The mind is like a mirror that reflects what’s going on in one’s life: past, present, and future. To sit in silence is to watch ongoing reflections of life in the outer world, including its many facets, nooks, and crannies. This is an important life metaphor.
In another, the meditative mind is like a two-way mirror on the wall between rooms. Life is reflected by what appears to be a mirror in a well-lit outer room. The inner room, however, is much brighter, but the mirror is so opaque that comparatively little light shines through. Thus, life passes with little awareness of one’s brightly lit interior.
A two-way mirror usually has a purpose: to enable an unseen interlocutor to observe events in an adjoining room. This is an apt metaphor because an unseen entity does gaze through the mirror at our life within the silent space, and through it to life in the outer world. This “observer” is a tricky concept for some to understand and accept.
When I was a child, I learned that God knew all my private thoughts from a heavenly perch. Somewhere along the arc of my religious life, I developed the habit of talking to myself, not so much as one might pray to God, but as with a close friend and collaborator. “Let’s do such-and-such,” I tell my interlocutor. And I never hear backtalk, protest, or criticism. Rather, a feeling of friendly support arises from the inner space.
Some resist personifying God, so they think of communing, say, with Nature. Others are fed up with images of the vengeful, angry, guilt-inducing Father figure they learned to abhor in their youth. Thus, as adults, they’ve thrown the baby out with the bathwater, rather than look for a more meaningful truth. As a lifelong seeker, I now believe a power other than myself resides within my very bright, innermost room. In fact, it’s the source of light that illuminates life with useful inspiration, insight, and creativity.
“The inner light is a spiritual balm. It heals a broken heart and smooths the wrinkles of less-than skillful behavior.”
Of course, such phenomena do seep through without meditation. But the more I meditate, the more I realize the value of merely sitting and waiting for the inspirational moment. There is light within and it takes a leap of faith to believe it can shine through an inner window that appears—from an ordinary perspective—like a mirror. Moreover, the meditative process (focusing and refocusing on one’s mantra or breathing) cleans and polishes the two-way mirror so it acts more like a window than a mirror, letting light shine through wherever one directs it: first this nook; then that cranny.
The inner light is also a spiritual balm. It heals a broken heart and smooths the wrinkles of less-than skillful behavior. One’s outer life is never static, but changes constantly. The inner life can reflect harsh outer-world realities, but the inner light represents constant peace and friendship. These platitudes are totally inadequate descriptions of the ways the inner light works experientially. Ultimately, one can only suspend disbelief long enough to give the light a try through quiet meditative moments.
In the final analysis, there’s both the practical side of meditation described above and the esoteric yearning we manifest for the light, including its gigantic reciprocal draw on us. Who can resist the power of the inner Light once we’ve experienced it?