DEEPLY AWAKE – THE LOST
We are, each one of us, lost.
Each of us disconnected, willingly and joyfully, we came here and donned the veil. We convinced ourselves that the veil making everything we touch, sense, taste, see was wrapped around us in a permanently maddening way, and that the only way to find any peace was to venture without, amid the folds of that veil, and out there find peace, find some salvation out there.
In a smile. In a home. In a pet. In work. In child rearing. In study. At church. At the office. At the bar. At the farmacy. Anywhere. The veil is out there, and good is out there too,
So it went.
We took it on, this veil. I think, though, that as the veil has lifted, as the curtains come tumbling down in my life now, I see myself primly lifting my bent fingers to my head, and there is my burka. Buttoned to it is my veil. My hands, knowing a truth I do not posses, nimbly unbutton this veil from my headscarf.
Long ago, I, myself, put this veil on my head.
I walked for five decades cursing the darkness and hating those who pressed up too hard against this veil, smothering me, unaware of the horror my face was expressing, knowing only their own blindness, their own darkness.
I was given gifts this morning, and while unwrapping them, up my mother's face came.
My mom. My impenetrable wall. My greatest koan. The one whose role it was to soften the blows life was to deal me, constantly in the corner, frowning in a detached way, looking out the window, smoking and wishing she was anywhere else.
I remember little kindness from her. I remember judgment. I remember never being good enough, tame enough, happy enough, girlie enough, never enough. No one and nothing gave her peace, although she tried it all.
