In this day and age, we tend not to have a healthy relationship with the concept of secrecy; its connotations are almost entirely dour or negative. And yet, for all that it has a bad rap, there’s a beauty to secrecy, a wild and shadowed footpath barely discernible through the deep forest of our innermost lives, leading to places unreachable by more conventional means.
One of our universal traits as human beings is that we are each the tabernacle of the secrets we carry. No one, no matter how frank and open they consider themselves to be, is ever completely revealed to the world.
Some of these secrets we carry as treasures, precious feelings or memories or thoughts that are only for us or to be shared with a very select few, and instinctively we know that this is an important part of our common humanity. It seems monstrous to forcefully discover these secrets, an assault on the spirit; conversely, it’s embarrassing to watch a TV talk show where the guests feel compelled to spill their most private selves, or to listen to an acquaintance over-share. Innately we understand that these things are too valuable to be traded for a moment of attention or a bid to be liked and known.
Realizing that we all have our secrets, both the cherished and the shameful, it becomes possible to look at each other in a new way, stranger and friend alike, to know that they have their private joys and their vulnerable places, the things they regret and the things they dream of in quiet moments. Nowhere is this more poignantly and startlingly illustrated than in the PostSecret project; in its anonymity, it lets us safely see the paradox of likeness in uniqueness, the joy and sorrow and wonder and intense fragility of human experience and the way that the things we keep hidden actually connect us. I can’t look at the site or watch this video without feeling a rush of compassion and amazement and love for humanity:
Secrets are inextricably linked to mystery; and though we tend to have some cultural anxiety about mysteries, to feel that they must be unraveled and exposed to sight before we can be comfortable again, the best mysteries are the ones into which we can delve over and over, always finding something new and understanding a little bit more, but which we are never able to solve. The concept of “mystery” grows out of the idea of initiation, of the one who has made the preparations and crossed the threshold where secrets are passed on and a new state of being is attained.
In the course of my week, a thought occurred to me unbidden that seeded this post: True secrets are things that can’t be told.
The “can’t” was literal; this sort of secret can be placed out in full view of anyone, discussed and considered at length, and yet it can’t be revealed in these ways. Only through direct gnosis, the actual experience of the secret, can it be known; and the experience can’t be described in words or given away to someone who hasn’t crossed that threshold. Nor can it be kept from someone who is ready to receive it, no matter how many barricades and strictures and passwords society attempts to impose.
Love is a secret, in this way, and a romantic love– be it for a person or place or a season or a book– is a spontaneous mystery initiation for the lover. The beloved object is the conduit for an experience of the divine, a door thrown unexpectedly open to dazzle the lover and throw him into an ecstatic state where wisdom beyond words can take root, where the soul deepens and a change takes place that– however subtle– will never be undone.
A common piece of advice for people struggling to nurture their romantic relationships is to find ways to surprise each other, to retain a little mystery for each other. I think, sometimes, that the lifespan of a relationship depends directly on this sense of mystery. That’s not to judge its quality; a relationship could live and die in the space of a few minutes’ flirtation on a train and be more profound than a decades-old marriage, if its effect on either of the lovers is deeply transformative. In any lasting and healthy love relationship, it will be evident that the lovers continue to lead each other through these moments of initiation, that in a new anecdote or an action or the way they happen to look in a single moment, they continue to reveal to each other the secrets of life and of love. Perhaps it’s when lovers have given each other all of these moments that they have to give, that they must part or stagnate.
An earthly beloved is, of course, always an aspect of the Divine Beloved, but there is a more direct connection to the Beloved available to any lover willing to seek it. If a mortal beloved is a rose unfolding continuously into bloom before the lover, then the Beloved is a thousand-petalled lotus, always opening further and further with the jewel of the Universe glowing at its center. The lover travels towards that center throughout all of existence, bathed in its light, and every layer of petals unfurling is a new initiation, another deep secret revealed or finally understood.
To the true lover, all the world is a perfumed garden arrayed in a mandala like the lotus of the Beloved, and every bloom within it is a microcosm of the whole, worthy of admiration and awe, its secret center releasing its scent to mingle with all others into the most complex of perfumes. And the great Love in her heart is her own deepest secret, the jewel in the lotus of her self, whose mysterious glow entices and stirs the hearts of those who would also begin to unfold, who would also fall gladly and irretrievably in love with the Universe.
These are secrets not meant to be kept, but that must first be sought. This is the paradox of romance, that the beloved must be known in order to be loved, and yet is never entirely known. The Universe beckons in the curl of grass in the wind, in the showers of fiery leaves or fresh petals tossed coyly down like handkerchiefs, dancing in the flow of rivers and tides and winking in sunlight dappled through trees, whispering through the rain, Come close.
I have a secret to tell you.
Positively splendid. I’m not sure whether I’m more impressed by the imagery of “There’s a beauty to secrecy, a wild and shadowed footpath barely discernible through the deep forest of our innermost lives, leading to places unreachable by more conventional means.”
Or am I more impressed by the power of metaphor in “we are each the tabernacle of the secrets we carry”.
Either way you have astonishing courage to believe, and a gifted pen. I admire both.
Something I read that has always stuck with me was about the Eleusinian Mysteries (which were Greek, but continued under Roman rule.) It was against the law to reveal the lesser mysteries, but not the greater mysteries, because they could not be revealed except by experiencing them. It was the first time I encountered the concept, and the fact that it was well understood enough to be enshrined in law made quite an impression.
Also, on the more general topic of Romanticism, I ran across this article about a new book on German Romanticism which I thought you might find interesting.