A gift with no recipient

During a three-week retreat some thirty years ago, a group of advanced students of the spiritual teacher Jeru Kabbal were given an exercise. The exercise involved choosing a spot in the countryside around the retreat centre and then spending eight hours on that particular spot. Jeru advised to take a sun hat, plenty of water and some nuts or other snacks. He said the idea was not to move away from that spot, except, if necessary, for a brief toilet break somewhere nearby.

I am one of those students. After walking around for a while, I choose a spot in the shade at the edge of a small lake, far away from the others. Having settled down on a flat stone, I sit there hour after hour, observing the micro-landscape around me. More and more I see. Beetles bustling about, a frog sunbathing on the other side of the water on a piece of dead tree trunk (it’s almost impossible to spot because it’s camouflaged), tiny leaves half-hidden amongst other vegetation. A miniature universe is unfolding in this spot; miniature to me, but not to its inhabitants. Their entire lives play out here. Each of these tiny creatures has its own task. A marvelous world reveals itself as I watch. Normally, I would have walked straight past this spot in a single stride.

Many hours later, as the sun is already beginning to set, everything suddenly fades away. I am one with the frog on the other side, with the little beetle making its way, with the swaying leaves, the ripples on the water. It is one grand experience in which there is no longer any ‘I’ to be found. And if there is still an ‘I’ of which I am aware, it is filled with awe.

This was my first experience of oneness. It was as if the divine had revealed itself. When I finally walked back to the retreat centre to report to Jeru, I assumed that from now on I would always experience things this way. I had reached the end of the journey. That turned out not to be the case; after half a day, the experience ebbed away. That’s how it is with experiences: they come and they go. I would only come to understand that later.

I have had other moments when the divine was gracious and granted me a glimpse. I am still grateful for these experiences: they are etched in my memory as strange milestones. However, for most people a peak experience does not bring the search to an end. What stops the searching is seeing what is always so, each moment. And that is what you call a valley experience: embracing the everyday, the natural, the simple, existence as it presents itself in every moment. That, too, is divine, just less spectacular.

This has changed my perspective. Now I would say that grace is simply being here. It encompasses everything that presents itself within it. Grace is sitting at the computer right now, organising my thoughts and watching my fingers type. This moment is grace.

The word ‘grace’ is found in many religions and spiritual traditions. What is meant by it seems to vary. What does not vary is that grace would be something you can force or bring about, or something to boast about. It is a gift that eradicates the recipient.

In this InZicht, you’ll find more on what grace is and what it does with the recipient.