The image of ourself, the "I"-thought, does not want to die. It wants to
stay around and enjoy its own drama. If the "I-thought" smells its death, it
lights up with fear. That fear, that anxiety, is the primary experience of
the separate self. We think we are terrified of not existing. But when we
don't exist there is no terror. This is not philosophy or speculation. We
have all seen this and know this. All of our "peak" experiences, such as the
intensity of love, occur in our absence. In this resolution of duality--the
disappearance of "me" and "other"--there is a lucidity of experience not
belonging to anyone that is more compelling than anything "we" could ever
create on our own. We spend so much time trying to appease our apparent
separation from life by collecting new experiences. Has anyone noticed that
we do not exist at the end of the rainbow of ecstatic joy? We must die in
order for rapture to be present. In this way, dying is good.
As the ideas and images and fears and memories of the separate self are
washed out into the sea of pure awareness, a new person is born. That person
has no name and no birthplace. There is a soft light shining in the eyes, an
encompassing heart, a forgiving mind. The hands are open, not grasping, not
pushing. Without doing, things are done. When help is needed, help is
offered.
There is no point in preserving the very thing that obstructs the experience
of the Self. We are happy to die, to drown in the ocean of infinite being,
consciousness, and bliss. We only become afraid when we think about it. When
we see that what we want requires the death of our smallness, the
"I"-thought smells death and becomes afraid. It won't easily die. We have to
make it into a game. Tell it that dying is fun and that after it dies, it
can go shopping.
--Robert Rabbin
"The Sacred Hub"
The Crossing Press
�1995 by Robert Rabbin
