Two Little Words

I Am.

When you stop and think about it - I mean, truly give it serious contemplation - this is the most powerful, most profound, and most mystical of statements. It is the name that God (Allah, Jehovah, Yahweh) says is His name, when asked by Moses as to what He should be called. It is also the final definition of our Selves, when we look deeply into the dark well of our soul, seeking the answer to the awful questions of who we are, why do we exist, and what – if anything – does any of this mean.

I Am.

It is declarative. It is final. To fully possess the knowledge of ‘I Am’ is to be released from bondage of this world, to be enslaved no more by the mad, swirling maelstrom of the material. To know the Self - the pure, unsullied, clear-eyed, connected, radiant being that we all are – is to be unmoved by opinion, untainted by fear, unassailable in the strong citadel of your Being... immortal, quiet, and utterly at peace.

I Am.

Of course, I’m not there yet. I still like hearing that someone found pleasure and quality in my writing, or my acting. I am still subject to want and need, to worries, to lack of trust, to simple pain. I still feel loneliness when the cold winds blow at midnight, or in the small, hard, grey hours before the dawn, the bed empty except for a little white cat curled close up against the small of my back. I am, after all, only human, and am subject to the myriad indignities of physical existence.

What I’m beginning to understand, (apparently rather slowly,) is that it’s all right. My awareness seems sometimes like an old, wooden oxcart, torturously rumbling over an ancient, stone-filled road... the cart bounces and creaks, thudding heavily on the uneven pathway as it rolls ungracefully along. Often I must stop again and again to fix the rickety old wheel, but somehow I manage to keep going. I curse the cart, the road, the wheel, the journey itself. Stupid. Futile. Irritating.

Slowly, though, little by little, I find I’ve become used to the rocky road – the potholes I once chided have become familiar friends, the repairs a normal, routine task, and the travel itself filled with the joy of Being. Then I start to look at the countryside around me instead of fretting about the cart holding together, and, like a small child who’s eyes widen upon seeing their first spring leaf, am struck mute by it’s unabashed beauty, in both the individual and the whole. The trees, even though bare in winter, are vibrant and alive. The air, though cold and damp, is sweet and nourishing, bracing my lungs, clearing my mind. My fellow travelers have become teachers instead of irritants, each one magically placed before me to illuminate an as yet unlit corner of my being.

I do not need to be anything more than what I Am at this Very Moment, the Now... which is all there really ever is. The old injuries, betrayals, fears, and worries I lug in my cart like so much garbage can be jettisoned, and look! The wheel doesn’t shatter so easily any more, as it now bears the load for which it was made. The concerns about the journey itself – Will I ‘get there?’ What will happen? What will it be like? Am I ‘good enough?’ Will I be loved? – become foolish, as the inner peace of Being slowly becalms the inner waters once roiled by those angry, demanding, untutored servants, Heart and Mind.

There is time. There is journey. There is Love. The statement of our existence, like one small candle that lights the entire universe, shines it's undeniable truth. I Am.

And so, my friend, are You.

Tell Us What You Know, Mr. President

Sending more troops to Afghanistan can be justified from many points of view... bringing the war to a swifter end, bolstering an unstable government, bringing the battle to al Qaeda, going after bin Laden – but there’s a little voice inside that keeps nagging at the outside edges of my being, saying, “Is this trip really necessary? Is it truly important that the U.S. be there? Are we actually in that much danger?”

Clearly, our President thinks so, deciding to send an additional 30,000 troops to that sad, war-weary country, with the proviso that we leave in a couple of years... and we all know how meticulously deadlines are followed. However, Obama, unlike his odd little predecessor, is not a war-monger, nor does he appear to be one who is easily fooled or led.

Therefore, the question occurs... if our President truly believes that it is imperative we continue this seemingly endless conflict, at great cost of both our families and our treasure... what does he know that we don’t know that makes him believe so?

Raising this question is necessary because we’re being asked to send our loved ones to die in yet another country that clearly doesn’t want us there, for reasons that are becoming less and less clear. It’s necessary because, simply stated, war is extremely expensive, and we could well use that money at home. And finally, it’s necessary because war is failure – failure of wisdom, failure of patience, failure of awareness, failure of spirit. It should be the last resort, and never the first response, of any nation – and certainly of a nation that views itself as a great one, and while self-defense can be understandable as a justification for retaliation, it's been rather a long time since our actions in Afghanistan seemed remotely like self-defense.

Obama said, during his campaign, that his administration would be open and forthcoming, to contrast the hysterically paranoid tone of the previous one. I believed him, and I still do. Nevertheless, many of us - tens of millions of us - are uneasy continuing this war, and so the question needs to be asked, before anyone else’s son or daughter comes home in a box, before another billion is spent, before our belief in what we stand for is eroded any further... What do you know that we don’t, Mr. President? Tell us what you know.

Because I’m not convinced we need to do this.