I would like to share an article written by the sister of a friend of mine, Sharon Rockey. She sent this to me a few weeks ago after she read an account of a similar 'happening' that i wrote about in my book Pieces of a Dream. I found her description evocative and wondered if any of you, 'out there,' may also have stories to share?
If you do, i would love to hear them and i am sure others would too...
.jpg "Keeper of Stories, Moon Goddess")
Seeing Through the One Who Sees
Even for a New Age publication, it seemed like a silly request—"Send us a description of your earliest childhood concepts of God."
I could already picture the scene in the editor's office, the countless letters all describing the same mythic image—the Great White-Bearded Patriarchal Scorekeeper watching everything from somewhere in the sky. As I was pondering the dubious value of such an exercise, my mind flashed on a vivid childhood experience—one that transcended all my own concepts.
It was during one of our cold clear Midwestern winter nights. The backyard was heaped with snow drifts glistening in the light of a full moon. I rubbed my hands together to stay warm and watched as my father removed his binoculars from the case, adjusting them for the narrow face of a seven year-old.
He helped me focus the eyepiece on the round cratered surface rising above us. All my childish searching for the face on the moon hadn't prepared me for the shock of this brilliant white image that came blazing through the lenses.
There for the very first time, was something which had been there all along—an enormous and wondrous sight with dimension, shadows and light, and details of unbelievable beauty. A flood of thoughts and feelings swept through me too quickly to identify. I felt as if I had just been initiated into an inner circle whose secrets could never be revealed in second grade science books. At the same time, there was a fleeting uneasy stirring like some vague connection to dark and ancient occult mysteries. The sensations swirling around me were almost too much to bear.
My father was taking great pleasure in having led me to this discovery and for a few moments he quietly withdrew to another corner of the yard leaving me all alone with the moon. I stood there in helpless silence until my awe and wonder could no longer be contained. It was then that something unexplainable broke through.
First, a rush of warmth and stillness, then as if being lovingly plunged into liquid space while some vast unseen lens was brought into focus, all sense of separation between the moon and me dissolved. No more "a moon and a me," but rather a timeless witnessing in which all my thoughts effortlessly ceased to exist.
After what must have been only a moment or two, I became aware of a longing for more and instantly I was back, binoculars in hand, a child looking at the moon. I didn't understand what had just happened or why it had seemed so organic and intimately familiar. I only knew that it had somehow left me feeling naked. Maybe that's why I never mentioned to my father or to anyone else what had really happened that night. What exactly does one say about an experience for which there are no words?
It would be many years before the mystery would gradually begin to unravel. The answer was waiting in the writings and teachings of poets and masters like Sri Ramana Maharshi, Krishnamurti, Goldsmith, Hafiz, Rumi, and others. Each imparts the message in their own way, but all have realized that there is no observer, that there is nothing to observe, that there is only Observing.
Or, in the words of the poet Wu-Men, "One instant is Eternity. Eternity is the Now. When you see through this Instant you see through the One Who Sees."
Sharon Rockey is a freelance writer who writes for the financial and business community. Occasionally she veers off course and pulls up something from her past -- something downright sentimental, syrupy, juicy, bizarre, or twisted -- whatever bubbles to the surface. These are tucked safely into the private reserve files so as to not scare off paying clients who would otherwise take her seriously.
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If you do, i would love to hear them and i am sure others would too...
.jpg "Keeper of Stories, Moon Goddess")
Seeing Through the One Who Sees
Even for a New Age publication, it seemed like a silly request—"Send us a description of your earliest childhood concepts of God."
I could already picture the scene in the editor's office, the countless letters all describing the same mythic image—the Great White-Bearded Patriarchal Scorekeeper watching everything from somewhere in the sky. As I was pondering the dubious value of such an exercise, my mind flashed on a vivid childhood experience—one that transcended all my own concepts.
It was during one of our cold clear Midwestern winter nights. The backyard was heaped with snow drifts glistening in the light of a full moon. I rubbed my hands together to stay warm and watched as my father removed his binoculars from the case, adjusting them for the narrow face of a seven year-old.
He helped me focus the eyepiece on the round cratered surface rising above us. All my childish searching for the face on the moon hadn't prepared me for the shock of this brilliant white image that came blazing through the lenses.There for the very first time, was something which had been there all along—an enormous and wondrous sight with dimension, shadows and light, and details of unbelievable beauty. A flood of thoughts and feelings swept through me too quickly to identify. I felt as if I had just been initiated into an inner circle whose secrets could never be revealed in second grade science books. At the same time, there was a fleeting uneasy stirring like some vague connection to dark and ancient occult mysteries. The sensations swirling around me were almost too much to bear.
My father was taking great pleasure in having led me to this discovery and for a few moments he quietly withdrew to another corner of the yard leaving me all alone with the moon. I stood there in helpless silence until my awe and wonder could no longer be contained. It was then that something unexplainable broke through.
First, a rush of warmth and stillness, then as if being lovingly plunged into liquid space while some vast unseen lens was brought into focus, all sense of separation between the moon and me dissolved. No more "a moon and a me," but rather a timeless witnessing in which all my thoughts effortlessly ceased to exist.
After what must have been only a moment or two, I became aware of a longing for more and instantly I was back, binoculars in hand, a child looking at the moon. I didn't understand what had just happened or why it had seemed so organic and intimately familiar. I only knew that it had somehow left me feeling naked. Maybe that's why I never mentioned to my father or to anyone else what had really happened that night. What exactly does one say about an experience for which there are no words?
It would be many years before the mystery would gradually begin to unravel. The answer was waiting in the writings and teachings of poets and masters like Sri Ramana Maharshi, Krishnamurti, Goldsmith, Hafiz, Rumi, and others. Each imparts the message in their own way, but all have realized that there is no observer, that there is nothing to observe, that there is only Observing.
Or, in the words of the poet Wu-Men, "One instant is Eternity. Eternity is the Now. When you see through this Instant you see through the One Who Sees."
Sharon Rockey is a freelance writer who writes for the financial and business community. Occasionally she veers off course and pulls up something from her past -- something downright sentimental, syrupy, juicy, bizarre, or twisted -- whatever bubbles to the surface. These are tucked safely into the private reserve files so as to not scare off paying clients who would otherwise take her seriously.
Web spin Studios
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