINT ‘B’. Ignore any limitations that may linger. Don’t think: soar!
For many, life is but a role to play. As if we purchased a script along the way and when called on we just look down and read our lines. This ‘rut’ that we have accepted allows us to go left or right . . . but never up.
The well-worn script that you use has no reference, no connection, to anything that is ‘above’. And at times we wonder if a key is available that makes the Infinite accessible.
Only in those rare times of quiet composure is anything ‘higher’ available. It is a different world, completely. A world that has no correlation to the one in which we live. A Fantasyland, a venue that has not one word that we can understand.
It communicates via; ‘puffs of insight’, ‘feelings of grandeur’ and ‘senses of enlightenment’.
The ‘key’ could be called silence, listening, sensing. However you try to word it, the idea is that the further we take ourselves out of the equation of trying to engage or reason with the Infinite, the better our chances of discovering it are.
Aron spent two hours in silence with ‘me’. He had to make a bold statement quickly. His use of ‘no words’ was admirable. The Infinite is personal. No person can deliver the impact of the Infinite. But they can encourage silence to allow the Infinite to be ‘heard’.
And you might ask, ‘What does it sound like?’ For me, there is no audible sound, but a feeling of the ‘power of limitlessness’. A sense of unboundedness with no restrictions. Floating, and many other like descriptors.
You know you have received the invitation when your heart is ready to risk everything to experience the Infinite.
I glanced to my left. Darker. Blurry. I looked back at Aron. He put a finger to his lips to indicate quiet. The only sound was the intoxicating mystery music. And there we sat. No words, no hand gestures, nothing.
I was in a haze, a mental fog. After about fifty minutes, Aron got up and began walking into another room. Follow him? I did, twenty steps behind. The surroundings changed but there was no reason to notice.
Aron made himself a cup of coffee and sat down in the cafeteria. I did the same. We looked at each other. Again, the finger to his lips. A new way of conducting one’s self, one’s life – began to unfold.
The idea of the restrictions that personal thought brings echoed in my mind. Soon to follow was the thought that even the echoes were substandard and a restriction.
In an hour, Aron arose, motioned for me to stay, and walked out.
Silence was of utmost importance. A song came on that made me feel as though I was being cradled in a crib. The next one seemed to be a melody to enhance new growth.
The question of ‘what was I to do?’ never appeared. Perhaps that was the game. Time passed. Not sure how much. Was thinking on a human level a complete waste of time? Did all those hours of my pensiveness produce anything I would call ‘elevated’ or ‘magical’? No!
The thought of a ‘work belt’ came and I chuckled out loud.
I could not fathom the venue in which I sat. Everything else I had experienced in life was limited . . . this experience showed potential, Infinite potential.
‘Things that are frivolous’. Should I make list? No. Consider those things that are not frivolous.
What an introduction! What a starting line! So much, from absence.
It was nearing 6:00 P.M. as I walked into the well-lit office. Aron approached with his hand waving, in a sort of exalted manner. With one last remembrance of how out-of-place I must have looked, I raised my hand in reciprocal greeting.
After the warm handshake and introduction, Aron motioned me to a chair at the end of the table. He sat down across from me. The ambience begged to be heard. Soft music emanated from everywhere and was so rich and wholesome it could have almost been eaten.
Aron began . . . ‘Ken, you are the answer to the perpetuation of an Infinite game of currently twelve individuals who somehow show up at this venue periodically to advance what this game gives us.’
He continued; ‘Very much like a personal jazz tune, we all participate but at different times. There’s no musical score, just a magical flowing melody of sorts which we all add to, via solos, when we are directed.’
My hands were in front of me with my fingers interlocked. I wondered for a second if I should adjust them so Aron could not see the hole in one of the cuffs. I imperceptibly began to understand that insignificant issues should be ignored.
I have to wear my work belt? I just always did. It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? Pride. Doing a good job. Having the right tools. Those tools are me. Those tools are my mind. Those tools are my life. They define who I am.
The people in the well-lit room . . . they have no work belts on. So I’m supposed to take my work belt off before I walk over there? Enter unarmed? Hide my identity? Hide who I am?
But I pretty much stole the key to get in here. That guy, he’s waving me over to fire me! Why was that key hidden in a light fixture anyway?
As if some new force took over, I unbuckled my work belt. Strange thoughts and questions whizzed around in my mind. Is this work belt not needed!? Is my identity really tied to this work belt?
After hanging the belt over the guard rail, I felt lighter, more nimble, more free. But also more scared, as I began worrying about being seen without a work belt . . . my work belt.
The beckoning arm continued to summon me. I was lost. So, so lost. No idea of an escape route came. No bridge to build, no plan for demolition. No work belt was around my waist.
The word ‘dying’ came to mind. Then ‘giving up’. ‘Vulnerable’. ‘Powerless’. ‘Nothingness’.
But . . . underneath it all, down at a foundation I had never known existed, there was a calmness, along with a sensation that something immense was in some way attached and responsible for this episode in which I was involved.
Lost? Yes. Helpless? Definitely! But now saddled with nothing but a feeling that the future had a bit more in store than a work belt.
There was not a new drum to march to now. There was NO drum. No expectation, no worry, no hesitation, no agenda – and no offering.
Just a kind arm saying, ‘We got you. Come on over.’
Stayed too long at work. Everyone was gone, the immense factory was empty. I had no way to let myself out.
I remember overhearing someone whisper about a key being hidden in a light fixture. I located the light and with the tools I had in my work belt I took it apart and found the ‘master’ key.
I had traversed these hallways for years. Passed those doors that had a sign on them saying ‘No Admittance’. But – now I had a key.
Back on floor seven a ‘No Admittance’ sign was posted on a heavy door that had the appearance of being impenetrable. It opened easily.
On the other side was a new world. I stood transfixed as I viewed the surroundings. Gone were the soot covered walls and outdated lighting. Things on this side sparkled. The ambience here was designed for opportunities to easily be born.
Two-hundred yards across an open pavilion was a huge office where twelve people wearing office attire were walking about, looking at drawings on easels scattered throughout the room.
What was going on? Did I belong here? My dead-end job never threw an experience like this in front of me. I looked back at the well-lit room. With long arm strokes a man was motioning for me to join them.
The door shut behind me. I noticed the sign posted on this side . . .
It’s opening night. The star of the play has become totally incapacitated. Desperate, the director commandeers a wheelchair, hires a small person to push the ‘star’ to his appropriate position as the play evolves and equips the wheelchair with a speaker that will respond when someone off-stage speaks the lines of the actor into a microphone.
Quite a difference for the star. No thought about; where to go, how long to stay, what to do or what to say.
The star soon realizes that he can be part of the audience! Since everything is done for him, he can watch as his life is ‘lived’ for him.
The Infinite uses a similar choreography, but instead of adhering to stage directions and a script it opts for sharing superlatives.
When you relinquish your governing powers you find your wheelchair is always in the perfect spot, exquisite words form in your mind and what you will do becomes second-nature to you.
The spotlight is no longer shining, but the warmth is still felt.