Marrow by Elizabeth Lesser Page A

gold kernel of truth within each of us. It is the marrow of who you really are. It’s right there—your true self, your soul self—shimmering and powerful, free of fear, clean of envy, clear of purpose. And yet, at the same time, it’s tantalizingly out of reach, hidden under layers of crappy things said and done to you; discounted or even threatened because of your gender or class or race; drowned out by the noise of your own anxieties and shameand jealousy; terrified to show its unique and flawed face to a world that values conformity and perfection.
    â€œTo thine own self be true,” we’re told throughout our lives—when faced with decisions big and small, when wondering about whom to love or where to live or what to do with our talents and dreams. How do I grasp my purpose? How do I live a meaningful life? How can I make a difference in the lives of others?
    â€œJust be yourself.”
    You have heard this. You think it’s true. Or at least you want it to be true—this idea of having and following an authentic self. Perhaps you have searched for that self in the cocoon of a therapist’s office or the pew of a church. Maybe you have run or pedaled toward him, traveled far and wide following her trail, felt him close to you in the effort of work or the rush of creativity. Maybe you’ve almost seen her in bed or on a drug trip or a drunken binge. All you know is that it’s painful being separated from your one true self. And so you keep searching, sometimes effectively and sometimes like a fool, like a zealot, like a lost soul.
    And sometimes, without even trying, you feel her, you sense him close by—your elusive authentic self. So close, as the Zen poet Ryokan says, she is hiding somewhere near you:
    In all ten directions of the universe,
    there is only one truth.
    When we see clearly, the great teachings are the same.
    What can ever be lost? What can be attained?
    If we attain something, it was there from the beginning of time.
    If we lose something, it is hiding somewhere near us . . .
    You may be walking to work, passing the same store windows you do every day, but today, grace descends and your true self comes out of hiding. You see your reflection in the window, and for a minute you just know that by some mysterious and purposeful design, you belong right here, right now, in your body, in your life. You look around at the people rushing in both directions, and instead of your usual mix of annoyance or isolation, jealousy or judgment, you love them, you feel one with them, you want the best for them. You’re not sure where this equanimity of spirit comes from, but it feels like the truth of who you are; it feels like your soul. You’d like to capture and harness it. You’d like to put it in charge of your life. You see all of this in your reflection in the window as you rush to work. But then you arrive, and you go into a meeting where you swallow your opinion, or you defend your position. You say something you later regret, or you don’t say what you really wanted to. Your soul self swiftly goes back into hiding.
    Or maybe you’re driving your kid to school, distracted and overwhelmed as usual. Your eye catches the face of your son in the rearview mirror. And for no reason whatsoever your heart softens and you cheer up so fully that you are suddenly and blessedly free of striving, of rushing, of ruminating. It doesn’t matter that you’re late or that the remains of breakfast are encrusted around your son’s mouth. It doesn’t matter that it’s winter and you are ten pounds overweight or that your boy writes his name backwards. You look at his face, and something comes over you, and in that moment you taste the delight of “enough.” Your son, just as he is, is enough. He’s more than enough! And you are enough. You slip through the keyhole into a vast realm of freedom—the freedom of knowing and loving