We soon arrived at a place called Rocky Mountain National Park. When we got out of the car, she headed straight for the brush, yet again. I followed her, scurrying tentatively over fallen trees and rough ground. There was no visible trail, but it didn’t seem to matter. She knew where we were headed.
After half an hour, we opened to a wondrous valley. At its heart was a lively river, sparkling and churning between two rock formations. Spidery rock climbers scaled the jagged mountain across the way. After a few moments, she took off her shoes and ran down the hill toward the river. I took my shoes off and clumsily raced after her. She was fast, a spry little wood nymph with winged feet. Whenever I got close, she darted off in another direction, laughing joyfully. Just before the river, I caught up with her and we found our way to a large rock at the river’s edge.
Sarah spoke: “This has always been a precious place for me. I come here to remember. I never came here with anyone. Until now.” I looked into her eyes, not knowing quite what to say. I was never at a loss for words when I was talking about nothing, but heart-talk was an entirely different thing. I had yet to establish the resonance and groove.
The river raced by, as the sun’s rays bounced off the water. I moved in to kiss her. Our lips brushed. She pulled back, tilting her head to the left. Then she furrowed her brow and looked square on into me, as though to say ‘This moment should not be taken lightly. This little kiss is a BIG step.’
“You know we don’t need that. We’re already there,” she said.
“Desire gets in the way.”
“But what about healthy desire?”
She was quiet for a moment, and then asked, “Does it ever stay healthy?,” like someone whose youthfulness belied her wisdom.
I stepped back and looked right at her. With one gaze into her eyes, I could no longer form a response. And it didn’t matter at all. In this place of hearticulation, there was no need for words. This love spoke a language all its own, a grammarless lexicon of longing and union. Who needs syllables when you can hear each other’s souls?
I moved toward her again. This time she met me. We stayed with our lips locked for minutes, plummeting deeper and deeper into love with every breath. Entranced by her divinity, my breath fell into alignment with hers, bridging our hearts across the dimensions. Profound love sensations coursed through me, stroking my armored heart back to life. I opened my eyes, and I saw that her eyes were opened too. It was the nature of this love to want to be seen.
This love didn’t just transcend the details, it transformed them. The rock we stood on became an eternal bridge, erected for us and us alone, ushering us deeper into wonder with every kiss. The cold water that splashed against our ankles, the rivers of essence. The hands that touched my face with tenderness, the hands of divinity. The more time we spent together, the holier the world became. We had opened the door to a sacred universe. I felt both impenetrable and entirely exposed at the same time. Yet another undress rehearsal.
In the no-blink of an eye, I got it. Enlightenment isn’t a head trip- it’s a heart trip. Gusts of God blowing through the portal of the heart. We may want to enlighten through the safety of the mind, but the God-self lives in vulnerable places. As we dunked our hearts in the rivers of essence, everything became God. And God became everything. Holy moley!