Sorry, do I know you?
Sorry, Do I Know You?
Without doubt life is a weird dance. A performance with all the twists and turns of inter-personal relationships and attachments. The longer I live the less I know. Maybe that’s the way it was meant to be. At the end maybe we’ll just fall into the compassionate arms of mystery have done our thing on the dance floor of space-time.
One of the most baffling things is our perception of those close to us. We get to a place where we think we know them only to be shocked our surprised by some emerging hidden layers. At times I wonder if we’re not just relating to a projection of ourselves – an idealised me, rather than the real other, whatever that may mean. Most of our daily interactions are I suspect on this basis. What we know about the other is the mask that they wear with pride. A camouflaged disguise to throw us off the scent of brokenness and pain. Often we are two masks boosting each others egos, our mutual appreciation society that gets us through our day.
Of course we can switch masks at the drop of a psycho-spiritual hat. Our numerous little sub-personalities that comprise ego have a store of them, from which to draw upon. A face for every situation. Like some trick or treater on speed, we flash up a new face to get what we need, a little care and attention to numb our internal pain. Is it any wonder that relationships coma and relationships go? Our friend has seen all our faces and is growing bored with them. Time to move on and admire a different set of masks. ‘It’s been nice knowing you, or more accurately not knowing you!’
The dance of the masks has many performance areas on which to do its thing. Marriage is a classic example. Many marriages break down as the effect of the illusion begins to break down, revealing what the other person was really like all along. Mask wearing is a dangerous game, for as it draws us ever closer together we open ourselves up to the possibility of our mask slipping. Our romantic projections fall away to leave us with another flawed human being, one crying out in the depths for authenticity and love. Some of us, shocked as we are, find a new love within to embrace the other’s brokenness. Others, exhausted by the marrital games of hide and seek decide enough is another and run for cover. At least until another mask passes our way and entices us into a new love dance.
Collective mask dances are powerful tools in our ego’s defensive armoury. There is safety in numbers we reason as we join in. Bumping into numerous others on the floor of collective swing, makes us feel safer for a while. Much social belonging takes this form. We interact on the basis of keeping our hidden Self behind a veil of participation. I’m afraid to say that much of our religious involvement in the little families known as church fall into this category. Churches aren’t really set up for reality, for reality would explode the group dynamic almost as soon as it was established. No, we have a religious self to deal with the depth of interaction required in our sect of choice. Just turning up with a beatific smile each Sunday, is all that is required for some groups. Others ask a lot of us, in terms of time, energy and above all cash, along with a zealous believer mask that keeps the collective group narrative in control. Yet, as soon as reality breaks through a chink in a member’s armour, and the mask falls to the ground, the collective quickly kicks in to offer them a new mask, one to be pitied in the continuing religious dance. Of course the alternative is a quick expulsion, a collective act of isolation that sends the maskless one back into the outer darkness of unbelief.
So, when we interact with others today, let’s see if we can identify our multifaceted masks. Behind the masks of others lies a real person, buried in the pain of ego. A little act of courage on our part may see us remove a mask, allowing the other to reciprocate. The first steps in a more authentic connection. Yet, to pursue such a level of inter-personal knowing requires our own internal knowing. Only Spirit can draw us into the dark room where we sit naked and alone seeking Source. But more of that next week.
