If you want me to explain something about the way life is going for
you, about the way life is
showing up
for you, that is to say if you're generous enough to assume there's
something I understand which you don't, I'll proceed with care,
stepping on the usual rickety stepping stones, carefully negotiating
the usual pitfalls of explaining anything to anyone about how life
shows up.
The first pitfall is my very act of taking on explaining something to
you implies I've somehow got the low down on it, somehow
I've got the inside
scoop
on it ... like I do and you don't. If you ask me for an
explanation and I give it to you, my very act of giving it to you
defies your own mastery of your own life.
The second pitfall is my very act of taking on explaining something to
you, implies somehow life showing up the way it shows up can be
explained. It can't be. Life simply shows up the way it shows up,
and it doesn't show up the way it doesn't show up. There's no reason.
There's no explanation - that is to say no explanation can be imbued
with any power worthwhile enough to transform your life. Transformation
isn't a function of understanding. It's not a function of explaining
either.
The third pitfall is my very act of taking on explaining something to
you, even if I give you an intelligent, erudite, brilliantly plausible
explanation, keeps you trapped in the domain of explanation, belief,
and concept, effectively and
paradoxically
locking you out of the domain you hope my explaining will open up for
you, the domain you most want to be in: the domain of being who you
really are.
That's what we really want (even though we may not 'fess
up that it's what we really want): we want who we really are - that is
to say, we want to be who we really are. I assert to be
who we really are is what we want the most.
And we don't even know how to ask for it. So, instead, we ask for what
we do know how to ask for: explanations. We ask "How?"
questions. We ask "Why?" questions. But you don't really
want explanations. In fact, you don't really want answers
either. You're too clever, you're too sophisticated, you're too
smart to be interested in my answers anyway, even though you may ask
for them from time to time.
What you want from me, even if you're not aware you want it, is you
want me to be who I really am so you can riff
off me being who I really am, and be who you really
are too. You want me to be a way you can get by
osmosis. That's what you really want. And if I explain
to you how to be it, I'll keep you from being it as surely as if I
locked it in Fort Knox then threw the only key down an
abandoned mineshaft.
A word to suitresses: you'll love
who I am.
But be careful! Loving
who I am
will transfer your affection from who you are (and who you are, is what
you want) to who you think I am. You'll think (erroneously)
having who you think I am, will fulfill you, will complete
you. But that's not really what you want. You don't really want to have
me fulfill you, complete you. What you really want is for
you to be who you really are. That's what will fulfill you. That's what
will complete you.
When you get that, you'll notice having anyone isn't a factor in the
quadratic equation of your fulfillment. "Having" me is incidental,
almost trivial, in fact it's a
distraction.
As much as you may say you want me, having me will only get in your
way. What will fulfill you, what will complete you, is having who you
really are, not having who you think I am.
The entire interpersonal landscape shifts when we have who
we really are. Everything we ever thought about or knew about or wanted
in relationships simply no longer applies. Instead, relationships scale
powerful new heights when we come from who we really are.
We'll start to notice when we're not coming from who we really are, we
want and need relationships. We'll start to notice when we're coming
from who we really are, we neither want nor need relationships. And yet
we'll create miraculous relationships effortlessly. All
the struggle, effort, and entanglement goes away.
What you want from me, is for me to catalyze you being who
you really are, and then for me to get out of your way. That's
what you really want. If I'm presumptuous in assuming to know what you
really want when you say you want something else, if I'm arrogant in
assuming to know who you really want when you say you want
me or someone else, it's my job as catalyzer.