They speak like my mother speaks

When I was still a young child, my mother would periodically repeat a story about an event that happened to her when she was taking a walk in the country. This was in the early 50s. She said that for no reason at all she suddenly felt extremely peaceful as she walked. “Everything was so peaceful,” she would say. She would ask me what it was, knowing I had no answer. Then she would lament the passing of the experience and the return to the common state.

She valued the experience highly. I suppose she didn’t know how to investigate it. But about once a year — maybe when something reminded her of it, or when she especially longed for it — she would tell me about the experience.

I never doubted her story or failed to listen. It must have fascinated me. But also, I never knew how to respond. I was a kid. And maybe that was the best response, to just listen. Yes, I’ve been hearing about nonduality experiences literally all my life.

Looking back, she told me of other experiences and inner knowings. I don’t know if she ever told anyone else about them.

So whenever anyone confesses to me their spiritual experiences, it’s like listening to my mother.

Maybe those times with my mother were when I was most compassionate, wise, and communicative, because I said nothing and heard only her truth. My mind was empty of anything to say or anything to compare to her experience.

Talking about communication, here are photos of wires, poles, connectors, telling us their story — not about what crosses those wires, or about the simple beauty of their form — but of the sky.

They speak . . .

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. . . like my mother speaks.

(Truly, an artist must sit like a child and listen with an openness beyond openness.)

4 thoughts on “They speak like my mother speaks

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