Living on the Edge

I live on the edge of a gorgeous national park–and global environmental destruction. Unusual weather, fires, floods, drought, tornadoes, hurricanes, tsunamis, rising sea water, radioactive plumes, or at least contaminated soil, food, and air effect us all to some degree. Biological warfare that is human made, along with ever mutating micro organisms heighten my sense of being not in control of my physical environment. In one sense I live "on" the edge in that I am not physically located "over" the edge in the most devastated zones. So far, the house I live in, the water I drink, the air I breath, and the food I eat are well above the global average. But physical disasters could strike anywhere at any time. Even in the best of situations I live with the awareness of the impermanence of everything material.

I live on the edge financially. After years of believing that I could and should control my finances, I no longer believe this is possible. I do what feels authentic and responsible when choices appear, and somehow have what is needed in the material realm, but I am often surprised about where the money comes from and where it goes. I can almost expect the unexpected. A friend needs a loan, a large appliance breaks, the basement needs de-molding... meanwhile someone I met once years ago calls to buy a painting, someone else sends a check as a holiday gift... I no longer linger over a budget or checkbook making predictions, for conditions are likely to shift beyond my means to control them. There is no longer any fear about this, simply wonder, about how it is all playing out.

I live on the edge of health and illness, not knowing how this little body may feel tomorrow, expecting neither illness nor health to last. The little Emily character that I appear to be in this movie of life does not know what the script holds for her. I can make some choices about self care such as what to eat, but not control how much exposure I get to environmental contamination. There is daily gratitude for thus far having all limbs and senses intact, and for having endured such pain and insanity that I know that what I really am cannot be destroyed even if the body and brain disintegrate. I live on the edge of being entwined within a mortal body while being immortal spirit.

I live on the edge socially. There is no team or pack or partner with whom I run, no solid boundary of human connections that I lean into for security or identity. Each day is a surprise: whom I meet, what we do, what is said, how we will feel. I live as if these connections and meetings were all on schedule, going according to some bigger plan–except that from where this small self sits she cannot see that plan, what she sees is only whatever is happening now. I encounter each person I meet as a mystery, finding out what life shows me about each of us each day. I enjoy the moment when I meet someone's eyes and feel the spark of connection. We are all in this together.

I live on the edge of time. On the one hand, aware of its passing, in a linear fashion, at an ordinary human pace, day upon day, year upon year. And yet, there are moments of turning the noodle from side view to end view, as spiritual teacher David Hoffmeister says, and picturing all of it, all of time, as one simultaneous instant. In the film series "The Wonders of the Universe" physicist Brian Cox describes the evolution of the universe as taking billions of years to go from the Big Bang to human life on earth, and that it will take billions of years for the universe to stop expanding and drift into perfect stillness and nothingness again, and that the amount of time that the universe will maintain suns and planets which can support life is but an instant out of that whole spectrum. Gary Renard's spiritual mentors in the book "The Disappearance of the Universe" teach that we are already home in heaven (because we actually never left), (it's just that one part of our mind fell into a dream of separation, a "tiny mad idea" which lasted but an instant). They explain that all of this complicated life is but a memory of that dream being reviewed.

I live on the edge of reality. On the one hand, the water I just drank was cold and delicious–the water and the body drinking it sure seems real. All that is physical seems real from the perspective of the ordinary senses. And yet, there are frequent glimpses in which all of this appears as a dream, a vivid hallucination, a holographic trance projected by a mind that is dreaming it all–including dreaming up this body, like a little figure in a video game that is designed to operate inside of that virtual world. At the same time, there is awareness of being that which watches all of this and is indestructible. With the notion that this uncertain, pain filled world is but a dream, I can relax and enjoy the parts of the dream that seem wonderful. I can afford to open my eyes to destruction as well as delight, open my heart to tenderness and risk empathically feeling the woes of the world. I can dare to see others as myself–no matter what they appear to do wrong–because this is all a dream. Does this mean I do nothing? It hardly appears that way!

Moment by moment, as we appear to live through our lives, reviewing the dream, they explain, we have a choice to perceive everything from the perspective of the ego mind, which is based on the belief in separation and fear, or the divine mind, which is based on unity and love. Which lens I choose will determine how I view life and even what events appears to happen. I have experienced miracles from being willing to allow my perception to shift from the egoic to the divine, which A Course In Miracles calls the "holy instant." In the instant that I pull away from frightened doom and gloom thinking into openness to see things in a new light, in the instant that I look upon a situation or person with acceptance instead of judgement, I am no longer trapped in the structure of linear time, of cause and effect, a victim of past events, and neither is the rest of the world. In that moment, what appears to be true and real can suddenly shift as if someone stopped the movie, edited out some scenes of strife, gave everyone a revised script, and spliced the reel back together. I have been witness to such instantaneous transformation. It can be subtle or jaw-dropping amazing. Either way I feel a shift away from fear and a return to inner peace, and clarity about my role in the moment. This inspires me to keep opening my heart and mind to this perceptual shift that replaces what the body's senses tell me is true with spiritual vision which sees everything in the light of love. This takes practice. This is the edge that I live on now, moment by moment, throughout every day.