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Word Gems exploring self-realization, sacred personhood, and full humanity
Prologue
Editor’s note: In the year 2000, when Word Gems was new, I wrote an essay entitled The Perfect Mate. It’s always been one of my favorite writings; however, as I’ve come to see over the years, it fails us on a certain level. Kairissi and Elenchus, below, discuss a missing element. But let's encourage ourselves. There’s nothing terrible about having a mate with perfect attributes. In Summerland, with expanded powers of mind, any diligent person will be able to secure for oneself an imposing array of talents and abilities. But this is not how we begin. We will not find “the perfect mate” by going shopping for the most impressive letter-of-recommendation. Even so, may I share with you my early writing? Most of the following was written near the year 2000. I think you’ll like it. Some of it, a vision of future happiness, I’ve always found to be quite moving and inspiring.
She will, of course, be intelligent. She is attractive by any standard, but her keen mind lends to her an aura of princess-like nobility. She impresses you in an effortless way, without trying to impress. Her eyes and entire visage glow with presence-of-mind quiet confidence; without this cerebral element she would be just another pretty face; with it, however, she is goddess-like. She knows she need not feign blondness with me. I like her being smart - the smarter the better.
Without sacrificing an Athena-like heavenliness, she’s quite down-to-earth: former freckled-faced tomboys are encouraged to apply. This venus-in-blue-jeans is unassuming, easy to talk to; moreover, keenly aware of those intimate moments, at times, when her lover finds it difficult to speak, to breathe, in her presence; but, without calling attention to his infirmity, she helps him regain illusion that he’s in charge. While she does not anger easily, having learned to control her free-and-wild spirit, cloaking it now with grace and sublimity, never doubt that she is self-respecting; for, when required, she can be assertive as MacArthur. read my lipstick, don't cross her.
There is something about her allure difficult to describe. As stated, she is attractive but not in a carnival way. To view her is to invite perceptions, not merely of a "good time on a Saturday night" but, of a sacred destiny of eternal love. By this I do not mean that her charm is plain-vanilla. If she chose to, she might enticingly flaunt herself, and more, with the best of the unscrupled celebrity culture. But, she would never merchandise herself, hawking her wares, attempting to commandeer and ensnare. She eschews the profane and vulgar, the gaudy and meretricious, hollywood-appeal.
With an unacquired loveliness and excellence of mind, she attracts and enthralls in a pure and wholesome way. She is like the truth when we find it, beautiful in its simplicity, an elegance of assumption; hers is a natural and unadorned beauty, a forthcoming and guileless beauty. She seems to embody traditional archetypal norms, personifying "the girl next door" with her uncomplicated and sweet familiarity, a living universal precept of all that a girl should be. This easily-flowing essence of her unpretentious and authentic spirit is something mesmerizing, a virtual mystical experience to behold.
She loves animals and cannot hide her tender feelings for a little creature in need; that public persona of hers, one exuding a certain measure of congenial reserve, shields a reservoir of passion, which fractures when a fuzzball crosses her path.
Her gentle heart and humanistic empathy extend equally to all, particularly to the disadvantaged of society, as she seeks opportunities in her life to render aid. She is non-judgmental and understands. Ever the consummate beneficent one, this evolved soul employs, not just her formidable intellect, but her refined people-skills to hospitably serve and put others at ease. This is why, ever-aware of others' insecurities, and displaying high social IQ, she always smiles upon entering a room. She perceives that the essence of courtesy devolves to respecting all people.
She loves the fine arts, knows why they are important, promotes them as guardians of civilization's soul, and teaches me about them. This involvement in all things aesthetic, if it were possible, makes her even more fascinating to me. I am in love with her outward form, but, no less so, she well understands, with her beautiful mind and spirit.
Editor's note: Oscar Wilde once quipped, referring to the fine arts, that "all art is quite useless"; that is, serves no utilitarian purpose. Wilde's humor is explained by Mortimer Adler. Probably most people would guess that the meaning of "fine" here means "excellent," "very good," or "refined." Adler enlightens us: The etymological root of "fine" is the same as that found in "final." The implication is most interesting. The fine arts are those which are created as ends in themselves - just for the sheer enjoyment of them, without mundane thoughts of utility. Their aim is to delight, to inspire, to enthrall. This is why the "fine arts," in both French and German, are referred to as "the beautiful arts." In contrast, the "useful arts" speak to those works of human contrivance serving various needful purposes, ones of means rather than ends; for example, the production of brooms, bottles, and top hats. The Perfect Mate, an enlightened person, one living on Maslow's level of Beauty, reflects an advanced-soul status by surrounding herself with the wondrous and marvelous, things of refinement and good taste, and does so simply for the joy of it; an activity, Wilde labeled as "quite useless." [smile] It strikes me that romance, properly viewed, is a fine art, an end in itself, to be pursued for its own sake, for the sake of love alone. But John and Mary do not see romance as fine art; for them, it's all "useful art," a means to another end, all those utilitarian, but dysfunctional, reasons for marriage.
Perceiving that my greatest desire in life is to make her happy, to please her, she communicates to me, in many different ways that, in fact, she can be pleased; a sweet symbiosis. Exercising her goddess prerogatives, she rightfully desires to be adored, and it is my good pleasure to eternally worship this Beatific Vision of Loveliness. She is the prettiest girl in the world to me, and the former heartthrob of many who would have taken my place. And while she has more than enough firepower in terms of alluring outward form, this is not why I am endeared to her; why absence from her pains me so -- it's that exuding joy of hers as she greets me. There is that sense about her, sometimes subtle but always palpable, of wanting to rejoice with me, of being so happy just to see me, to simply be with me, to share life with me. All this creates for me, subsuming the joy, a sense of complete safety, of being totally accepted by her, of delicious "coming home" and "familiarity" simply to be with her, of mysterious complementarity. Dr. John Welwood, Journey of the Heart: “Whenever our heart opens to another person, we experience a moment of unconditional love… [our hearts,] opening and responding to another person’s being without reservation... something vast inside us connects with something vast in another. The other person’s sheer existence awakens us... When we are loved in this way, we feel acknowledged, seen, nourished, held… we rejoice in another person’s very existence."
Her entire Person projects an aura of authenticity. I trust her. My secrets, all that lies hidden within my spirit, all this is safe with her; moreover, I trust her to cherish me, to value and honor my very existence. There is no greater form of trust.
I harbor certain long-ago memories of her stolen glances, furtively studying me, even, with intense longing, but, in these, she never flirted with me, never “played a role,” was always authentic, never wanting anything from me but just me. Yes... I know why I cannot bear to be apart from her. And in that shimmering-glistening-sparkling radiance of all that she is, but only to me; that hidden person of the heart, one that manifests, but only in my presence; my deepest self no longer feels alone.
Concerning her physical attributes of beauty, strangely, what she offers seems to be exactly what I always wanted in "my girl"... exactly what I wanted... how strange; moreover, I learn about what my deepest soul requires by what she brings to me, for whatever she brings to me becomes my private definition of "perfect" and "exactly right."
I now realize, before Heaven revealed her identity, that my troubled soul had always searched for her. I'd looked for her in every female face and form that ever crossed my path, even since I was a boy; eventually, but not without suffering, I would learn to accept no substitutes; that, it would not be possible for me to love another.
To the world, she presents a professional demeanor; but I am treated to the secret identity of this supergirl; that coy look of hers, just for me; those bejeweled eyes emanating "all that's best of dark and bright"; that indefinable spark of sublime humor; that impish and knowing smile which playfully taunts; that vibrant cooing tone, a siren-music of utter sweetness, laced with undercurrent of that rejoicing to be with me; that flash of her eyes communicating, I see what you think is funny, I know you very well.
And, as we laugh together, she in my arms, I realize that these shared moments of playful banter, of teasing pillow-talk, represent the height of eroticism.
She, as I, has her own sphere of activities, her own projects. But there is no sense of competition in any of this, as each, unilaterally, surrenders to the other, and relegates to secondary status, all things in life in favor of our One-Person devotion. These offerings of fealty - the other's prized possessions and projects - having been received, are then mutually returned, now, forever subservient and second-class to our common love; that common love which ever whispers, you belong to me, I belong to you, and no one or no thing could ever be as important.
Her name - that mystical name, ever a whisper on my lips, which, even at its casual mentioning, even after so long a time, still sends my spirit soaring, at speeds exceeding escape velocity - that name, written on my very soul; as mine finds sacred inscription and is sealed upon hers. Others can detect, when she is away, my true feelings; though I attempt to present a nonchalant exterior as I do not like being labeled as one having "just returned from a honeymoon," my mask, "held up with two hands," as Elizabeth Barrett used the phrase, slips and cannot protect as both family members and near-strangers have been known to impolitely tease, "He lights up at the mere mention of her name." She's not afraid, at all, to look me in the eyes, hard, straight-on, because she is my equal, and she knows it. I know it, too, without which knowledge, and status of mirror-opposite sameness, I could not love her as I do.
She is a force; and, at times, it would be more accurate to say that I am her equal. In mutual submission, one to the other, I expect her to lead in those areas where she is most proficient, as she expects the same of me in my own domain... I rest in her competence and trustworthiness.
But, what is this strange notion of her as my equal? I see her, just now, her petite self, lying beside me; my hands, larger, envelop her delicate ones; my arms easily eclipse that exquisite slenderness; and yet, my spirit informs me, warns me, that her office of equality is no sinecure; that she is an energy not to be denied, one demanding audience, when her spirit moves her to be heard. What is this sense of equality? What is this utter familiarity about her? I am haunted by the strange likeness! She seems just like me! Why is it, sometimes, when I hear her voice, I hear myself; when I look into her eyes, that aliveness of sacred consciousness, I see myself? Why do I sometimes feel, even that, she is myself in another form? What does this mean?
She loves children and desires to discuss with me whether this joyous burden, of the adopted or natural variety, could be part of our lives. She is a leader in her working life; at times, a businesswoman. I defer to her studied opinion and judgment. She can buy land, supervise the construction of a house, negotiate for bargains, deal with workmen. Her true-grit and determination allow her to do anything she sets her mind on.
But, later, after the day's activities, in shared sacred aloneness, in the consecrated darkness, as she receives my wordless midnight confession, absolving me of my many faults, her tender voice, like the softness of the proverbial gentle dove - a faint whispering tone of solicitous and erotic cooing - soothes my troubled spirit; and my pain becomes her own; my tears fall from her eyes; my soul's anguish issues from the heart lying next to mine.
I have not yet recovered, have not yet been made whole, from that time of endless trauma, that time of absence from her; that dark time of 3 AM shadows, of the silent Greek chorus haunting lonely bedroom walls, their muted voices, now lamenting, with me, the endless nightmare of my having once lost her. Sometimes, when we lie in the darkness, saying nothing, just silently touching foreheads...
... just reveling in our darling companionship, I remember those old days when I missed her so. I died every day without her then… and so… I no longer fear death... only the terror of losing her, a far greater death. Truly, she is my life - and what good is this legal fiction I disingenuously claim as “life” without her vivifying touch? “She is my life,” for me, is no banal platitude as I have experienced the profound despair, again, the endless nightmare, of living so-called “life” without her. There is a reason why Adam’s Twin-Soul, Eve, was prepared for him while he languished in a death-trance. In her mystical presence I am granted vision of comforting solace from Heaven; and in this moment of ecstatic revelation, I see that ours is an unending love, one that will transcend this ephemeral world; will continue on, into the next; that there is but One Life, whether enjoyed here or in the world to come - One Life welded together, a cosmic unity, with no break of separation, as we shall not lose what we have here, but only continue with, and add to, such affinity, even in future worlds; for us, there is no demarcated present life and afterlife, but only the seamless One Life.
The longer I am with her, the more I realize that my love for her far exceeds simple eroticism. While pleasures of the body will always command attention, I now perceive that she brings to me a full package of soul-cradling delights on multiple levels of being: a consuming and captivating sense of like-mindedness and accord; a multi-faceted and delicious unity, a mutual similarity, comprised of shared education, purpose, aspiration, culture, intellectual pursuit, heritage, community, spirituality, consciousness -- producing, within me, an astonishing realization of "having arrived" at wholeness and completeness; that is, having arrived with her, my "missing half." She is so much like me, the deepest hidden-person part of me, that what I want most from her is simply to be with her, to experience and to live all of life with her - yes, most of all, just to do all things with her. Not without cause does ancient wisdom speak of ultimate and spiritual marriage as two becoming One Person.
As a young man, these "soul-cradling delights" were too high for me. I could not understand and appreciate such things, placed little value on them. Before her coming, that is, to my awareness, I had no idea that a harmonizing panoply of elements of life and personhood that we share could mean so much; moreover, I now understand that our mutual sense of "you are just like me" could not have happened by accident. This was a cosmic "set up," a result of behind-the-scene orchestration. Now, when I see her smile, I also see God's tremendous gift to me, custom-crafted and long in the making. No fortuity, the true marriage is an arranged marriage, one "made in Heaven," or not at all.
She becomes, for me, the Transforming Fire, by which process of purging alchemy, my heart, my soul, is led into something new, "something never seen before." I am directed, drawn higher, by her pureness, to a more advanced level of consciousness and personal development. I feel myself being perfected, virtually, lifted beyond myself, with my spirit expanding, merely to know her. That dazzling radiance, resident in her wondrous eyes, heralds a spiritual message, one just for me: that I, in this life, and probably in the one to come, shall not be nearer to God than the beatific vision of all that she is to me. Was she not "made in the image"? Why then should she not reveal God to me?
I finally understand why stardust seems to fill the air whenever she is near. I call it "stardust," but I now perceive that this seeming effervescence is but the energy of my own soul pulsating with luminescent vitality, evolving, throwing off sparks, when her image invades my spirit. Yes... stardust... nuclear fusion with photon-emission as by-product. True love is chemistry, as they say, but it's physics, too; quantum, not Newtonian.
And in a blissful nightly ritual that symbolizes our sacred oneness, having whispered to each other our prayers and affirmations of love, we fall asleep, in each other's arms: happy, a happiness beyond an earthly happiness; secure, a security quietly and drowsily rejoicing – rejoicing in this: an intoxicating perception of our One-Person sense of mysterious familiarity; a sweet awareness of shared cosmic destiny; our "marriage of spirits," a bond of utmost exclusivity, allowing each of us, in sated well-being, to possess – possess absolutely, unendingly, as cherished treasure -- the other.
Like two islands connected at the deep, like two trees with roots intermingled below, the Sacred Couple, lover and beloved, discover themselves to share a mystical and spiritual nexus, hidden to the rest of the world; earlier, hidden even to themselves, but finally revealed -- to their awe and wonderment, an amazement of love! -- in one blazing cosmic moment of clarity.
Later, even in the next life, these lovers will bring to mind that first stirring, Gibran's "first sight," the first moment of "coming alive," when they realized who they are to each other. All things became new in that moment. And in that future time, she will smile that small smile of hers and ask, "Do you remember the time..." -- and, with no need to ponder an answer, he will respond, "Yes, beloved, I remember... I remember little else."
Kairissi. The author reports that, when the above writing was new, he received a letter from a girl at an Eastern ivy-league college who exclaimed that some of it was so beautiful she didn’t know what to say or how to respond. I’m betting she was thinking of the section of lovers whispering prayers to each other, falling asleep in each other’s arms. Elenchus. This writing represents an ideal. As the author says, it’s not where we start. In a sense, there are things about this early version of “Perfect Mate” that could mislead us. K. I see some things, too, but you go first. E. Elizabeth Barrett, early on, set Robert straight as she insisted that he love her "not for a reason." Elizabeth was one of the keenest minds of history, and maybe the best articulated, but, on the level of outward form, she was not a Miss America. She was sickly and not so energetic. And she immediately realized what most “Marys” cannot admit, that, if Robert chose her for some fleeting allurement of externality, their love could not long endure when, soon, even a small bit of present physical attraction would go away. K. “Not for a reason” means you have to love me not because I won the perfect-resume contest; not because I scored 100% on your little e-harmony match-up questionnaire. If you think you love me, then it needs to be for something undefined. You need to love me for the fullness of all that I am to you, the cosmic mystery of all delights that I shall bring to you for all eternity. You have to love me - only me, and no one else - for the uncharted riddle of life and for the plenitude of love that you see in my eyes. E. And this is where the early “Perfect Mate” writing begins to give us the wrong impression. We all want all those ideal attributes in a mate. We want to fall asleep in a lover’s arms, softly whispering those prayers; we want the ideal mate to be intelligent, gracious, industrious, service-minded, artistic, on and on. And so the temptation becomes, “Well, then I need to go on a hunting expedition for that ideal mate. I need to go ‘resume-shopping’ to find that super-person who has so much to offer.” But it doesn’t work that way. K. We must also make clear that no "hunting expedition" is required. When two are spiritually ready, the Guides arrange for a meeting. E. And so the real question becomes, how to be ready? K. It’s been said that any project truly worth pursuing, very likely, cannot be completed in this lifetime. I say this because, again, finding that super-person with all those stellar attributes is not the problem. In due time, in Summerland, we’ll all have stellar attributes. It’s part of our human potential. One's future mate, as time goes on, will possess these fine traits. Our task is to prepare ourselves spiritually, by reducing the ego's influence, and then everything else will come to us naturally, at the right time. E. mmm... Are you my “perfect mate”? K. That’s for you to decide; actually, it’s not a decision – and that’s another reason why people go wrong with their “hunting expedition.” Finding that right one just for you is not a “choice,” as such. It’s a realization, a coming to awareness, of who that person is. E. The author impolitely said it might happen like the guy in The Piña Colada Song who said to his girl, “Ohhh, it’s you!” K. That’s sort of funny; but, actually, this might happen more often than we know. Two grow up together, or have been acquainted for some time, and so they think they know everything about each other, and don’t even like each other - so they say... E. Yes, so they say. K. But then, in a hot nano-second, in a blazing and shattering awareness and recognition, they "meet each other for the first time" and perceive that they’d been strangers to the real person in the other.
K. (softly laughing) I have to admit, I want to break out laughing everytime I think of Landon, so smug and sure, droning on with, "I know everything about you." E. (small smile) And why do you look at me when you say that? K. Uh-huh. E. You know, it's like the classic little book, Acres Of Diamonds - this guy goes searching the world over for success but then finds it in his back yard: “Ohhh, it’s you!” K. After being so sure of themselves - dead-sure of nothing else in life except that "it's definitely not you" - after all that, two suddenly open their eyes to see, “Ohhh, it’s you! - and now I can't live without you!" E. I think this is what the Guides are talking about with the "laws of repulsion" and "attraction." It's a way of preparing a proto-couple to wake up to each other. K. So, Elenchus, how do we summarize this? If the "perfect mate" is not a collection of super-attributes per se, what is she? E. Strictly speaking, I think, there is no precise definition. A Twin couple's sense of similarity and affinity does not take place on the level of the tangible but on a deeper basis of essential, undefined consciousness. K. We are speaking of Twin Souls -- and the soul is the center of consciousness. E. And we know that consciousness is not an element of the 3-D universe. K. And so it can't "pinned and labeled." E. And yet, acknowledging all this amorphousness, when that one particular person crosses your radar screen, that destined one just for you... twin souls, a complementarity of consciousness K. ... that sweet "complementarity of consciousness" - commonly known as your Twin Soul. E. Yes... the perfect mate as "complementarity of consciousness"... when your internal guidance system wildly flashes red-alert -- "this is not a drill, this is the one you've been waiting for all your life" -- then... you may forget your name, you may be confused as to where you live... but one thing will be very clear... and you will no longer be questioning the meaning of the "perfect mate." K. (small smile) Elenchus, it's like when I asked you, "Do you remember the time...?" and your internal response was, "Yes, beloved, I remember... I remember little else." E. That's right.
not for a reason reprinted from the page devoted to the sonnets of Elizabeth Browning Editor’s note: In the Brownings' love letters (as opposed to her sonnets), as featured several times on the WG site, Elizabeth sees and discerns one of the very most important precepts of true love; that, it must be built on a foundation of “not for a reason.” And now, here too, in sonnet 14, she returns to this vital understanding: “If thou must love me, let it be for nought.” We stand amazed, for many reasons, concerning Elizabeth’s perspicacious wisdom. In the first thirteen sonnets, she presents herself as emotionally erratic, alternating, sometimes quickly, between sublime ecstasy and depths of despair. And yet, despite this nightmare world of malaise, or maybe because of it, Elizabeth, as very few others, clearly perceives one of the unshakeable pillars of eternal romantic love: love, not for a reason, love for nought.
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