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.