A kiss shared between spiritual equals blends their spirits together in such a way that they do become one, an indestructible union of two spirits sharing the same destiny, and this is the kiss that unknowingly so many of us spend our lives looking for and rarely find.
Perhaps this is what the lips are truly intended for, and not for mindless speech and blowing bubbles. Indeed, perhaps the silent smooth flap of mouths of truth against each other in silence is the only sincere way to communicate.
There are moments, though scarce nowadays, when I unconsciously attempt to trace the learning and development which enables me to know what words proffered like the Master’s should mean. Or, even how to get into a situation where someone will say something of this nature to me which I will recognize, or even hear. But there is nothing linear about it, no hint of a chronology, no white-mind logic. I cannot ask the questions when or where, though “how” or “why” may be more feasible choices.
You and I agreed, back in a western city of a thousand spires, that dreams have always been important to us, and that we have tried to listen to them despite cutting and derisory comments from others.
I shared the dream which has recurred since I was a young child with you, so that these words, uttered to me in this remote country of Myanmar before a great Master of the truth, will have a grand significance for you. You, who shared preparations for what is unfolding in my life, and are witness to all, but are unable to accompany me. You, who are still entangled with negative karma which detains you from what your heart knows and needs to put into action, but that your head rejects.
Being apart from you is thousands of miles in the mind, but only across the ditch in the heart. I hear your voice in strong mode telling me my own dream, enjoying pronouncing the words of it, my words which you have memorized, but being totally unable to know your own dreams, or to own them.
“A young fair-headed child looks softly into a mirror. She wonders at the pale skin and iceberg eyes, and is involved in intimately experiencing herself directly, the eye seeing exclusively. She is certain that there is no imagining at all. Each slow blink of her long lashes reveals a different person there in the large mirror surface: male, female, young, old, of many different complexions, a compendium of karmic identities. And someone photographs this procession of reflections obsessively from behind her, flash bulbs sizzling, the shutter rasping.
Then, as the rapid flick stops, from the side, dark elegant hands offer white robes of fine cotton to decorate the smooth skin of this mirror child. The child accepts them, and slowly raises them towards her nose to absorb the scents of jasmine and Japanese cedar, names which she repeats to ensure that sensing is exclusive, letting the sounds of the words drop away with their idea.
Then the dark hands offer a large stem of pink lotus complete with several woody seed-cases. The lotus is the only plant in existence which produces seeds whilst still in flower, and which can thrive in the poorest patch of mud.
The child smiles and walks out of the reflection, her cool bare feet spreading on marble.”
Since that time, white garments, bare feet and lotuses have always been important symbols in my life despite my modern urban origins in the first world, and now as I get closer to the moment I have been preparing for from my birth, I am instructed by this Master to take them up. Words are also spiritual signs etched into our energy constellation; a certain pattern of stars embedded within millions of others, which we can only read when we are ready to.
As I leave the audience, walking with the charming interpreter through the confusion of converted buildings towards the gate, I feel the need to clarify.
“Do I need to wear white garments, or is this expression symbolic?”
He looks at me kindly, his devotion to his Master and the monastery so unshakeable that his steps do not pause to speak.
“You will know.”
He smiles reassuringly and shows me out courteously on to the busy street, bidding a local farewell to my guides. I have the strong feeling that I know this man intimately.
Join me tomorrow for ‘Audience with the Master IV.
￼ Images courtesy of Linden Thorp and megapixyl.com