SACRED THRESHOLDS

When I lived in Hawaii I would sometimes stop by the Starbucks at Waikoloa Beach and sip green tea as people from all over the world—wearing aloha shirts, tank tops, and flip-flops—flowed in and out. Visitors to Hawaii have stepped away from their normal lives, seeking a taste of freedom from their regular responsibilities. The vivid colors, soft breezes, fragrant flowers, and soothing ocean waters slow their pace. The frequencies of the Island help smooth rough edges and bring more balance to their lives. The energy draws people in and sends them back, maybe more ready to face their lives at home. But like everything in creation, there’s another side to life in Hawaii. The gentle breezes can become gale-force winds; calm ocean waves can turn into dangerous currents, and the volcanoes create an underlying intensity. The spaciousness and isolation can be unsettling at times. All of this invites inner transformation. Life there asks us to come face to face with ourselves, to increase our capacity to be present with what comes up, to awaken to who we truly are. Starbucks was filled with the constant hum of conversation, punctuated by the barista’s voice calling out orders: “Sara, grande Americano. Bill, tall vanilla Latte. Non-fat Latte for Dean.” At the next table, three men debated politics under the neutral spin of the ceiling fans, as the baristas in green aprons distributed drinks. I took a sip of my drink and noticed the words written on the cup: “That first sip feeling.” We spend so much of life chasing that first sip feeling—a fleeting freshness, newness we hope will make us happy. But the thrill fades and we begin seeking the next new thing in a never-ending cycle of fulfillment and disappointment. Seeing this clearly, we begin to seek a way to stop searching elsewhere for fulfillment. Years ago, I had an unexplained episode of amnesia that turned out to be a gift in disguise. When I regained my memory several hours later, everything appeared sparkling and new. I experienced things as if for the first time. Something as simple as seeing a dog at the park, was exhilarating, blissful. Although I was aware that I had seen dogs in the past, being fully present gave everything a unique quality of aliveness, of never having been experienced in the same way. I could vividly see each detail of the dog as well as know it as a perfectly unique being. To borrow David Whyte’s words, I was able to see its “full, miraculous essentiality.” It wasn’t the dog itself that brought a sense of bliss, it was that I, as a limited person experiencing it, had disappeared. There was only presence. Each moment is brand new; nothing ever repeats itself. Children experience life this way. But as we grow into adulthood, life tends to become stale. We lose that ‘first sip feeling.’ We begin to believe that if we’ve seen one dog, we’ve seen them all, if we’ve tasted one latte, we’ve tasted them all. This is living in the past, living from memory. The poet, Mary Oliver asks us, “…are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?” Becoming rooted in presence brings freshness to our experience. Starbucks was suddenly deserted, waiting for the next wave of customers. It’s never the same place. Like the café, our lives are always changing—thoughts, emotions and circumstances arise and recede in the vast space of awareness. And we are that awareness. A text alert sounded on my iPhone: a message from the Indian saint, Mother Meera, replying to those concerned about the chaos and conflict in the world. She said simply, “Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about.” I felt a deep sense of peace reading those words. Worry lives in memories of the past and fears of the future. In the here and now there is nothing to worry about. Clouds gathered in the sky above the emerald hills as I drove up the highway to Waimea, contemplating Mother Meera’s words. Consider This: Can you see life’s ordinary moments as sparkling with presence? Are you experiencing the “full, miraculous, essentiality” of now?