That One
I pass by these walls, the walls of Layla
And I kiss this wall and that wall
It’s not Love of the houses that has taken my heart
But of the One who dwells in those houses
- Nizami, 12th century
~
The restaurant was one of my favorite places. Attracted by the pleasant atmosphere and the interesting people, I visited often. It seemed to give off a good vibration that I liked immensely as I imagined the many lively conversations shared among companions in this place - real, honest conversations about all sorts of things with no interest in closure or agreement. Just conversations based on the pleasure of human discourse over a satisfying meal. I imagined endless discussions of life's joys and sorrows, of politics, religion, or the pursuit of Truth. And, of course, love. I opened my book on the table in front of me as I waited for lunch. It was my great good fortune to be in that restaurant on that day because the experience of a lifetime unfolded before my very eyes. I could not help noticing the elderly couple sitting at the next table. They were fascinating.
The two had been silent for quite some time. Yet they seemed to communicate with each other so effortlessly. The familiarity they had, one for the other, was remarkable. Every so often they would extend their hands flat over the tabletop to let their fingertips touch ever so slightly, ever so gently. Their eyes were focused only upon each other. Using tender gestures and simple smiles, everything in their immediate proximity took a backseat to their interlude. They seemed to share a secret so deep and so rare that it mattered not what day it was or what tomorrow might bring.
It was not selfishness that drove their intensity. Their demeanor was neither hurried nor strained. Whatever was communicated seemed natural and without effort. The two were completely present to one another.
Theirs was an ancient dance. Played out more times and on more levels and throughout more lifetimes together than ever could be known. They fit together perfectly, without thought or pretense. Without even a name for what passed between them. I was entranced and watched shamelessly and strained to pick up every nuance of their intimate play. Seeing their subtle movements, I knew their love to be sublime. Their silent conversation was rich with potential and I knew this was no ordinary meeting. They were completely alive and I was becoming intoxicated by the energy that seemed to flow forth from the space between them. They became a still point in my ever-changing world. Their countenance had substance, meaning, and fragrance.
They had been lovers for a very, very long time.
Apparently the old couple came to this restaurant once a year. It was a date that was carefully chosen and greatly anticipated. Spring equinox. That time of year when darkness and daylight are equal in proportion, a time of balance and also a time marking the promise of more light coming into the world. Heralding the beginning of a season that symbolized the predominance of Truth and integration. And it was a special time and an extraordinary place for the old couple. They had found that for a few hours, in this place and on this day, they could remember and recount with clarity and joy the many lifetimes they had spent together. In this lifetime they were truly blessed to see beyond this veil.
I remained attentive for the conversation I hoped would follow. The next few moments were filled with deafening silence. The kind of silence that occurs in that exquisite instant between an orchestra's full-voiced conclusion and the audience's eruption in applause. I was transported as they began to speak softly to each other. I knew then that I had never known this love and I was struck by the sadness of that fact. I knew I could only long for that high state. It was pure, formless and seemingly complete.
“I love thee,” the man said to the woman.
“And I, thee,” she replied.
Even their voices were harmonious. As they spoke, knowing smiles came across their faces and seemed to illuminate the scene. I could not hear all that was said in the minutes following. I know they talked of countless experiences of lives unfurled in many places and many eras. Sometimes brother and sister, sometimes man and wife, other times mother and son, sometimes intimate companions. Sometimes artists or royalty, other times beggars or outcasts. A picture was painted of twin souls weaving in and out of existence, growing ever closer throughout their journey together. Deepening in their love, they grew ever closer to the One. Nothing mattered now since everything had been experienced and all things honored simply by living their lives with purpose and love. I wondered what was next as my heart pained with the beauty of it all. Their window of time for this meeting would soon end.
“Wouldst thou manifest the Divine for me?” he asked.
The woman did not move but simply looked at her husband ever more deeply. My mind was swirling and I was afraid I would lose consciousness because I was so close. I could not bear to look directly. I could only stare at their reflection in the wineglass on my table. I sat motionless.
Their silhouettes told a story that had been unfolding for ages. Knowing the inner heart of another’s soul, and trusting one’s heart fully to the other is only the beginning. Allowing one’s heart to manifest its radiance and power to the other in complete surrender is to touch the higher realms of being. To allow this willingly, as a gift to one’s lover, speaks of the nature of one’s true Self.
“Wouldst thou manifest God to me?” he whispered.
Silently, the woman straightened, smiled and closed her eyes. Her breath flowed naturally. She became almost translucent in appearance. Time stood still. The radiant energy of her heart-center filled their intimate space to overflowing. The divine feminine in all her adornment was indeed manifesting. Her radiance was more beautiful than a thousand full-moon nights.
Street sounds faded away. A spring breeze freshened the entire area. I was keenly aware of my own breath. Every sensation I had ever known was amplified and played back through my heart and mind. I had never felt so alive.
Her husband sat transfixed. I watched as he lowered his arms to his sides and tilted his head back slightly, exposing his very pulse. He seemed to bring his heart forward, offering it unguarded and vulnerable. The divine masculine, surrendering all its power and outward motion to the service of love, allowed its true nature to be revealed. The masculine – basking in the glow of love from the divine feminine – became receptive and yielding.
In those few moments, the twin souls were as one.
“I love thee,” the woman whispered, opening her eyes.
“And I, thee,” her lover replied.
I turned as a waiter bumped my table and sent the wine glass crashing. I reached with reflex to try to recover. I smiled through my tears and said everything was OK, no harm done. Indeed, everything was perfect. I looked up in time to see the old couple walking through the doorway, arm in arm. By the time I had recovered enough to pay the bill and pickup my things to leave I noticed a young couple being seated at the table where everything had just played out. Musicians tuned up on the far side of the restaurant, getting ready for an early evening session. The young woman at the table looked at her lover and placed her hand on his, saying, “Ask them to play a love song, I feel like dancing!”
I did not go straight home.
I walked for a very long time.
I walked for a very long time.
And as I walked, just putting one foot in front of the other, I reflected on my life and attempted to find a place in my heart for the things I had witnessed. My fear was that my own heart was too small to contain exquisite beauty and that my heart was too fearful to comprehend the Truth sitting just behind the veil of the old couple’s waltz. I knew somehow that the gift was intended for me. I knew that this experience on this day was no mistake. Of course I tried with my mind and even my heart to allow this to come into me and heal me, to stretch me and to open me once and for all. I did not know anything in those moments, not even my own name. I just walked.
Finally came surrender. Internally, I bowed down to the Mystery. In that moment, Rilke’s words came to me clearly and piercingly, as I had never heard them before. “I live my life in growing orbits which move out over the things of the world...Perhaps I can never achieve the last, but that will be my attempt.”
Grace rushed in giving rise to the long hoped-for knowledge that someday I, too, would experience this inner knowing. A moment of bliss flooded my being. I sensed that I had glimpsed the shore of the Ocean of Love.
I recalled a dream of a woman cloaked in orange silk and knew that I must find her to continue my understanding of things. Only in her arms might I learn higher love; only in her arms might I come to understand the Dance. And that night, wrapped in her arms, I whispered, slowly, “I am circling around God, around the ancient tower, and I still don’t know if I am a falcon, or a storm, or a great song.” And then she kissed my cheek.
I am yours.
However distant you may be,
There blows no wind but wafts your scent to me,
There sings no bird but calls your name to me.
Each memory that has left its trace with me lingers forever as a part of me.
I am yours.
Nizami, 12th Century, rendered by Eric Clapton
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