One of the most challenging invitations of this human life for all of us is or would be the call to intimacy. We often limit the call to intimacy to an outward experience like the sometimes clumsy dance of physical and emotional connection within and without our relationships. We learn to navigate the landscapes of a partner’s heart, we learn to build bridges of trust, and to find shelter in mutual understanding. This external intimacy is a world of vibrant, primary colors: the bright red of passion, the sunny yellow of shared joy, the deep blue of sorrowful empathy. It is essential, beautiful, and a universe unto itself.

And yet, there is a deeper, quieter, and far more radical intimacy that awaits all of us. It does not require another person. Instead it requires a sincere willingness to turn our ‘looking’ inward. This, my friend, is the intimacy with the raw, uncurated self, the journey into an inner room most of us hvae kept locked and unvisited most of our lives. This is where the colors become muted, subtle, and infinitely more complex.

Entering this room requires a unique kind of courage. It asks for a relentless, moment-to-moment candidness. To enter this space is to agree to be utterly, uncompromisingly naked with one’s self. On this table, we must place everything we carry: our fears, our joys, the fragile globe of dreams; the heavy leaden weight of our shame; the shimmering, gossamer threads of our hopes; the cold, jagged stones of any type of guilt. We must lay them all out, side by side, under a clear and steady light of pure unbiased observation.

This, is practice! The Practice. It is not a one-time confession or a touch-and-done situation. It calls for a daily appointment. It is the practice of sitting in that room, with the door closed to the world’s demands and noise, and lovingly acknowledging every piece of ourselves on that table, on that altar. In that room, we must learn to hold the splintered fragments of our secret fears with the same tenderness we give to our most cherished aspirations. We must see the beauty in the intricate patterns of our ,what we thought was our brokenness and the light that glints off the sharp edges of regret. It is to turn to the unconditional self-acceptance that feels, at first, like an impossible feat.

In the sustained silence of this naked room, as we continue to sit with the “packages” of identity: the hopes, the fears, the stories we tell ourselves, we begin to notice the space between them. We begin to notice the quiet hum of the room itself. We become suddenly aware of the quality of the light that illuminates everything without any darn preferences. When we can face ourselves so squarely that we see the complete, transparent emptiness at our core: the sky-like nature that holds the clouds of thoughts and feelings, a monumental shift seems to occur. It is here that God seems to step in.

But oh, God didn’t step in from an entrance. This is not the “visitation from a distant deity who was waiting for you to become sufficiently pure or open”. No, it is a grand and breathtaking noticing. It is the wave, in the midst of its rising and falling, finally realizing that its very substance is the ocean. It is the sudden, earth-shattering recognition that our own fundamental being and the Being of God were never, for a single moment, separate.

The room, the table, the light were not mere metaphors for a space inside. We see clearly then that we indeed are the Room: the silent, aware space in which all of life happens.

And the packages on the table? The hopes and dreams, the aspirations and fears, the shame and guilt? We see them for what they truly are: mere objects. It becomes so incredibly laughable to see they are objects that we glued ourselves to. We begin to see that they all are experiences that can be picked up, examined, and even set down. They are clouds passing through the vast, open sky of Awareness. This is the vibrant intimacy that is painted in muted colors. An intimacy that’s not loud or dramatic. It’s one that’s quiet, unwavering. It’s the peace that comes from finally seeing that our mistaken self was the temporary character in the story and who we are is the silent, loving awareness that witnesses the entire play! It is the discovery that the most profound love affair we will ever have is with the boundless, divine space that we have always been.

Life feels intimate without intensity. Sacred without effort. Ordinary without loss.

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