Heaven on Earth

...as a DIY project

Photo and image: Cliff Scholz

Years ago I read an article in Newsweek in which Harvard neurosurgeon Eben Alexander described an experience of the afterlife he had while in a coma. The article was published in 2012 but I’ve thought about off and on ever since.

In Dr. Alexander’s description of his experience of the afterlife, this passage stuck with me. A friend helped me locate the article so I could get the quote right, and here it is:

“…from my present perspective, I would suggest that you couldn't look at anything in that world at all, for the word "at" itself implies a separation that did not exist there. Everything was distinct, yet everything was also a part of everything else, like the rich and intermingled designs on a Persian carpet ... or a butterfly's wing.”

Hmm…looking at that quote now, maybe the reason this article stuck with me is that, despite the fact that many aspects of Dr. Alexander’s near-death experience come across as decidedly otherworldly, this part sounds a lot like what I think of as “reality.” Yet, in our culture we’re conditioned to presume separation. Thing is, once we make that presumption, there’s a strong tendency to “look at” things. And then, all of a sudden, seems we’re not in heaven anymore.

Now, I hope this doesn’t all seem like I’m just making a big deal about the grammar of the expression, “looked at.” I mean come on. “At.” It’s just a preposition, right? A tiny, two-letter word. But since we’re trying to talk about things, we need words, insofar as they might be useful. And insofar as they might be useful, they might mean something. These things aren’t always easy to talk about, and this is partly because, as I’ve written in many places, the way we talk affects how we see. And that’s the very point here.

I mean, consider: Who likes to be “looked at,” really? Not many of the people I’ve asked. On the other hand, most people I speak with do seem to like to feel seen.

Looked at. Seen. What’s the difference?

Personally, when considering the difference between when I feel “looked at” and when I really feel seen, the functional distinction seems to be that when I feel “looked at,” it seems to come with a forced overlay of separation between myself and others that is very different than what I feel when I am being seen. Perhaps this separation is what Dr. Alexander reported as being absent from the heavenly world he experienced. Further, when I feel “looked at,” I often also sense the violence of objectification built into that way of seeing. It comes through. And it comes through because fundamentally, even though we might be accustomed to relating as though we are separate, in fact, the separation is not real.

However, when we feel seen, our subjective experience is quite different. While we remain distinct and truly ourselves, perhaps even more like ourselves, we don’t feel a separation. We feel a connection with the seer. We sense that the person has put a bit of themselves into the seeing and that we are being met in that process. When we are truly seen, we can feel like we are held by another person’s vision. My experience is that feeling seen can be powerfully affirming, transformative, and even healing.

Most of us have had this experience. Oftentimes the people who are most influential in our lives are those we feel seen by. Maybe it was a teacher at school, maybe the older relative who took an interest, the playmates we had as children who really “got us”. Maybe it’s the person we just “clicked with” on the first meeting — the lover, the newborn, the brief encounter with a stranger, the soon-to-be lifelong friend.

All of this suggests some interesting possibilities. For instance, maybe the apparent division between the world as it is commonly experienced and a more heavenly alternative need not be physical death or anything close to it. Maybe it’s just that the psychological habit of separation can become so entrenched that it typically dies only when we do. Still, maybe we can methodically shift away from that habit of mind and the habit of “looking at” — whether it’s looking at people or at anything, really — and instead start letting ourselves go into the more vulnerable place of connected seeing. And maybe if we do, we’ll be contributing to a better world.

Possibly even a more heavenly one.

Why not? Can we let go of the habit of seeing everything like it’s separate from ourselves?

Feels to me like now would be an excellent time to give it a try.

Photo and image: Cliff Scholz