By the time the master found the apprentice, the young man was paralyzed by his own considerations. The master had expected as much. When he saw how fixed the apprentice was on the soft brilliant bird, he beseeched the woman to let the young man hold it. At first, the bird was jittery, but the master showed the apprentice how to gently rub its head and the bird began to coo. The master crouched down, facing the young man, their eyes fixed on each other, the small soft bird between them. The master whispered, “You are the master, and I am the bird. You must hold us in view and live.”

As difficult as it is to accept that there are no answers in life, it’s even more difficult at times to accept that no one holds what we presume are the answers. No one. We are, unto ourselves, both master and apprentice. There is only, it seems, the returning glimpse of clarity in which all is seen and felt and the muddled aftermath when all speech fails.

In essence, as we must blink a thousand times a day, what is human in us blinks continually over our being. For if the deepest eye is that Eternal Self, then our blinking lid is the smaller self, the thin membrane of our psychology, the buildup of perception and our all-too-human need to rest. In this way, our limitations humble us, covering our gifts repeatedly. As our limitations blink away, the thin bars around the soft brilliant bird are there then not, there then not. There is no escaping the mix of all this. There is only holding the mystery of truth in view, even when we’re dark.

The Therapist by René Magritte

So what are we left with? Each of us with the endless and repeatable task of discovering, un-covering, our enthusiasm, which means being at one with the energy of God or the Divine, from the Greek en (one with) and theos (the divine). Despite our endless limitations, it seems that the qualities of attention, risk, and compassion allow us to be at one with the energy of the Whole, and the result is enthusiasm. As such, enthusiasm is not a mood that can be willed or forced, but only manifest by our immersion into the current of life.

Like a bird gliding with the current of air it can’t see, or a fish swimming with the tide of deep it can’t see, or a note being sung as part of a song it can’t see, we’re all left with the necessary risk to express our demons so that the unseeable music of being may rise and carry us along. In recurring humility, our enthusiasm, our momentary oneness with the energy of the Universe, is the sound of God moving through the harp of the soul.

I recently had a moment of enthusiasm . . .