Skip to main content

Lift Thine Eyes

This feels like an important post to me. Something, that in order to write it, I have to drop into a deep place of trust. I have to let go of needing my words to express the depth of my experience, knowing that everyone is at various stages of receptivity anyway.

I must let go, knowing profoundly, that words simply stop at a certain level, and feeling takes over. And even though the experience keeps deepening and deepening, the words remain the same. And you find yourself repeating the same descriptors over and over, but they are inadequate, because the experience is no longer the same. It has blossomed even more. But wait, wasn't it already in full bloom? That is the enigma, and the challenge. Expressing the promise of this.

This past year there has been much heartache, because I allowed the little girl inside me to come out and play. It might be more accurate to say that she was beckoned out, and took glorious first steps into the sun's rays.

It was rather a leap of faith, because until then, she had become very accustomed to hiding out in her cave, and had no intention of venturing out.

It was when I encountered some serious beautiful people in my life, and found myself falling for one, in particular. Had I made relationship my new God? No, but something in me heard a new melody, and decided to pay it heed.

This little one in me has always sought happily ever after, and gently, I let her part from my apron strings and go on her way. She began to wander through the world with renewed hope, paying close attention to the beauty. And there came so much. Her heart was wide open. Her trust was big. She was almost sure that she would truly find that love was at the heart of this world.

But her lesson seemed to be bigger than she even realized. It makes me think of this quote by Osho.

Always remember, truth cannot be said, it can be shown. It is a finger pointing to the moon. All words are just fingers pointing to the moon, but don’t accept the fingers as the moon. The moment you start clinging to the fingers – that’s where doctrines, cults, creeds, dogmas, are born – then you have missed the whole point. The fingers were not the point; the point was the moon.

The relationship that this little girl was dreaming about, was just the pointer to the moon.

The desire of her heart was never for her eyes to remain fixed upon the finger pointing to the moon, but to look upon the moon itself. But the fight was that she had never seen the moon, and so she believed that the joy and bliss were held within the finger pointing to the moon.

But because the depth of her soul knew her true heart's desire, it began the painful process of helping her to lift her eyes into the night sky, to see that big beautiful moon for the first time.

I am sure that it didn't have to be painful process, but because her grip was so tight on what she believed she understood to be her heart's desire, the release was a treacherous journey-- although, in hindsight, a deeply beautiful one.

She was releasing a key aspect of her experience, that was imprisoning her view of a possibility of wholeness that she couldn't even begin to fathom--a completion, coming from within and reflected outwardly.

She had shed many limits, but she couldn't see this one-- the prison bars having been heavily gilded and adorned in this world, from the inside and the outside of her experience. As a child hadn't the most sacred doctrine been taught her, that this mighty companion she sought would become an immortal one, and that salvation was actually attained through her partnering with him? Heavy. And all this, along with all that the world dreamed up and attached under the heading true love...

Recently, she found herself with her first real view of the moon, a oneness that couldn't compare with anything she'd been dreaming. And she couldn't believe the splendor, or how it came-- with a surrender, a reaching out, a truth telling--of opening up to be the one to receive love, balancing the receiving, with a part of her so well-versed in giving, she never expected it in return.

It wasn't with a resplendent him. It was with a sacred us, that encompassed, him and her, and all the ties that bind--brother, sister, mother, father, son, and daughter, and all degrees of friendship. But no titles really mattered, and any measure was irrelevant.

We were all seeing the moon.

The little girl found herself in conversation with Him.

So, this is what oneness feels like. I said. So, what I thought would feel like oneness, wasn't it at all?

And I heard, no, dear one, it was potential.

And I saw that the potential held in it the finger pointing the way, that if I lifted my eyes, just where it pointed, revealed the moon. And there was no comparison.

And so, this little girl grew up, perhaps fusing together all the phases of her life thus, and to come, overlaying the morning of her childhood, the afternoon of her maiden years, and the evening of her wisdom, allowing time to finally merge with itself and stand still. And what remained of the experience was the simple parts, the childlike joy, the courage to keep moving, and the wisdom of release. All forming their own big beautiful moon.

And so this love was only pointing to the moon, and it will forever be deeply honored in my heart, as having begun a different kind of journey than I ever expected--of precipitating a clarity that I could have never imagined. And in this clarity is the promise of it only deepening even further. It seems that out here, there just are no bounds.

And hadn't that been what I had told him? That he needed to become clear?

And to see how limited was my own clarity at the time, merely just a pointer to the moon for both of us.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my eyes and all is born again. --Sylvia Plath

I love this. I sang it in my Jr. High Choir, and it came wafting through my thoughts as I wrote this.


  1. Thank you, dear Brooke, for pointing the way to the moon for ua all.

  2. Thank you for sharing your discovery of the moon, and for the moving music. This post fills me with joy and delight.

  3. Hi Brooke,

    What a beautiful post! I believe that it really is true that the moon you are looking for is inside you.

    I love you, and your little girl - both so innocent, so delight-full, so ... Brooke!

    Elloa xxx

  4. You are such a treasure. How lucky am I to know you?

    Thank you for sharing the depth of your wisdom.



Post a Comment

♥ Thank you for taking the time connect with me here. ♥

Popular posts from this blog

Here With You

Photo by Daria Obymaha on Sinking lips into your tiny round cheeks, I'm home. Holding your tiny head to my heart, caressing my chin to your downy baby 'chicken fluff' we'll come to call it later, I'm home. Taking in your baby magic scent, I'm home. Pressing nose to nose, forehead to forehead, staring wide-eyed into each other's eyes, I'm home. Toting little bum and dangling legs around my middle, I'm home. Filled with purpose as you point where to go, what you see, I'm home. Your eyes, new windows to a world I thought I knew, I'm home. Holding you with fever, picking you up when you fall, I'm home. Navigating the years between, boxes of your firsts, every paint brush and pen stroke a miracle, I'm home. Saving pottery penguins, turtles, shiny red roses, a burrito with all the fixings immortalized in clay, I'm home. Kid sister fruit and craft stand on the corner, change clinking in coin purse, mag


Photo by Ben Herbert on I’m standing on a cliff overlooking the water’s edge. The sky is present, hanging there in its vastness, holding this moment with symphonic strains of gray and electric buzz. Watching, suspended, sensing. I see to both sides of me vast white cliffs carved out by relentless grasping of the ocean extending down the coastline. The earth where I am standing up above gives just the right yield and welcome, with its soft grass and dainty yellow flowers, falsely giving the impression of delicacy, when anyone can see that they are hardy to withstand the harshness of forces here. There is an undeniable tightness of gravity here, pinning me down, tugging at me, slowing down my step. I feel as if this force could just sweep me away with the littlest of a flick, like an ant off the table. It screams danger while it beckons. My life had been recently taking on new grander design dimensions when this place and I met. Dating a new man, after being a singl

I want to remind me...

My thoughts drift back to when I was a child. I had a little toy kitchen sink and stove, no nouveau riche set, à la pottery barn, but very basic and snap together. It was set up in the unfinished basement on top of orange Muppet shag rugs that covered some of the cold concrete. There was a giant TV that looked like it had been built in a giant dresser. One top of its console lifted to play vinyl records and the other to play LP’s. Look it up. My kitchen was set up in the corner by the window well, where I could see cobwebs and spiders filtering the outside light shining through. I don’t remember playing much as a kid, but I do remember cleaning up the toys stored in giant Tang cans down there--organizing and reorganizing them at my mom's bidding, to rest the perfectly sorted toys in glowing metallic green cylinders, on pastel yellow metal shelves, the quiet yellow that sort of softened the Muppet rug domination, but added a utilitarian feel to the unfinished basement. I shoul