The Language of Love
I look at people walking down the street and think, “You are not who you think you are. This is all a dream. It is not real.” Then I look at me and say, “You are not real, either. What is real? I need to know. I need to see. I need to feel what is real. I want to communicate by some means other than human language, something that connects me to all life, not separates me from it.
Perhaps I want to enter the realm of the Nameless, or rather, experience myself in all things and people. I try so hard to express my soul in human form and through human words. How can the realm of the soul be conveyed through human words? I feel very strongly that there were times when communication was deeper and far more complete than it is these days. I believe that words can barely touch the essence of another being. Yet, I have not found what can.
Why do I feel so alienated from everything and everybody? I hear a voice in my head laughing, and saying, “you are alienated because you are pretending that everyone and everything are other than you. “Wake up! This perception is not real. The feelings, the alienation, the illusions, the separation, you and All That Is are one.”
“Oh,” I respond. “Why does my ego keep forgetting?”
“Because another name for your ego is your Forgetful Self.”
“So, if we are all part of each other, then maybe people make me uncomfortable because they remind me of my Forgetful Self. Is it possible for me to look at them and be spared some forgetfulness? Can I shut out some of the noises and distractions so as to commune with my real self?
“Yes,” the voice continued, laughing in my mind. “Who do you think I am? I am your soul, or your Real Self.”
“Oh,” I respond. “I think I felt you around when I listened to some Buddhist chanting earlier. The internal dialog shut off for awhile. It was nice. Maybe that is one of the benefits of chanting.”
I try to keep my attention focused on my Real Self. I do not look out the big window at the crystal shop where I am working. I do not see the people pass. I do not try to imagine what they might be feeling or thinking. Is it possible that they are also in touch with their Real Selves right now? If they are me, and I them, then how can we be any different?” I wonder.
Then someone comes in the store, or the phone rings. I find myself jumping into the role of the Not Self, or the Forgetful Self, and simply saying nothing or making an effort to speak the language of the Real Self, whatever that is. Would they understand me? Why wouldn’t they if they and I are one?
The people look at incense, buy nothing,
and we exchange good-byes as they leave. Oh, sweet relief! The Forgetful
me walks out the door. I put on some opera and lose myself in the music for
awhile. Leontyne Price is singing from “Madame Butterfly.”
I hear no words, only music, even though she is singing words in Italian. The music is transcendent. I am closer to the source. I am in communion with my Real Self. Nothing outside is real. I am not affected by my Forgetful Self/Selves outside. The music is a bridge between me and them. It gives me comfort.
Then I hear the voice again. “Remember, there is no me and them. There only is the Great “I” playing diverse forms.”
“Playing, I repeat and smile with glee like a child.
Then I put on a tape of piano music in the stereo. This music is even more transcendent than the opera. There are no voices, no words, just pure, sweet piano music. I close my eyes and absorb the notes one by one, allowing them to caress and soothe the very cells of my body. It is as though the music takes me to the realm of silence, to the realm where understanding and wisdom are communicated via non-sensory means and speak different languages which human words and sounds cannot even approximate.
Soon a man, his wife, and his child enter the store.
“How are you?” He asks. I smile and say hello.
“You,” I repeat to myself. “Oh no, my Forgetful Self has returned. It thinks in terms of ‘you’ instead of “I” in my diverse forms and beings. The little boy, who looks to be around five, chatters to his mother. I want to put my hands over my ears and block out his words because they seem so foreign to me, even though he is speaking English.
I walk towards the stereo and turn up the piano music, thinking that it will drown out their talk. The little boy looks at me and smiles. Our eyes lock. No words are spoken. Suddenly, I realize that our “I’s are in communion. His gaze leads me past the noise to the silence and the Real. I see him. I see me. We are one!
There is no need for music now. The mother motions for the boy to follow them out. “Bye,” the boy says to me waving. “Goodbye,” I respond, feeling warmth and love permeate my entire being. Suddenly, I see past the illusions, past the non-real. I see me
for who I really am. I realize that Love is the only essence there is. All else is illusion.
I feel peaceful the rest of the day. I do not hear words, music, or voices. I am grateful to the child for reminding me that the only true language is the language of Love!