I have learned that I can only know the truth of any situation by being quiet and curious.  The mind is a constant feedback loop of the past and a reiteration of our undigested pain.  It doesn’t leave room for things like openness, wonder and listening.  The mind is built on the past and rarely leaves room for anything new.  The greatest fear of the mind is to not know or even worse; to be wrong.

So I sit with a question and a simple and sincere desire to know the truth.

I went to bed last night feeling an absence of love.  A repetitious family dynamic.  An absence of love feels like an ache in my chest and the stirrings of anxiety in my belly.  I didn’t sleep well.  I know in my heart that I am never truly void of love and yet when family triggers happen I really feel it.  I feel it in my entire physiology. 

As I settled into my morning practice I immediately became aware of the quiet and the familiar ways that the morning greets me.  I felt safe and held.  I began to wonder and then wrote down the question:  “is love ever absent?”.  One of my favourite practices is what I call, “the art of asking a question”.

In this kind of inquiry I don’t rely on the repetitious nature of my mind for the answer but instead turn towards my own experience of the present moment.  She is my teacher.  The present moment always provides new and reliable information.  She is trustworthy.

I couldn’t find an absence of love anywhere that I looked.  I am always thorough and sincere in my looking.  I couldn’t find an absence of love in the sounds I heard around me or in the quietness between the sounds.  I couldn’t find an absence of love in the way my feet were gently crossed and resting on each other or the way I held the coffee cup to my lips.  I couldn’t find an absence of love in the warmth and softness of my housecoat or the way my hand made contact with my heart. I couldn’t even find an absence of love in the familiar sounds of traffic or the tap tap of the computer keys. 

I couldn’t find an absence of love in the way I asked the question and waited quietly for the response.

I could see twinkling lights on the mantle, a candle that I lit for a friend who is struggling, a plant reaching out towards the sun, the light beginning to come in through the curtains, a cozy colourful quilt and a neatly stacked pile of books.  A word on the page of an open book, SANCTUARY.

If we are sincere in our wanting to know the truth we have to question everything.  We live in a mind made reality that is seldom questioned.  We assume that if we believe it then it must be true irregardless of the pain and confusion it causes.

When we believe that love is absent it hurts and leaves us with no option other than to go out and look for love.  We leave the sanctity of the present moment, our home, in search of love.  When we inquire into the belief we slowly discover that love has never nor could ever be absent.  We can rest here and know that we are held here. 

“The only place we will ever meet God is right here in the intimacy of our own experience.  Be quietly present.” ~ Candace

If you are interested in “the art of asking a question” I am happy to provide a free 20 minute consultation about my private and group sessions.  You are welcome to contact me here through the website. 

All of Candace’s services are Trauma, PTSD, Complex Grief, Chronic Illness and Benzo withdrawal symptom sensitive.

Candace Kirby, Counsellor

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