Lift the stone and you will find me; cleave the wood and I am there.
—Jesus Christ
He who knows himself, knows God.
—Muhammad
Presence shows itself most often as a simple expression of full awareness. Almost everyone has had the pleasure of being in the vicinity of people who carry with them a certain magnetism that can’t easily be described. There’s just something about them. More often than not, this kind of energetic authority is seen by the ego as charisma, or what a Hindu practitioner might call shakti. Regardless of its name, any being that embodies this presence radiates a certain clarity that we can’t seem to ignore. It’s like when I’m watching my cat stalking something in the backyard and I can’t take my eyes away from what he’s doing. The same applies to any of us if we are fully engaged in what we are doing. If, at any point in time, we are resting in deep attention, it will always have the potential of pulling mysteriously at a part of anyone else nearby. Especially when we stalk things in our backyard.
The fully present among us can’t help but be compelling. The space that they occupy speaks to something special within us: our own, most sacred sense of Being. If we’re alert, we can sense this energetic field within ourselves, even as we do even the most mundane of life’s work. We can uncover our sacred presence as we water our plants, brush our teeth, eat our meals, wash our dishes, or pay or bills. All that we need to do in order to live from this space is pay full attention to whatever it is that we are doing.
One of my most memorable experiences of presence occurred when I first stepped into the kitchen at Green Gulch Farm Zen Center. The staff busily prepared breakfast for the community; I helped with the zucchini muffins. As I grated the squash, I couldn’t help but notice the precision and care offered by each of the participants in this culinary dance, all of which was in total silence. It was as if each person were having an inter-subjective, or telepathic, experience with some type of spiritual Big Chef that called all the shots, all at once.
One of the cooks in particular was so amazingly focused on slicing strawberries that I couldn’t take my eyes off him. There was nothing unnatural or forced about what he was doing. It just appeared that the entire process of strawberry slicing was an expression of this guy’s whole being: his activity was careful and yet carefree, focused and yet open, free of anything extra. Without any reservation whatsoever, he gave every bit of himself to the slicing of these big beautiful strawberries, as a gift to all of us. I, on the other hand, was distracted by his grace and kept nicking my knuckles on the grater. As silly as it must sound, a deep longing arose in me to be able to do something, anything, with as much presence and care as the guy slicing strawberries that morning. I wanted, in that moment, to be able to live from that type of fullness.
This mental and physical orientation toward living fully shows up in our experience as a weaving together of wisdom and compassion in all that we do. Our full attention to the present moment and whatever it offers is wisdom, while any of our participation that is guided by this full attention to the present moment is compassion. Putting these together, like hands meeting for a prayer, allows for a different kind of relationship with the circumstances of life. All things that come from this meeting of wisdom and compassion become a holy and celebratory way of living. Our participation from this place is the unfolding of our Ultimate Life. In this spacious unfolding, all things become recognized as miracles of the Universe’s constant creativity. From here, there is nothing left to do except smile and bow.
