Peter entered the timeless Now when his sense of ego fell away. His everyday life became the entrance to eternity. This is a truth so basic as to be forgotten, for the biggest truths are the hardest for us to stay awake to.
His yard, full of robins, his lap full of cats, he saw so clearly that his vision was impeccable. He fell down often, nevertheless. He didn’t seem to mind much.
Our conversations were not philosophical but alive and pregnant with even more life. I was writing up a storm and living right on the ragged edge of reality as I knew it. Bob was fading in front of my eyes and life was one big series of crashing waves for me. Peter, however, sat in the captain’s chair with a smile on his face. He knew who he was now and that he couldn’t go anywhere. He was limited to his yard and the cosmos at one and the same time. Ho ho! as he would say. God has a lot up His sleeve.
When it ended, when Bob died and Peter simply could not muster strength to write any more, I was left with emptiness that felt awful. The dark night of the soul fell around me for the second time. I knew, however, that dawn was alive in my heart. So I was able to wait it out. Week after week, month after month, year after year.
Until the timelessness began for me. Someone removed the barriers between past, present and future, thereby putting me in a place of deeper rest. Here I remain, writing endlessly, sitting alone most of the time. This is perhaps by choice as well as design.
Peter and Bob are up there in the higher altitudes of grace. But that’s okay. Down here below I am looking up as often as I can.
The Self, so often studied, so often muddied, must be still in order to know. Once it knows, it can break all the rules. It can toss the books, unplug from everything and simply realize that destiny has never once left its side.