Masks

I remember when I was a kid, masks scared me. Halloween would come around, and I'd have the life scared out of me by roving trick-or-treaters. I mean, I was terrified.

I also used to have this recurring dream, something I still remember. In the dream, my mother was there, but it wasn't really my mother. And it truly spooked me out.

It is interesting how no one is what they are. We wear masks. We project images. We are never what we say we are.

At some point, if you are aware, you begin to see the facade. The women who snub you, the men acting tough and trying to intimidate you, the competitive pseudo-intellectuals bombarding you and self-important; the domineering co-workers, the abusive boss, the uptight control freaks. All of them scared, all of them putting up a front to control you, to keep themselves safe. It's a false game, a game of illusion. It's destructive.

You can tell when someone is intelligent because they don't think and behave in images; they don't think in terms of women, men, black, white, brown, housed, homeless, poor, rich, high status and low status. They are a joy to be around because they don't try to put themselves or you or anyone else in boxes. Those categories, those images, those identifications, those labels, that divisive thinking creates barriers, mental distortion, division, hatred, war, poverty, misery.

Without them, there is direct, whole attention. Which wipes out all the barriers. Which is care. Which is love.