I can’t help but notice how the most significant moments in my interior life are so relatively quiet. Not silent. Commonly neither clamorous or especially still. The more powerful my sense of the Present, the more it seems to be strung indifferently between peaks of comparable noteworthiness — like a hammock perfectly and equidistantly suspended from moments strong enough or tall enough to sustain its weight. The state of power and grace is found between events and eventfulness.
Presence hangs — creaking, groaning — when we cocoon ourselves within its net. It rocks with the motion of our coming or going, but the oldest deep-rooted trees, or the poles driven into concrete-reinforced holes, barely shudder to show when we are within it.
Whether or not we are aware that we are in the Present, the Present can’t be said to care.
Swaybacked split-rail fence of linear time, across the flattest desert, touching both ends of the biggest sky…
Moments of existential challenge
There is a moment, well after the arguments and negotiations, long before you feel necessarily single again, when you sign the divorce papers.
There is a moment, well after the results of the blood test, long before the side effects, when the chemotherapy first drips, when you swallow the first pill.
There is a moment, well after the shock of the news and the pageantry of the funeral, still long before it seems real that someone you love will not walk through the door, when it feels like it hasn’t happened, even as you know that it has.
or moments of conscious joy
There is also a moment after you’ve discovered that you’re pregnant, but you haven’t yet begun to show. There is that moment when you know you are in love, but you are in between the last time you saw her, or the next time you will see him seeing you again… There is that moment when you hold a book in your hands that bears your name along its spine, when you accept the award, when you deposit that enormous sum of money.
There is that moment when you wake in a new city, in a new room, with your new life still trapped in the transition of boxes… You are aware of all the life around for which this place is entirely ordinary — how can that be so? But it is.
These are not the moments when you first react, when you call someone to witness your reality, or when you even cry alone. These are not the moments of heated arguments or the later conversations and reflection. These are not the moments furiously released in your diary.
These are not even the moments when you pray. These are not the scenes of intense drama or rare delight…
The Present may disappoint you in its ordinariness. Perhaps you find yourself looking in the mirror for some evidence of profound change… but it’s just you there, pretty much like always, no matter what different details course through your veins.
Shouldn’t there be a soundtrack? A sound effect? On a day this tragic, shouldn’t the Universe magically supply you with rain? On a day this memorably wonderful shouldn’t virtual strangers on the street break into musical theater dance routines, to broadcast and backup your private glee? Can it really be that the refrigerator hums like it always does, that there is always a bird making a racket somewhere if you listen, and kids playing or people fighting in accordance with their own scripts, regardless of what you know to be true?
Wouldn’t it be appropriate now to find the color has leaked from the world, or that God has washed over everything with a new filter of sparkles, of lens flares, of slow-motion blur…
If this were a film of your life, this would be your close-up. This would be your cue to cry and collapse gracefully to the floor. This would be the scene when the ghost in the machine “randomly” selects your favorite track and you crank it up to dance around like a fool in your underwear, and if anyone saw you they would have to smile…
Don’t misunderstand me, there is tremendous grace and power here, of another kind — because this is a Now when you get to realize that the Universe is not watching you. You are the one paying attention. Attaching emotion, directing drama, dragging decoration into the scenes to reflect the meaning that might otherwise go unwritten.
It may indeed be one of the most important moments of your life, one you will always refer back to… You may glorify, embellish it, weave it into your Story in the Later Telling of it. But in the moment that you live it, that it happens to you, it can be so relatively quiet. Not silent. Indifferent. Preternaturally Calm. Detached.
There are no triple-digit numbers on the clock face, no other magical signs that the external world accompanies you. It seems that if there were any moment when your spirit guides and guardian angels would speak to you clearly, this should be it… but they are only here, present, attending you and keeping your private company in the manner of dozing beloved pets. There are moments when no course of action must be decided, but when directions are simply followed through — when you step into and through the inevitable; when you go one moment more, and by doing so, prove to yourself that you can.
There is tremendous power and grace here, in a moment that needs nothing else to be significant — hold it, bookmark it, so that you may return to it. The truth that you are looking out at an infinite marching succession of Now, as if through a mask, a space suit, a window.
There is a part of you that only observes. There is a part of you that retreats into detached safety and works from curious, non-reactive awareness. This is when you know the eternal part of you that is not your body, is separate from your Story, is untouched by emotional reactions, is unchanged by events.
It’s not particularly dramatic. It may not be especially magical.
It is infinitely powerful.
Image by Omar Eduardo via Creative Commons on Flickr
Hi Slade,
Today I read rather hurriedly thru your post once, but I knew I wanted to read a second time. I got distracted by an urge to check a Craigslist item and then my email. My black cat threatened the redheaded one with her classic evil eye. It was time for me to step between them, assure them there was enough space for each.
With all that complete, I slowed enough to absorb what was in your ‘Sunday Sermon’ as I have sometimes nicknamed it in my head. (No offense, I think I’ve told you I observe your ‘priestly’ role that seems to jump out at me sometimes!) I don’t always expect a sermon, but I often receive one silently. Knowing I need to refocus some where or something for my own good. This morning I was locked in the uneventful. At times it can seem so sad. Stringing the morning events together, having little significance in the scope of things. Will I even remember tomorrow, when the cats are at it again, that I unconsciously play referee and favorites?
What did happen as the words of your post flowed through me, was it made me see all I took in stride. In fact, I was transported from distracted. So powerful indeed. Not only what you wrote, the rather uneventful ordinary recognition of my own moments, in my own moments.
So there it was. My self defined silent sermon received. Can’t help but see the beauty delivered and in the delivery.
Thank you.
But despite the lack of fanfare, the realization of such a moment is a bit mindblowing there’s something grand about it, even if expressed only by a barely audible sigh…
The art of just being is almost undescribable, at least for me. I think you just did a wonderful attempt to describe just that. The ego does everything in its power to keep us from going there. Most people let their ego be in control so they miss out on the whole experience that you just described.
This is one of your best articles. Please share more from your personal diaries if they are like this. Thank you for sharing this bit of wisdom.
A simple offering of “blessings” to you for this posting.
Hi Slade,
You beautifully captured the moment of presence. I’ve battled my monkey mind for years and now each moment of consciousness is so valuable and (I thought) indescribable. Thank you Slade — once again your words ring true and are so poetic. Love, Jenny
I have felt this way on many occasions but would not have been able to express the feelings so eloquently. I felt it most profoundly on the day my father died. The world had changed forever, but “I was the only one who knew.” All of my outward senses told me that nothing had changed. My inner world and the outer world were completely different and distinct. When this happens…it is truly an
Event of Realization!
Thanks for sharing Slade.
Love and Blessings,
Katherine
Wow.
Slade, somehow — I don’t know how — in describing these precious, infinite moments, you managed to create one.
You described it so vividly, you invoked it.
This is Slade unleashed! This is writing!
Wow. Thank you.
Slade,
I understand this perfectly. And it’s important for you to write about these moments because they ARE so …. well…..mundane. Or so they can seem. But they aren’t, of course. They are our moments of detachment, as you say so perfectly. And it’s
those times of detachment, when you let go of all the drama of life, that we really get into it. It? The big Out There…..
We all feed on your words, Slade. Truly FEED. We’re hungry for what you say, however you say it. See our little mouths open, the baby birds in the nest, whining and peeping for more?
Love, Jody
Slade,
I am awe-struck. I am feeling so much from this post that I can’t even begin to describe it. I have not read something so beautiful, so powerful in a very long time. Thank you.
“this is a Now when you get to realize that the Universe is not watching you. You are the one paying attention…
…You may glorify, embellish it, weave it into your Story in the Later Telling of it. But in the moment that you live it, that it happens to you, it can be so relatively quiet.”
Talk about a light bulb moment! I’ve lived life as if it were a movie, trying to imbue all moments with hyper color. Because special moments are supposed to be in Technicolor – and don’t I want every second of my life to be special?
Especially as an artist, it seems really “weak” to have mundane moments.
Thanks for reminding me that true power is in observation. And that an artist’s life is nourished by this detachment – rather than artificial drama.
A couple of weeks ago I found this beautiful space you have created during a little game that I play on my computer with my guides in the early morning called “Show me what I need to know”. It was like the unseen hand of God bounced a balloon into the air and it drifted slowly into my world landing with a soft pffft on the screen before me. My light recognized yours. Without words I knew I found a place I truly belonged.
I have spent hours reading your posts and all the amazing comments. You are an artist with words. In a short time I have gained more insight into why and who I AM than I have in years. Sunday morning I was sitting at my computer reading your archives when the latest post appeared. It was like a lightening bolt shot through me when I first notice the new addition. With the glee of a small child I opened the link and absorbed every word wishing it would never end.
I was reminded of the day my grandmother died. A day I have tried to describe to friends who responded with the “uh huh” look…you know the one. When I heard the news I was alone and at the time I lived in the mountains. I was not crying or particularly sad. It was her time. I looked out the big window toward the majestic snow covered peaks and noticed there was and orange/purple colour. Like someone had put a colour filter on a camera lens. As I gazed out thinking about how good she must feel to be free I felt a warm energy surround me. I was shrouded with a sense of peace and knowing I had never experienced before and a thought came into my head…a shining sentence…”Now you know God”.
I have not had that particular feeling since but I did get to honour it again on Sunday morning when reading your words. In its simplicity, that day was one of the most profound in my life.
Thank you Slade…Dee
This is so beautiful, Slade! I actually was out of town and knew I wanted to really take the time to sit with this article, and this morning was my first opportunity.
In the end, we alone mark our powerful moments – no heavens opening, no angels singing. Just Being.
Thank you and blessings,
Andrea
Hi Slade,
I totally feel you on this post – so many shared experiences here. My favorite part of it however isn’t particularly deep – it revolved around expecting the world to support your private glee by breaking out into song musical-style – oh the image that ran through my head!
LOL – I was literally on the floor attempting to contain myself when I read this line!
And this is exactly what stands out about this post to me – it is so much easier to see ourselves through the lens of humor and your wry way of bringing in elements that so clearly allow us to laugh at ourselves and the expectations we carry around that often get in the way of our most real experiences is what made this article remarkable to me
Keep em coming!
Angel blessings,
PK
Barbara,
The Universe sent me a new little stray boy kitty a few weeks ago whom I’ve since adopted and named Sam. (After Samuel who heard the voice of God.) I have spent a LOT of the past several days refereeing the intense territorial feline soap opera that ensues among new members of a cat family, adjusting, communicating their complex pecking order. So, you see, it’s very interesting that you would choose to talk about the fights between your cats.
Watching over my boys, with all its mundane humor and hysteria, has been a perfect anchor in the Present. They are a great blessing on many levels.
It actually delights me that you receive my posts as sermons — I do think of them in that way. Well, some of them anyway. To me, some feel like Sunday School Lessons, some of them feel like Journal Entries, some like letters… Sometimes, I admit, a few come off more as lectures or infomercials at times…
I’d be very interested to know which ones are which for you.
I feel really good about this post — I do think it’s among my personal favorites. It is one of those that comes straight from my private journals, but is very much a sermon too.
Thank you for receiving it so well.
Vitor,
I think that is why we often describe such moments as “surreal.”
Patricia,
When you feel “ego-free” it’s somewhat strange, naked compared to a “normal” state of Thought… I’m really encouraged that you liked this post. My personal journals tend to be a bit maudlin and self-absorbed, generally, if you ask me, but I will definitely share more of them when it feels right. Thank you!
Kristi,
Blessings right back at ya!
Jenny,
Thank you! Monkeys, gremlins, goblins, hornets, hauntings… Identifying them, and naming them, separate from soul-level identity is very useful.
Katherine,
These moments are truly humbling, aren’t they? I’m glad my words spoke for you.
Jeff,
–blush–
–smile–
Your glowing critique means a lot.
Jody,
What you describe reminds me of what Wayne Dyer calls “getting into the Gap.” I’ve always thought of it as the Power of the In-Between, what I privately refer to as the Grays.
Irene,
Really?! Oh my, I have set myself up. I hope I can live up to it in the future. I’ll just keep praying “Make me a vessel.”
c.koo,
Yes! Indeed, I think you’ve definitely hit upon something unique to Artists. I can certainly relate within that context. Or maybe it’s the double-Scorpio in my chart… When I was growing up, my mother’s favorite astrologer once told me that people with a lot of Scorpio energy feel like they are being followed around with a camera all the time. Kind of interesting, when you consider that Reality TV didn’t exist yet, and even more noteworthy for me at that time because I thought she was picking up on the presence of my guides without realizing it. Perhaps it is a sort of addictive creative expectation?
Dee,
What a beautiful comment — it’s like a memoir in and of itself… There is very little I can add to that, except to tell you how enormously grateful I am for your having shared it.
Andrea,
Thank you for sitting with it and giving it an extra round of attention. I feel you out there each week witnessing me… it truly means a lot.
Everyone,
I’m a super grateful blogger this week. This has to be some of the best bunch of comment love I’ve ever had.
xxxooo
Slade
Paula,
Your comment came in while I was responding to the others…
The Musical Scene you pin-pointed. A Behind-the-Screens note of disclosure — I realized there is a very specific reference point which a few of you will get:
That Scene for me points to one of my all-time favorite hours of television ever — the tongue-in-cheek classic “Once More with Feeling” episode of Joss Whedon’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer, aka The BVS Musical.
Oh, THAT explains everything! LOVE it, LOVE it, LOVE it – BTW – if you’ve never seen Firefly the series – check it out
Love,
PK
I must say, I do have a hard time stopping the spinning of the windmills of my mind long enough to appreciate those moments. It is, however, between those crescendos that the relative quiet is ever so apparent. You really did teleport me to a moment of that sort – I was circling out away from myself through one of those scenes where Piper freezes time or Clark is in super-speed and the camera, my consciousness pans out and around the world of activity that hasn’t a thing to do with me. It extends out into what might as well be infinity. I suppose it is. A universe of refrigerator hums and scripts playing out. It’s kind of like the special joy of an invisibility spell we talk about. No one looking to you to do anything. Freedom to just take it in.
Then again, there’s this potential energy in that moment. Like sitting on the dock of a glassy-still lake in the early morning and finally deciding to dip your finger and send ripples out into the world. The butterfly effect.
It’s a gift just to note it and contemplate it. Thanks for the challenge to draw my mind into the “now” of those moments more often and curb my addiction to anxiety about moments not yet arrived and clinging to worries over moments past. I love your mind.
PS
“I don’t want to be
Going through the motions
Losing all me drive
I can’t even see if this is really me
And I just want to be Alive”
I miss Joss on television.
Hi Slade,
Well I was intrigued to see what I identified as sermon from your posts and what I might put in some other category. So I went thru them all, to remind myself what I felt when I saw them the first time. So it’s a long response, but here goes.
Are You TRYing to Fail?
The Right Way to Pray
How You Can Stop Feeling Like a Failure
Who You Are Becomes you
The Stories That No Longer Serve You
Psychic Channels, Signals & Noise
Why Not You?
Spining Your Story
The Nature of Epiphany
Teaching What You Came Here to Learn
Shaking the Hell Right Out of It
If Your Cup Is Full, Stop Pouring
Any post about money, manifesting it, not manifesting it, why one might not be manifesting it or how one can, I was tempted to but in the tongue-in-cheek category of ‘Journal Entries’, but knowing that is not at all what you meant when you referred to that particular title. So my best place to put those posts is under lessons. I suppose since I’m at SYS, I could call them Sunday School Lessons. I never went to Sunday School, but I presume no one thre was telling kids how to handle the energy of money, at least not when it would have been age appropriate for my attendance.
Certainly some of these articles could have more than one of your classifications of Sunday School Lessons, letters, journal entry, lectures or infomercials, depending on who was reading and for what purpose.
One of my favorite posts is “Truth Can Never Be Introduced” so I would put it in the journal entry column, something of personal realization that remained as assistance always for you and you in turn shared with readers.
You didn’t designate Most Informational Post, so I created my own colum for that, “Who Are You Talking to When You Talk to Yourself?”. I just couldn’t classify it as infomercial, for that you would have had to include the top ten ways I talk to myself or some such similar attention getting tactic and I generally don’t find that kind of stuff here.
In the letter category, my perception would be of a most personal post, so this is another on the top of my list favorites, “The Art of Surrender”. I love letters, I loved this post.
Not only did I enjoy this entry, but I feel like it greased a wheel or two and left me open to one of those moments. I’m not stranger to moments like this, but things have definitely felt -off- lately, and when this one came it took me a bit by surprise.
I’ve been going through a process since then. Well, even before then. It’s been a long time coming. But there’s one important lesson I’m being reminded of again and again:
There’s nothing we can’t face. Except for bunnies.
Seth,
Love your mind more than any other on the planet and you know it. The vast majority of my words here, little wavelets on the shore, would not exist without all the stones we dropped in the deep end ten years ago.
Barbara,
Wow! Thank you for the awesome editorial effort. I will honor your list by including it on my Start page very soon. Your perspective is much appreciated.
Jonah,
Bunnies! Bunnies, it must be bunnies!
Guys, I could imagine a million and one opportunities to honor Joss Whedon and BVS; how and why did it pop up here? I just got a great idea for a “Hush”-inspired blog post…
…like floating on a sea as still as glass, waiting for a breeze to move the sails
of your life. not sure the direction it will take. not even sure if you’re physically
breathing yourself. lost in total calm. memories of past storms forgottten. knowing once motion resumes, huge gusts can carry you to into directions
unimaginable, unchartable. wondering if anyone will find you. not caring if they do…
i’m awake in those wee hours of morning, suspended in darkness, feeling
more than islolated. came in search of words to validate my very presense of
life and found comfort here. my love and thanks to everyone. rebecca.
Okay, so I’ve read it now, maybe 8 times, since this morning and everytime I become more in awe of the moment, the now of just reading it. It’s beautiful and quiet but so affecting. I’ve been working with a counselor on / off for a while, she likes to use pieces from a method she studied, uses, teaches called The Solution Method. I’ve found a power in using some of the pieces and one of them is something called joy points, where we just simply stop and notice something in the present that brought us some joy, that put us just in the moment. It was odd at first recognizing some of the things that I never did before, on a conscious level at least. It was enlightening, because it brought to me a sense that even if I was in a day that just wasn’t good for me, that I was able to appreciate that moment, alone, that present, with my joy – even if it was only a half a second. I did a group with her and we’d have to read aloud some of the points we collected for the week, some of our favorites and for me it could be something as simple as just looking out my window and having that first sip of coffee in the morning. Or on my frazzled car drive home, after pushing button after button on the dial I would come across a song from a long time ago that for a split second brought out a pain or a yearning so strong and I just had that present moment to return to it, just me, even thought the guy next to me was sticking his finger in his nose, talking on his cell phone, I could just come back to the song, me, the now and give it to myself. One day in particular I remember a point for the day. It made me think of you and the ritual, the cleansing you helped me perform. I was just walking to my car after work and the wind was so cool and strong and it completely wrapped it’s arms around me and was blowing so strong it was like this massive hug around my body. It went into my sleeves, down my back, through my hair and it just embraced me and I just stopped and let it hold me for as long as I could, until it left. We talked a lot about the wind that night and you understood my love for the feel and you talked to me about change. And I thought of you within that stillness of such movement and flurry. And after reading this one, two, four, many times later, it brought me that feeling. Thank you so much for sending me this link. I would have made my way there eventually
[...] Relatively Quiet, Significantly Present “I can’t help but notice how the most significant moments in my interior life are so relatively quiet. . . The Present may disappoint you in its ordinariness. “ [...]
[...] Akemi from “Yes to Me” collected the Best Spiritual Posts of the year. I was so happy to have my post “Art — Spiritual and Healing” on this list. There are many talented bloggers featured and it is something to bookmark and return to until you have read them all! Akemi did my Akashic Record Reading and Clearing earlier this year and has become a good friend. She has been very inspirational to me in developing spiritually. Akemi put together an amazing list of spiritual posts including “Living Your Life Purpose”one of my favorite posts of hers, “Relatively Quiet, Significantly Present” from Slade at Shift Your Spirits and many of my other favorites from the year. Thank you Akemi — You gave me some new bloggers that I love and subscribed to after checking out your list as well as highlighted some of my favorites! [...]
The contrast you employ is visually stunning.
“It’s not particularly dramatic. It may not be especially magical.
It is infinitely powerful.”
And how you end with these last three sentences.
WOW.
That’s all I can say.