Imagine, if you will, that there is a planet covered entirely with water. It is one continuous ocean, called the Ocean of Self. It is deep and at rest, while at the same time, winds on its surface create waves. Some of these waves are small, and some great. Each wave is named by the ocean, as a way of experiencing itself, but all the while the Ocean knows it is all of the waves. No wave is separate from this Ocean of Self and there is but one Ocean of Self.
Each wave, however, has been given a name and each wave is tracked in its long journey across the surface of the Sea of Self. We may name one particular wave, Samuel V. Kirkpatrick. Sam has reached a stature of six feet high, and has traveled with his wife, Anna Marie for seventeen years now, side by side through thick and thin, hurricanes and balmy days, moving together through time. Friendly waves are always in sight, not too close, not too far.
One day, an unexpected event occurs. Land has risen from the depths. Not only has this disturbing occurrence actually happened, but they are both heading toward this land. One will surely reach the shore before the other. They both know which of them will wash up on the shore first. Closer and closer that moment comes, and then, as foreseen, Samuel reaches the shore, washes up onto its sands, and Anna Marie watches as Samuel disappears. Anna Marie feels great sorrow and loss. Where has Samuel gone? Will they ever meet again?
In a day or so, the same fate will happen to her. As the day of beaching arrives, she too washes ashore, and she falls back into being the entire Sea. She remembers that she was never the individual wave, but she herself is the Ocean of Self. So, too, is “Samuel”. They see that they are one and the same Ocean of Self. They recognize that they could never be separate from one another, because they are truly the one Ocean. Like a puppet theater, two hands of one puppeteer, they played at being separate, pretended to be close and then farther apart, fancied what it would be like to be limited in time and space, for the sake of feeling all of that, and enriched their experience of eternal being as this Ocean. Now they see that nothing can ever be lost. They are a constant, they are deep, abiding peace. They are not the individuated waves, vulnerable and limited, that come and go upon the surface of the Great Self.
This realization sets them free. They wish to experience being the waves once again, but this time, knowing full well that they are in no danger of being destroyed. Or, they may wish to be the waves in order to set other waves free from the fears those waves have of perishing, which are false fears and illusions that torment the waves that struggle so hard to simply be. Waves will splash, they will merge in momentary reenactment of their true oneness, separate, and they may well crash against a shore, but in truth they are none of it, yet each one is clearly all of the waves at once.
What was once a mystery, is now simply descriptive of what is so. They may leap back into being another wave of identification with the surface, or, they may choose to sink into the deep rest of being the Ocean itself. They may become exhausted by the tumultuous surface splashing and drama. They may also go back and forth between both experiences. It is all as they ultimately choose. They have eternity to experience all that they may conceive of experiencing in a sea of limitless possibilities. Rest from it all is always as close as relaxing down into it, deep, deep, deep.
Drawing, ” Settling Down”, and article by Ross G. Drago
Paint Rag Magazine