On Incarnation

March 11, 2012

On Incarnation

When we take form, when we choose to be born into a human life, we are drawn into the illusion of separation: from Source, from one another, and often from our own divine nature. This experience of separation and duality is generally so excruciatingly painful to us at a primal level that we have difficulty, especially as young beings, allowing ourselves to feel it fully. There is a sense that if we were to drop into it completely annihilation might not be far behind.

As a means of defense, we move away from the heart, which is the seat of our soul, which is where we dwelt when we began to incarnate, into the mind. We turn to the mind to help us evade this incredible sorrow—which is felt in the heart–of our apparent aloneness. The mind responds by offering us the amazing opportunity to explore fear. Fear tends to suggest to us that when we encounter something ‘dangerous’ (whether it be potentially harmful on the physical plane or emotionally threatening like the pain we are discussing here) that we can take action to protect ourselves. Fear, after all, is the signal that we face a threat. It counsels us so that we might be safe. Fear and the movement of mind are incredibly successful at distracting us from this existential grief we carry. They seduce us and entrance us and remove our attention and awareness from anything of a feeling nature.

And from our fear, then, arises action. As we know, the perception of danger generally produces an impulse toward fight or flight. For many of us, the tendency toward one or the other predominates. For some of us, there is a mixture and we find that in certain circumstances we withdraw and become small and in others we strike out to protect ourselves. Now, obviously there are situations where we are actually in danger and need this reflex. But consider that a great deal of action in this world arises not only from fear, but also specifically from fear of feeling the loss of Oneness. Fear, followed by an instinctual movement toward fight or flight. Much of what we call civilization on the macro level, and personality on the micro scale, has flowed from this fear and the need to protect ourselves from perceived dangers. But if you accept that we live with a certain level of fear that is directly related to a reluctance to feel, then some new pathways begin to open up.

Of course we have hearts and they always want us to engage with them. We love and we often see that as our highest manifestation. However, for most of us, there is often a torqued nature to our loving and our ability to receive love because at least a portion of our hearts are shut off and down in an attempt to avoid feeling the sadness that remains with us just so long as we experience ourselves as finite beings. Because that sadness feels so big and so potentially overpowering, it can present itself as being about nothing less than survival.

Ironically, it is when we live in and through our hearts, and not our minds, that we are able to fully remember that we are part of the Oneness. It is when we allow ourselves to come completely from the heart that the concept of separation is exposed as illusion. It is when we are in complete love that the mistaken source of our primal sorrow is no more. Each of us has tasted these times and places, where there are no boundaries and where we are undeniably intrinsic parts of the great One. This is a great gift.

But most of the time, we are nudged, through habituation and fear, into experiencing ourselves as limited and alone. This is due, again, to fear of feeling that original sorrow. It is a bit of a puzzle, a conundrum. How do we get into our hearts in order to live in Oneness when it is the very fact of our being born into form that creates an idea of separation so painful that we retreat from the heart?

The answer, they say, lies in allowing ourselves to fully know the grief and the sorrow, to drop into it without reluctance. Although the instinct to pull away from something so painful is natural, it defeats us in the end. By turning our backs on the pain and letting fear distract us, we miss the opportunity to see what is evident when we shine a light on it—that this pain arises from a mistaken perception. In truth, we are not alone, we are not singular, we are not finite and we have not been cast out. But so long as we respond to those beliefs with aversion, we have not the chance to see that they are transitory and ultimately not reflective of reality. Most of us spend many lifetimes running from something that just isn’t so.

In order, then, to live in the Oneness as much as is possible, in the alignment that is always accessible from the heart, we are advised to explore any deep suffering and anguish that might have lodged in the heart early on, to shine the light of consciousness upon feelings of aloneness. This requires both courage and faith. It is not an undertaking for the faint of heart, but for those who are adamantly intent upon knowing and being their own divine nature. But this is the goal, at least so they tell me, of our human experiment and adventure.

It can only be accomplished, they say, through the heart. It is by loving oneself without stint or censorship that the space grows in which those early fears can be seen and seen clearly for what they are. Thus, the practice that has been suggested of spending time accessing one’s capacity to love and then directing it towards oneself. This has the tendency to bring forth everything unlike itself. Love will reveal all that is based in fear. And if you can look, and not run, when your grief and fears are exposed, they will melt in the light of your Love like the chimeras that they are. Whenever you know and feel your place in the Oneness, that sorrow becomes a memory and your heart becomes a place from which you can live without fear.