We are, most of us, most of the time, small-minded, but every now and then that changes, and our knowing becomes profound. In those moments the door to the hut swings open, and we experience an unexpected shift into a type of consciousness that, for a time, delivers us outside the confining walls of the little place we live day to day.
There are many words and phrases sprinkled throughout the literature of religion and psychology to describe such experiences. The Quakers call them “openings;” the psychologist, Abraham Maslow, called them “peak experiences;” L.M.Montgomery referred to them as “flashes;” Jean Vanier speaks of “blessed moments” when, for an instant “we are no longer controlled by fear, anger, indifference, vengeance, or feelings of despair and unworthiness;” John Milton testified that in such moments he experienced the “enormous bliss of Eden;” C.S.Lewis said he was “Surprised by Joy;” and the great Spanish mystics, St. John of the Cross and Teresa of Avila spoke of “consummation” with divine love. Many others refer to them as epiphanies, or mystical experiences, or as moments of awakening, ecstasy or self-transcendence. In my own work with students over the past fifteen years I most often referred to them as “thin moments:” moments when the veil, or curtain, of ordinary consciousness lifts, or becomes thin, and we are able for a time to escape the limitations of everyday perception.
The problem with these descriptors, including my own, is that they can sound so elitist and esoteric, or so sanctimonious, that most people outside a religious studies class wouldn’t be caught dead using them, and simply assume they have no relevance in their lives. That’s a great shame, because the expansive experience to which they all refer is not the special prerogative of a spiritual elite, or of especially gifted writers and thinkers, but of every human being, and has nothing to do with being religious, or even intelligent.
Many individuals have become convinced that the key to spiritual wellness is something they must acquire from outside themselves, not realizing that the Holy Grail is right there, in their own experience, and that they need to reclaim what has been usurped by institutional religion, or devalued within our materialist culture; namely, the realization that all of us, in the midst of all kinds of everyday activities, experience a direct connection to the grandeur of Life Itself, and that we do it without the mediation of priests or preachers. Further, when we pay close attention we discover we already have everyday vocabulary to describe such experiences.
Consider, for example. the doorways to the eternal that are discovered at the hockey rink, on a basketball court, or at any number of other sports venues. It may sound far-fetched, yet most individuals who have participated in athletics know what it is to be “in the zone.” I have been there myself, and have heard the experience described by dozens of others. What they invariably say is that on certain occasions during a game, or even a solitary run, they achieve a level of performance that is so effortless and automatic that it seems some greater force has taken over their minds and bodies, and that they can do nothing wrong. It might be sports lingo, but it is also the language of spiritual alignment. Further, every fan can recall the immense joy of those moments when the finesse and grace of a superb athlete shattered the barriers of what seemed humanly possible, and made everyone in the stands feel for a time enlarged and liberated, as if they themselves had accomplished the feat.
Then there is music. It seems almost all of us can recall times when we were listening to a CD of our favourite band, or attending a concert with thousands of others, or enjoying a beloved symphony, or playing the piano, or singing in a choir, and became utterly “lost in the music.” In the elation and awe of such moments self-consciousness dissolves, along with every care and worry, and we are delivered out of our ordinary selves, and out of time. And is being lost in the music the same as being united with the divine? Of course.
Openings to holy awareness also are discovered frequently amid the circumstances surrounding the death of a loved one. Time and time again I have heard individuals testify to an experience of unanticipated acceptance and serenity in the midst of their sorrow, and of a clear and certain knowledge that everything was just exactly as it should be. The people who related these experiences were not necessarily religious folk, yet claimed that an awareness filled them that was unlike anything they had ever experienced before, and that for a brief time they were able to comprehend “the big picture.” As one woman said to me: “I don’t really know how to describe it, but for a little while it was as though a window opened up for me, and I could see that everything okay.”
Then there is lovemaking. The language of romance is filled with words and phrases that describe ecstatically the temporary loss of individual identity that often occurs when two individuals melt together so completely they feel they have “become one.” When that state of oneness is reached it is no longer a dance of egos, but of deep identity uniting with deep identity; which is to say, of being coming together with itself. And everyone who has ever been in love knows that the experience radiates, and creates a sense of deep intimacy, not just with the beloved, but with the whole world, and everything and everyone in it. It’s not surprising to me, therefore, that when the individuals we know as mystics attempt to describe their experiences, they often borrow the language of eros, and when St. Teresa speaks of how she was “ravished” and “penetrated” by divine love she was, in my opinion, merely employing religious terminology to describe what every lover has discovered.
These moments of ecstasy are, literally, moments of finding oneself outside the small field of ordinary consciousness, but are not considered by most in our society to be of any spiritual significance. Indeed, most individuals, when asked, are quick to disavow awareness of any spiritual experience in their lives. The very question makes them nervous and defensive. In their minds it would be terribly presumptuous to admit to such a thing, yet my sense is that such experiences are commonplace, and that most of the activities we enjoy deeply, and return to again and again, are enjoyed precisely because they offer the promise of temporary deliverance outside the straight-jacket of ego-absorption into a wider realm. Whether dancing, drumming, reading, cooking, cuddling, golfing, gardening, skiing, swinging, swimming, sky-diving, star-gazing or just walking the dog, when we get our minds off ourselves and our troubles, we find ourselves at home in a larger reality.
Ego, with its exaggerated sense of the individual self, creates in us the illusion of being small, and fragile, and mortal, but despite its tyranny, from time to time a deeper truth breaks through. It’s why the moments of being “in the zone,” or “lost in the music,” or “at one with nature,” are so precious. Not just because they feel good, but because they are revelations of what we are, and of our deep connection to the holy power. And that is the heart of mysticism.
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David Weale writes his "Shore Pebbles" from Prince Edward Island. You can find others in the Archive of this Blog. He is the author of our favorite Christmas story The True Meaning of Crumbfest. The unabridged Earphones Award winning audio edition of which is available from Rattling Books (print edition available from Acorn Press).
