It is waiting for us. Perhaps we are still a bit sleepy and we cannot see it, but somehow we know it is there, waiting. Do we realize it is inside us? Maybe not yet. There are so many things we want it to be that we are not yet ready to simply let it be what it is. Maybe it is what we are, or perhaps it is what we are becoming, when we are finished waiting, and are ready at last to let it in.
We have already seen so much, welcomed so much to come in and sit down, like a new guest we are just now meeting for the first time. We are entertained by the stories being shared, and imagine we are one of the characters. We are the new-born elephant. The mother looms over us and gently nudges us to stand up. All of the other elephants draw near and introduce themselves. It is almost overwhelming, all the love. Are we in heaven, or on the great plain that stretches out in all directions?
Everywhere is filled with a light that illuminates even the smallest creatures that weave through the tall grass, enjoying the life of open-ended possibility granted to them by the great mystery. That mystery is waiting for us to die into it, so that it can come alive at last as us.
Not knowing anything about what is waiting, not waiting themselves, the multitudes of living animals just enjoy moving in the same pattern that is mysteriously reflected in those vast dynamic star systems which turn majestically in space. The tiny creatures do not know about the stars, and how they are waiting. They do not need to, they just move.
We have seen them — the lovely suns — and maybe some of us have felt their invitation. In the center of one of the stars we may have been waiting to be born, while all around us light was forming itself into what we would become, this one that we are now. When we are ready we will return to that light, as if we have never left it. Really, we never have.
We have been waiting for ourselves, but not because of any lack within us that needs to be fulfilled. We are so filled already that the great systems of stars are revolving in perfect harmony inside us at this very moment, in the same way our smallest thoughts are appearing in the pristine space of awareness. When they are gone, we are not diminished. They are waiting for us to let them go, to liberate them by the magic of recognition — that they are the foundation of all the universes, and yet they are empty of any enduring quality.
The baby elephant is nudged gently to the mother’s breast, and so it is able to feed by the miracle of life. It is good. It is “Yes!”. Why can’t we fall down in awe at that exquisite beauty, rather than devising ways to take the elephant tusks and sell them for money? Money is not waiting for us. The dead parts of life cannot wait for us.
Why do we have to destroy everything that has been waiting patiently for us to simply appreciate, to love and cherish and praise? The more we do that, entangle ourselves in the deathly motive, the more it is waiting for us, until we finally realize what we have done and collapse in tears. The tears are waiting for us. Right now, the tears are waiting for us.