Being Invisible
Not so long I realized something seemingly strange about my life that I hadn’t seen before in quite the same way. I have mastered the ability to be invisible. In retrospect, I can see that this is a power that I have cultivated all my lifetime, and in a certain respect, I was born already predisposed to invisibility. It’s a bit tricky to explain what I mean exactly by invisibility, but please bear with me, because the point is really worth getting.
I’ll begin by recounting the events on a day several years ago, when I had my first really profound experience of invisibility. I was sitting in a large conference room with about 100 other people, listening to a young woman speaking about a community project that she was in the process of designing. While sitting in the audience during this presentation, I began to notice something very interesting about my relationship to the speaker. What I noticed was that I was paying significantly more attention to my own thoughts and concerns than to what was actually being said. I didn’t just conceptualize this, but actually got it down to the core of my Being. Think for a moment about the implications of that realization … In that moment, I realized that maybe I had never really, really listened to or seen another human being. I had spent most of my time and energy my whole life managing the enterprise of I, Me, and Mine. By design we humans all convince ourselves that we’re not this self-centered, but upon examination that particular day, I knew who I had really been all those years before.
When I came to see that I had always been this way, and what I must have missed all those years prior, certain realizations began to occur for me one after another. I began to weep uncontrollably when it became obvious that just about everyone is this way, and wondered who, if anyone, is really heard? Was even one person in the audience actually listening? Were we all invisible to each other?
I then made the conscious effort to listen to the speaker, deeply, and see her. Shortly after that, a phenomenon emerged. Gradually I noticed that it was I who was speaking her words. There wasn’t any separation between “her” and “me”. Her accomplishments were my accomplishments. There was no thinking of “my” concerns anymore, because every accomplishment in all times and places now belonged to me, yet there wasn’t any “me” to be their owner. “I” had disappeared, become invisible. In that very brief span of time, concerns that had been with me for years melted away. I had never experienced such Joy. Mike was no longer Mike, he was this phenomenon. For the rest of that day, every speaker was the same, all the accomplishments and concerns belonged to the One. We had all become invisible, at least through the perception of this body called Mike. And the willingness to be invisible was now deeply implanted in me.
Gradually, over time, the intensity of the experience faded, but the old Mike never really returned. A few years later I took up the serious practice of meditation, and this is where the rubber really began to meet the road. Little by little, day by day, small bits of what remained of Mike wore off, as if being polished ever so slowly by the finest of emery boards. As this process took place, I gradually noticed how I seemed to fade more and more into the background of every scene in which I acted. Eventually I came to realize that I had always been invisible for the most part, and it was only the desire to be seen that produced any response or acknowledgment from others. In fact, even such responses rarely came with actual seeing the true nature of what Is right here, right now. Somehow over time this desire gradually waned, to the point of being almost non-existent.
Today I feel so utterly ordinary, about as noticeable as a plain rock in the garden. And yet, when I dwell in that ordinariness, I realize the incredibly rich and deep beauty of the rock. I want to invite others into this invisible realm, to see its pure Joy and Love. I do not long to be seen, nor do I need to be invisible. I just Am. Like the rock simply willing to play its role in the garden, as simple and glorious as it Is.

