The Gaze of Compassion

“Imagine the moment when the presence of Great Love gazes with compassion on the parts of me with which I struggle.” This prompt was brought to us by a member of our Contemplative Writing Group gathering. At the time, all-consuming Great Stress filled my life; I struggled to remember Great Love. So writing contemplatively on the gaze of compassion, I focused on my struggle to not let stress overwhelm the rest of life. “I forgot to be present! I’m such a failure! Such a fraud!”

Then I remembered that contemplative “being present” is a practice of interstitial success. Non-contemplation is expected, the norm. We work to decrease it so the in-between moments of being present and noticing Life can increase. This compassion for myself—no, you are not a failure—shifted golden dust on me. I saw that compassion is not balm. It is metanoia, turning, insight. When the gaze of compassion arrives, it heals the parts of me with which I struggle so that I can take intuitive action.

You see, my fear blocks my intuition. When I’m present, the gaze can break through. The breaking through heals the fear. The healing allows me to take the intuitive action that is so good for my soul. Walking in the rain. Studying the baby birds. Sitting on the porch with my sisters.

How does it start? With the simple desire not to let the vicissitudes eviscerate the rest of my life. The desire creates the crack in the all-consuming stress. Inside those cracks the Great Love gaze heals my wounded fear so that I can do what my soul needs to do to be part of life.

It’s a constantly revolving circle.

But for the circle to spin, I have to practice. To have at lest some cracked-open moments when the Gaze can shine and heal. When that happens enough—ha! The wounded fear shrinks. As it shrinks, the all-consuming retreats. The interstitial healed place grows.

No—can I love the places where the Gaze can’t break through too?

Light and shadow are always at the same time. We love them both. Together.