Mountain Lake
In our class last Thursday, we discussed the metaphor of a pristine mountain lake. Perhaps at dawn. Surface like glass. Serenity incarnate.
Toss a pebble into this lake. Small ripples spread, wobble outward, quickly fading. The surface is calm again.
Let’s try a boulder. Heave it in. Big splash ... waves eventually touch the shoreline. Give it a moment. Calm again.
The lake never decides how to respond. It doesn’t brace for the pebble or resent the boulder. It receives whatever arrives, allows the disturbance its brief life, and settles. Always back to peace. Not because it works at it. Because peace is what it is.
The lake doesn’t restore its calm. It never loses it. Stillness is its nature.
We tend to operate differently. In a perpetual state of agitation. Calm not something we return to, but a condition we desperately seek.
Yet we proceed on a misguided assumption. That the world, our body, and other people are the source of joy and sorrow. All the while failing to remember our true nature: we are the mountain lake.
As A Course in Miracles reminds us, “There is a place in you where there is perfect peace.” Not a place we build. A home we’ve simply forgotten. To which we can now return.
Join me in Thursday’s class where we’ll explore this quiet tranquility no disturbance can touch, and the gentle practice of returning to it. I look forward to seeing you then.