By Diane Feen
We pass each other on the street or meet at parties or restaurant openings. Sometimes we sit next to each other at doctor’s offices or stand in line together at the post office. We might notice what the other person is wearing or what their hairstyle looks like.
But do we really see each other? Do we get a grasp of the person beyond the persona?
I ask myself that often lately. Not because I need clarity on strangers or because I have suddenly taken to seeing beyond the physical form. But because after spending a week with strangers of great means (monetary) I noticed that no one seemed to see me. Yes, they saw the gray hair peeking out of my baseball cap and the lack of cellulite creeping up my thighs, but no one seemed interested in finding out what was beyond the black tank suit I wore to swim class.
There was conversation over lunch about alimony and trips to Egypt. There was banter about personal chefs and famous relatives, but it seemed as though the social structure was built upon similarity. Those who were married to men of means spent time with others like them. There was a lot of chatter (let’s face it, these were women) but I wondered what the chatter was about. I rarely heard anything of substance (other than what yoga class to take or caloric intake was best for the day).
Because the group heard I was a journalist I was immediately typecast as a spy. Everyone became mute when I was around and looked at me as if I were an intruder in search of their innermost secrets to expose to the public. But they were wrong. The lawyers and judges, doctors and scientists didn’t seem to interest me at all. Their one dimensional personas and lack of emotional depth left me contemplating the snail that lives near my front door. It is him I wonder about. I wonder why he is always sitting in the middle of my walkway. I wonder if he can see me or if he just sits there to get in my way (like an old boyfriend might).
But at least my snail has a purpose. And up until a few weeks ago, I thought I did too. But it took me until I arrived at the Self Realization Fellowship Retreat in Encinitas, Calif., to understand why I felt to foreign in my own country. As I entered the private grounds of this spiritual retreat site (across from the Pacific Ocean) someone gave me a warm engaging smile (silence is the premium currency there).
Ah ha, I thought. That kind sweet smile from a total stranger was an affirmation that I existed. It was a nod that we were both human beings despite our probable differences in career goals or mortgage rates. It was then that I realized that many of my former spa mates were spiritually impoverished. They were so used to gaining gratification from high profile careers (or husbands) that everyone else seemed beneath them. They were all swimming in the shallow end of the psychic swimming pool.
And why not? When everyone is always telling you how wonderful you are you don’t need to develop the depth of your character (or your spiritual side). And that’s OK – because in this time of sociological and political upheaval the debate seems to focus on our differences, not our similarities.
But in the end we are all the same. We may not watch the same TV shows or eat at similar restaurants, but ultimately we all want to be loved, to be seen and to be heard. And not because of what we have accomplished in the courtroom or because of the man we married, but because it is our birthright as human beings.
If you want to experience the depths of your being or want to take a spiritual pilgrimage – check out Self Realization Fellowship Retreat, 760-753-2888. They have a few locations.