Transcript

Terri: Jan says, Hello, Guy. My husband to whom I've been married 47 years has suddenly just died. I'm having trouble even believing what has happened. I'm trying to simply take one moment after another, but I am human and I love him. How can I not resist this, please?

GF: Don't resist it. Have you ever been someplace really beautiful and it was fully something wondrous to you, and then you came home and you're trying to explain to somebody what was wondrous to you? I remember when we went to the Himalayas, I took all these pictures of all this great stuff. I got home and I couldn't have been more disappointed... the picture's just not the thing. Now, why do I say that, Jan? There is nothing in creation, including our consciousness, that isn't part of a perpetual movement, where what has come acts upon what has been, and out of the relationship between those two conditions is a new condition born. You must agree, Jan, to let the experience of the loss of the man that you loved for 47 years, you must agree to let it be 100% what it is. Because you see, even grief will complete itself and become something else, but not when that grief is denied or pushed away or resisted. When you resist grief, you perpetuate it. When you accept, completely, the experience of this consciousness with whatever it is and however it's attached to whatever it's attached to... when you accept that fully -- meaning, the complete experience of it with no thought towards it at all, not thinking about "well, what does that mean" and "where did it go" and "what's going to happen" -- just the full experience of it. When you do that, then that experience completes itself. It completes itself. And when it does, you are completed as well. You have taken from that moment everything that is possible for you to understand about yourself through it, and that's what the experience is for. When I read your question, Jan -- and I did read it prior to it being posted -- I couldn't help but think of my own wife. We've been together for 40 years (more than that, I don't know how long more than that). As I was sitting there, I had this momentary, incomprehensible feeling of, "well, what am I... what's it going to be like if..." because I promised her that she could go first, because she doesn't want me to go first, she said she can't take it, and I get it. If it's in my power, I will let that happen. What would it be like to sit in that home and not know that Squirt is around? It's inconceivable and you could feel a vast hole. Every human being who has ever loved anyone will experience a vast hole in themselves. But there is no hole that comes into existence that isn't created to be filled by something new. But if we would just allow the hole that takes place at the loss of someone... how about the hole of losing face? How about the hole that happens when I come and, for instance, I want to be able to express something to you so dearly and I feel like I missed the mark? That's a hole, isn't it? But what if I don't, what if I just let the hole be the whole experience? Then there's no me holding onto it. We don't understand that resistance is actually a form of identification, and that when you identify with whatever it is that you resist, you believe it's because you don't want it. No, it's because something in us is clinging to that experience for its sake, not your sake, because there's great pain in being identified with it. You have to experiment, Jan. And I hope this is taken the right way: it is an unbelievable loss, but it can be an unbelievable gain. It can be the discovery that within you is something that, while you had a relationship with your husband, the relationship you had with your husband was nothing but a representation of another order of relationship that came into physicality, into form that you experienced and shared -- but sits behind it is the real union, the real marriage, the real love, that which cannot die and never does. And only when you die to the idea that it did, do you discover that it can't die.