When I saw my reflection in the door of the grocery story I thought, ‘If I could just go incognito.’ And something deep inside said silently, ‘Don’t worry, you already are.’

We all are. The tulips and trees, grasshoppers and goats, caterpillars and cows. Life is divine. All life forms are divinity in disguise. You and your fellow man are simply human coated gods pushing grocery carts.

Life is all about understanding our dual nature. The outside shape quickly shows signs of wear and tear from the weather. It gets crusty, rusty and worried as it teeters, like a tightrope walker, along its lifeline. The invisible inside is always intact and impeccable. It is unaffected by the wind and the rain.

They say, ‘What you see is what you get.’ But what they don’t tell you is that, ‘What you see is what you look for.’ You can choose to focus on the dissolving disguise or on the immense isness inside.

In the formless realm (meaning life on the other side of the cemetery) we are one, indivisible. In form, here in the supermarket, there is you, there is me, and there are all the other man-made masks waiting in line.

One life sliced into two different and distinct people meeting at the checkout counter. The cashier asks, ‘Cash or credit ?’ I look in my purse. Panic ! No wallet. A long line of people standing and staring, waiting and hating having to. With grocery carts filled with food and heads filled with opinions, they watch a suddenly frazzled woman begin to fall apart. Human beings are always on the brink of some sort of end of the world disaster. But the end of the world just means the end of disguise. In my case, it was the end of the illusion of the ‘oh so efficient working mother.’ A missing wallet and all my badges (super mom, hard worker, okay wife) burn to bits. Then a silent voice comes to my rescue with a brilliant idea, ‘Look in your coat pocket’. Relief. I pull it out for all to see saying, sheepishly, ‘Oh, here it is.’

Stillness is the language of the divine. It has no words. No subject matter (no subjects that matter). All living forms are fluent inside. (But some have temporarily forgotten the tune.) It isn’t used for conversation, only for recognition. In stillness we acknowledge the being beneath its current disguise. Silently it says, I see you. I know you. 

After the transaction, I’m still shaken by coming so close to death by embarrassment. The cashier hands me my receipts with a smile and without judgment. I mumble my thanks. She nods, knowingly. I can tell she sees the space inside of me and I am grateful.

Stillness, the silent language that cures all.

Groceries in bags, bags in cart. Wallet in purse, purse on shoulder. Cheeks pink. I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass panel behind the cashier. Her reflection is there too along with that of others in line. All transparent, all transposed, all transient. All gods incognito.