When I was in the fifth grade, I had a good friend named Lucía. I called her that because she was born when I was shinning a light behind her shell. It looked like the glow of life came from her as she was stirring alive and broke through this side of life.
My abuelita gave her to me to raise. I carried her warm fuzzy frailty in my hands for the 100 kilometers trip back to the city. She took residence in the small cement square we called a patio, where the water basin was.
I came to visit and speak with her every day after school. She didn’t like to play, but she enjoyed listening. She liked it when I’d tell the cats not to approach, and when I trained the dog to see her as my friend. I failed to train my aunt, who served Lucía to me one afternoon. My older brother laughed at the surprise on my face when I came to the patio after lunch and didn’t find my friend. “You just ate her!,” he mocked.
I covered the real feeling pulsating above my belly, under my heart. I didn’t want him to see. I masked my inner reality with rage, as if the mockery was the only thing I minded. The real feeling, I carried with me safely through life, holding its fuzzy fragility in a tiny square of my solar plexus where a glow of light forever listens and waits.
A reader asks:
What happens to animals that are tormented/abused by humans? What happens to their souls? What about those people? My heart is often so heavy, I just don’t understand. I can feel it all and it’s challenging to shift out of that. I know we are somehow all connected but I don’t feel like I want to be connected to that. Why does it happen? Just feeling very sad at the moment. 😥
Those who suffer because of empathy and compassion, move humanity to higher awareness.
All humanity suffers the consequences of the cruelty of those who torture and oppress. Those of us who move away from the gross actions of humans, pull the mass of human consciousness in the direction of evolution and refined awareness. It is like a huge ship in the ocean, which to change course needs steady pressure in the desired direction. At first, the pressure doesn’t do anything, because the mass of the ship is so large. However, the constant pressure does make a slight shift, and this shift moves the ship on a different course. This is how the compassion of a few can affect the course of the whole of humanity.
The key is to have compassion for the suffering, while at the same time rooting our consciousness on our higher aims. To fall in despair and hatred for humanity, simply plunges us into the dross of the masses. This does not move the ship in the direction we desire. On the other hand, to become indifferent to the suffering is to disconnect our intent from the momentum of the ship.
We need, then, to stay anchored to the suffering of the innocent through compassion, while pulling on that force to the desired direction by rooting our higher attention in the higher good.
In this manner, not only humanity changes course, but the beings who suffer also are moved with us in the direction of evolution.
How paradoxical, the nature of the search!
That which we seek, keeps moving away by the mind that places the attainment outside, beyond, later.
The immense vistas of freedom emerge, instead, as the vast horizon, always separating and unifying, in the same instant, Heaven and Earth.
And as the horizon, our aspiration remains present yet unreachable, dividing yet unifying, always perceived and never touched.
Ah, paradox of my path, holding the way and the why! You are the rim of my hat, and I but the clown who kicks his hat away every time he bends over to pick it up!
There is no mountain that can take me to the Sun.
No ladder tall enough.
There is no tree tall enough to burn its crown on the solar sphere.
Yet, just like the Sun seems to travel across the heavens,
unperturbed and untouched by clouds,
or planetary event;
so my true self moves across the surface of life,
unperturbed by all that happens,
undisturbed by the sufferings and joys
witnessed by the mind, felt by the body, and held by this heart.
What I can observe is that in the distant depth of the night, there in the profundity of the nocturnal sky where the night and the silence are perennial and identical, the stars shiver silent and distant, allowing me to perceive through the immense void the vibrations of silence.
She comes to me naked, in the purity of her presence, without the garments of light, sounds, life and thought.
I’ve known her longer than myself. I’ve known her before I, before time, before the memory of her.
I have seemed to forget her, and in the dark dungeons of forgetfulness, in that mindless chaos of existence, I looked for her.
She was there, always, hidden in every desire and every which pain.
Behind every corner of thought, peeking or waiting at the periphery of the horizon of time and experience, she shines eternally in relentless and unwavering wait.
She weaves and undoes the endless tapestry of existence phenomenal, waiting for the beloved to come to her as vagabond, worthless suitor, with his only claim in the secret chamber of his heart–an arrow certain and true.
She comes to me naked, silent, and I am blinded and deafened by her all consuming touch.
Delicado es el roce de tus labios,
y suave el suspiro que recorre mi piel
cuando tus ojos me forman,
cuando tu aliento surge y me nombra.
Delicate is the touch of your lips,
and soft the sigh that runs through my skin
when your eyes form me,
when your breath emerges and names me.