無門関

There is no mask.

The desire of the heart is to be known. To be naked. To be stripped bare and seen. Fully and completely. For what you are.

And the Lord God called unto Adam, and said unto him, Where art thou? And he said, I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself. — Bible, Genesis 3:9-10

Sex is not enough. A deeper intimacy is required. We are quick to let others see us without our clothes on, but we never allow them to see us nude. We are guarded. Fearful. Weighing our words and actions in fear of how they might be perceived. We are not genuine. We mask. Person comes from the Latin persona. It means a mask. A fake identity donned to portray a character in a Greek play.

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts.

— Shakespeare, “As You Like It”

And what if you could be truly honest? What if there were someone, a friend, a lover, with whom you could share your deepest self? Your inmost secrets and darkest shame.

Your husband? Your wife?

No. Too much. A spouse needs you. They need someone to play a role. To play House. They are too close for honesty. Too close for intimacy. Loved too much. How could you reveal to them your regrets without it feeling like a personal attack? How could you turn over the rock and reveal your disappointments when so many of those disappointments involve them? Or… your perverted fantasies. What about your stupid, unfulfilled dreams. All they will hear is “You are not enough.” “We are not enough.”

So we mask.

Even at home we are not ourselves.

“I wonder how many people I've looked at all my life and never seen.”

― John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent

Okay then the therapist. The counselor. Someone with a degree. A professional who is trained and objective. Impartial. In a little room with a couch and the assurance of patient confidentiality. Still you worry. Still you do not feel safe. Jung said even the most magnanimous and accepting therapists occasionally had patients who they found revolting. Men and women who confessed acts and desires which made the doctor’s stomach turn.

What if you’re one of those people?

What if you’re a secret horror? A fiend?

And, of course, even if you should get the courage to disrobe, the whole thing is tainted. The doctor is working for money. Deep down, no matter how good the rapport she’s built with you is, you know she’s only listening because you pay her. At times it makes the whole thing feel like a mockery of friendship. You discover then that you actually want to be more than known. You want to be loved. You want to be able to show someone everything about you; to disrobe completely before them and have them smile and nod and say “Okay” as they pull you close and never let you go.

Did you imagine the story of Eden was speaking only of physical clothes?

The veil of the temple. The veil of the bride. Masks. Fig leaves and animal skins. Playing roles.

Could it be that all garments exist to cover shame?

Unto Adam also and to his wife did the Lord God make coats of skins, and clothed them. And the Lord God said, Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live forever: Therefore the Lord God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from whence he was taken.

— Bible, Genesis 3:21-23

Perhaps the priest will be better. The booth. The screen of the confessional. If you are brave the anonymity allows you to undress and show the man everything but your body, even those things which the law might require a therapist to report.

Here it is.

Your opportunity.

But as you kneel and try to confess the words won’t come. The layers are glued to you. You’ve worn the mask so long it has fused onto your skin. In that moment you discover that you don’t even want to look at what you are. That Eve covered her breast not to hide it from God or even from Adam… but to hide it from herself. Our masks are cleaner. Our clothes hide all the imperfections. The garments allow us the illusion of pretend. You’re a good girl with your clothes on. You’re an honest man. The mask doesn’t have dirty thoughts and the persona doesn’t harbor hatred. Every day you wake up and put on the suit of a faithful husband. The shoes of a loving mom. Vindictiveness and anger and jealousy hide well beneath the baggy sweater.

Don’t look.

…

Please.

Don’t look.

Ah… but the mask is made of porcelain. If you speak the truth aloud it will shatter and nothing will be left to cover you up. You’re afraid to discover you’re not who you present to be. Afraid that you’re really someone else.

Who are you?

For to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not. For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do. Now if I do that I would not, it is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth in me. I find then a law, that, when I would do good, evil is present with me. For I delight in the law of God after the inward man: But I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members. O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?

— Saint Paul, Bible, Romans 7:18-24

Who are you Saint Paul?

“I don’t know.”

“I would like to be one way but I am not. I have a thorn in my flesh. A flaw. A secret sin and who shall deliver me from this death?”

When Bodhidharma arrived in China, he was asked, “Who are you?” The monk responded simply, “I don’t know.”

When Christ died the veil separating the inner most part of the temple from the rest of the world was ripped in half. The curtain dividing the Most Holy Place from the profane, torn. This happened spontaneously. By the power of God or else by an angel’s unseen hands. This is Christ’s forgiveness. This is his message of grace. That there is no barrier betwixt you and God. Nothing to separate your inward most being from Him and no possible option by which to hide.

The Gate is Gateless.

無門関.

Therefore Jesus said again, “Very truly I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who have come before me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep have not listened to them. I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved. They will come in and go out, and find pasture.

— Jesus, Bible, Gospel of John 10:7-9

Because…

What if Adam had simply said he was sorry?

What if Eve had faced her shame?

Would then God not have forgiven them? Need they surely die? But… knowing good from evil they became fixated on all they had done wrong and Saint Paul tells us likewise that God gave us The Law, The Commandments, precisely so we might see that we couldn’t keep it.

To give us the opportunity to exhaust ourselves.

To try every single avenue of purifying this and sanctifying that and every technique of making better and more convincing masks to hide our nakedness and shame.

And Christ died naked.

At the apogee of all this struggle to hide ourselves, Christ died naked.

Nailed to a tree.

Yet at the crucifixion it was we who had no garments. The hypocrisy within us, the evil in our hearts that would condemn an innocent man… all was laid bare.

And God saw us for who we are. Unmasked and unashamed.

“Forgive them. They know not what they do.”

…

… …

And so absolutely nothing about you cannot be loved.

Can you find it in yourself to love everything about someone else?