At first I don't notice her, even though she's always here - I walk by
her many, many times each and every day. Engaged as I am as I
concentrate on doing something else, I'm not paying
attention
to her - but neither am I paying
attention
to anything else, other than the task at hand. Then I turn around ...
and there she is, just sitting here. Her expression, which I've seen so
many times before, immediately gets me, as if I'm only now seeing it
for the first time. It's like a
laser beam
locked on its target, and all I can do is stand stock still looking at
her, freeze-framed, motionless, rooted to the ground, gazing in wonder.
What I see when I look in the eyes of this child (she's little more
than a baby, actually), is unmistakably total love. "Define 'total
love' Laurence?", you could ask. Yes I could give it a shot ... but to
do so would be pointless: if I did, the wordiness of its
definition would only get in the way of the immediacy of this
experience. Total love is one of those qualities you recognize without
question when you see it. No definition is required for that which you
grok (as Robert Heinlein may have said). And no, that
"you" doesn't refer to you personally: it means all of
us human beings recognize it without question when seeing it.
The thing is I've looked in the eyes of some amazingly powerful adults
as well, and I've also seen total love in their eyes. But what gets me
as I look in this child's eyes, unable to turn away, unable to avoid
her look, is the pureness of her love: no sophistications, no
worldliness, not having learned how to be any particular way,
not having learned how to make a grand impression, not proving
anything, no cleverly compensating for something, no
nothing
... but love.
Melted, and completely taken aback with her ultra-clear innocent, sweet
intensity, I ask myself "Is this really total love you're seeing in the
eyes of this child, Laurence ... or is this you
imagining
you're seeing total love in the eyes of this child?" - you know, a
transformed
differentiation (listen: the distinction isn't trivial). As I look at
her, as I
stand
here with her, being with her experience, I realize for the purposes of
what I'd like to bring forth out of this conversation (and when I let
in the expression in her eyes, I immediately know there will
be a conversation), it doesn't matter. What I see is
total love in the eyes of this child, which I'm careful not to
obfuscate with "I'm
imagining
I'm seeing total love in the eyes of this child" - even if there really
is an element of truth in it.
Pretty soon I begin to wonder "If she's this young and she's neither
had the experience nor the time to learn to love something,
anything, then where's the object of the love I'm seeing
coming from her?". That's when I realize in her case there's no
object of love. That's when I realize objects of love only occur
for older people. Her love, on the other hand, so pure, so sweet, so
innocent, is simply the love of Life for itself. And she,
so young that there's barely been time for her to learn any of the ways
of
the world
a human being will invariably have to learn in order to survive, in
order to get along in life, is hardly one moment away from
her
source,
from Life itself. It's when I realize what the look in her eyes shows:
it's Life's own love of itself ie it's Life's own love of Life.
If we're going to be thrown any particular way (and given
the way it is
for human beings, we are), then what a stunningly beautiful way it is
to be thrown: as Life itself loving Life itself. We are
that Life is our
source.
To be sure, that invariably and
inexorably
becomes covered up as we learn. And Man! we will learn
... Yet it's always there, always available to be uncovered
like a possibility all the time, at every moment of our
lives, under any and all circumstances. If it can be discovered, if and
when it's revealed, what becomes available is the always mighty
miraculous,
the only life worth
living,
the only game in town.