the field

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.” 
- Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi, a line from the poem, “A Great Wagon”

The field I am gently tending to exists “beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,” where curiosity and humility flourish. I’ve been visiting this place for many moons, and now, I seek permanent residence, as an expatriate. The exhaustion from struggling for ‘my side’ invites me not to give up or surrender, but rather, to seek previously unimaginable new perspectives, well beyond the strict dualities society offers on a tempting golden platter. I feel the invitation to step outside of the suffocating confines of ‘us versus them,’ blame, and entitlement. My attention lives in seeking to understand, not to be right or self-righteous, but to be clear and coherent. 

I sense that others are feeling this invitation too, which eases my noisy ego who has been afraid loneliness would sentence me to life in solitary. I look forward to dancing with you in this unspoiled field — where new life is birthed from death, because all life is perennial, and we begin to sprout unencumbered by devout remembrances of gripping tightly to stories of a previous self and it’s sacred wound of ‘not enough.’ 

This morning I am contemplating my religion. Previous to this moment, I felt no religious loyalty, turning instead to unnamed containers that conjured my spirit into this chaotic classroom, inspired by all quests and queries, finding wisdom in all, and acknowledging the consequences of human tinkering with the divine. I cannot name my religion, nor point to it. All I can do is live it, including cultivating grace and sincerity for my foibles and mistakes. What is forgiveness if it is not a practice of offering grace for the afflictions of being human?

I am at ease in not knowing anything for certain. Not just ease, but rapture! What a relief it is to not know! It could be that a path of understanding feels like a heavy burden. Certainly, it is long, winding, and likely to surprise. But are these things burdens? Where are we trying to get to in such a hurry? If it is belonging we seek, our hurriedness and distraction is failing us. It is so noisy in this place of judgment; I cannot properly discern between what soothes my nervous system and what suppresses it. What I know about suppression is, when the pressure releases, the symptoms are exacerbated. At least, for a while. 

I claim for myself, an unapologetic and sacred practice of wholeheartedly checking in with the space between ‘right’ and ‘wrong.’ Seeking refuge in openness, especially when the wind is biting. Learning to recognize the holiest shelter is my own heart, and the weather, my transient intellect.

I lay down my arms and open my palms. I soften my belly, and unfocus my eyes — because the magic lives in the focus of unfocusing. I drift into the present moment as water drifts through crevices in rigid rock, the more I arrive here, the more these stones take a beautiful and intended shape. I learn to sooth my startling self, pouring the cup of ‘me’ back into the vast ocean of existence. No longer afraid to lose myself, realizing that each awakening is one layer closer to Source, the Creator, Allah, God, Christ, ego, nothing — whatever your encapsulation may be. I can’t know for certain, anything, and still, I suspect when we arrive, beyond the shell of selfhood, the bliss of returning home feels like heaven… the ultimate belonging.

Thank you for inspiring this contemplation, Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi. And, thank you for the photo, Mehrab Sium

With the deepest respect,

Blythe