I’ve been here before. At least I recognized a place I’d tasted in a previous meditation retreat when Jack had cancer. I had gone looking for solace from a tree, finding one I could climb up into and lie along a broad branch to hug. But the tree was dead. There was no life force there to console me, to give me strength or hope.
However, something extraordinary happened. As I lay along that lifeless limb in my grief and pain, still in a meditative space, the nothingness of the tree engulfed me. My experience was one of a Void—a dark stillness that held no-thing: good or bad, judgement, happiness or sorrow. It just WAS. And that was enough.
This time, again on a meditation retreat, again confronted with a loved-one’s newly diagnosed cancer, I had a moment of knowing I’ve been here before. It was brief but just right. A crack between receding thoughts. Again, the impression of a still darkness that was empty. In that space there was no fear, no anguish, no doing. It simply was what was with no strings. Nothing attached.
These two experiences were gifts.
On a more prolific front, the “I’ve been here before” experience usually pertains to mis-stepping in one way or another. But recognizing this place is just as valuable. Each time I revisit those tendencies, characteristics, or habitual behaviors, I have another chance to grow.
Growing may not necessarily mean changing who I am. But it does mean seeing who I am and coming into relationship with these aspects. There are going to be parts of me that reappear and beg to be food for work. There are going to be other parts that beg to be recognized and valued. I am actively sorting all this out as life flows along.
Maybe my lesson from the Void of pure objectivity can be applied to the parts of myself that I revisit. What if it is possible to slip into the void-space when confronted with how I am? To experience myself in action by seeing that I’ve been here before and allowing that part to Be. Without judgement, without emotional reaction, without “fixing”. What would happen then? Or what would not happen?
The Work is a funny thing. Making efforts counts but counting on results doesn’t. Growth happens when we’re not watching. At least I can recognize when I’ve been here before. Sometimes it tastes good, sometimes it doesn’t. It’s the noticing that counts.