Messages From Carrie
The Unbroken Self
December 1st, 2007
I have this thought and sense that at the center of us is a hidden wholeness. It is the whole and perfect spirit we were born with. Somehow that whole and unbroken self is connected to all of creation, it is attached to something older than time. The fingerprints of the Great Spirit, Mother or God (there are so many names for the namable) are upon that perfect wholeness.
It is the unbroken self that calls to us to abide in the wholeness. To find the quiet place deep within that knows whom we are, and knows its connection to the sacred. There are so many practices that humans have developed over the eons to try to tap into that place and spirit. Buddhist meditate for hours and days at a time, Some developed liturgy or mantra that when spoken over and over becomes a way of remembering, some walk in the woods and expand their breath at the sound of birds and wind, some develop complicated dogma and creed to try to get to that place by precise action (in my estimation the least effective practice). The mystics create Kabalistic ritual, Sufi poetry; Gnostic direct knowing, The Hindu Naths, Natha and Nagas see many roads all at the same time.
My belief system is personal and poetic I suppose. It grows out of a love and study of spiritual traditions and practices and the mystical among them, but mostly it springs forth from the place deep within me that creates music, poetry, image, song and story. There is a longing to tell the story, a constant yearning to bring forth what we delve so deeply to find. We see glimpses of the truth when we go to that place to create; we know it is a Holy place, even if we don't call it such. My finest and most pure prayers are always songs.
But being made of something older than starlight, and as common as earth there is a simultaneous ease and unease with this world. We love this world, our children, the goodness we find in unexpected places. We are lost in distraction and motion and yearn for something true, authentic and whole.
We see the light upon our daughter's hair as she plays in the living room, and we catch our breath, hungry to capture that moment and hold on to it's power and magic.
The world will to its work upon us. It will convince us there are better things to be than starlight and prayer, so wanting to survive we cover ourselves and become something we hope the world will like better than what we are. That is part of our job as writers I suppose, to remember the deepest part of us, to describe in words what has no language, to name the unnamable We long for our own wholeness, which is already present if we can find the quiet place where it dwells and abide there with it.