Lost In Form
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I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with. Tell me why you loved them, then tell me why they loved you. Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through. Tell me what the word “home” means to you and tell me in a way that I’ll know your mothers name just by the way you describe your bedroom when you were 8. See, I wanna know the first time you felt the weight of hate and if that day still trembles beneath your bones. Do you kiss your friends on the cheek? Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain? See, I wanna know what you think of your first name. And if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mothers joy when she spoke it for the very first time. I want you tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind. Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel.Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin? Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea? And if you don’t believe in miracles, tell me, how would you explain the miracle of my life to me? And for all the times you’ve knelt before the temple of yourself, have the prayers you’ve asked come true? And if they didn’t did you feel denied? And if you felt denied, denied by who[m]?…
-Andrea Gibson
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The core wound of separation is when consciousness gets lost in identification with form.
— Amoda Maa
It’s almost impossible not to get lost in identification with form. It’s almost impossible to see the tragi-comedy we each live as a “wound of separation.” Some ancient stories advise us to live the drama wholeheartedly as if it’s real even though we know it’s not, that it’s a theater of the heart. The most real thing about it is pain and pleasure and how we learn from them. How we learn to see, love and understand, or not. Our bodies, our social constructs, give us vehicles for spirit and soul to experience the meaning of living either in separation or in connections of the heart.
Inability to see the interconnections throughout existence traps us in a mirage of separation. We imagine our discrete physicality defines us energetically. Our senses aren’t sharp enough to notice how everything is tied to everything else, how the wings of a butterfly may set the storm in motion. The drama is very engaging, it’s…
