The Divine Matrix

by Gregg Braden

  THE MIRRORS ARE

  EVERYWHERE

  The reason I share this story is because of what Tigger’s behavior “did” to me. In his simply being who he was, I found myself frustrated almost to the point of anger. He would look me directly in the eyes, and I knew that he was aware of precisely where his boundaries were. Still, he acted against his training and did what he chose to do, when he chose to do it.

  Perhaps not coincidentally, during the time of my challenges with Tigger, I noticed parallels with frustrations in my job. In fact, it seemed as if the people I was supervising were doing to me exactly what Tigger was: They were disregarding my instructions for our projects. Following a particularly rough afternoon, one of my co-workers came up to me and asked why I simply didn’t just let her do her job. I had given her an assignment, and she felt that I was micromanaging her performance every step of the way. Later that evening, I walked into my apartment, and Tigger was in the forbidden zone of the kitchen counter once again. And this time when he looked at me, he didn’t even bother to move. I was furious!

  As I sat on the couch to think about what I was being shown, I noticed the parallels between Tigger’s “disrespect” for my rules and what felt like the same attitude from my co-workers. Through two simultaneous although seemingly unrelated experiences, both Tigger and my co-workers had shown me something important about myself. Each had mirrored a pattern so subtle that I hadn’t been conscious of it until that very moment. It was to become the first in a series of mirrors that I would have to recognize within myself before I could heal even more powerful and subtle ones in my other relationships.

  During the 1960s and ’70s, it was common for self-help professionals to say that if we don’t like what the world is showing us, we should look at ourselves. They taught that everything from the anger of our co-workers to the betrayals of our trust is a reflection of our deepest beliefs. The patterns we identify with most strongly are often the ones we can’t even see in our lives. This scenario is precisely what was happening with regard to Tigger and the people at work.

  I’m not suggesting that my co-workers were aware of how they were mirroring me or how this pattern was playing out in my life—I’m almost certain that they weren’t. It’s simply that through the dynamics between us, I saw something about myself that they brought out in me. At that time in my life, it was the mirror of control. Because the reflection happened in the moment rather than hours or even days later, I could see the connection between my behavior and their reactions. Immediate feedback was the key to my lesson.

  THE MIRROR OF THE MOMENT

  We can see how important it is to recognize the relationship between what we do and what happens in the world if we look at the anthropological studies of hidden tribes in Asia. When explorers discovered one of the “lost” tribes (they were only lost to us, of course, as they knew precisely who they were and where they were located), they were surprised to find that the members made no connection between sexual intercourse and pregnancy. The lag time of months between the act of sex and the moment of birth was so great that the link between the two events wasn’t obvious to them. This is the value of our mirrors—their immediacy helps us understand the real, underlying connections between seemingly disparate events.

  If we’re seeing our beliefs play out through our mirrors, then they’re happening now. Any reflection we see affords us a precious moment of opportunity. Once it’s recognized, a negative pattern can be healed in a heartbeat! To recognize it is the first clue about why it exists. More often than not, we find that the negative patterns mirrored in our lives are rooted in one of the three universal fears we explored in the last chapter.

  When we see our beliefs reflected in real time in our relationships with others, we experience the first of our mirrors, and it’s just that: the mirror of the moment. Sometimes, however, the reflection of the moment may be showing us something even subtler than what we’re doing in our lives—sometimes it will reveal to us what we judge in our lives. When it does, we’re experiencing the second mirror of relationship.

  THE SECOND MIRROR:

  REFLECTLONS OF WHAT WE

  JUDGE LN THE MOMENT

  “Recognize what is in your sight,

  and that which is hidden from

  you will become plain to you.”3

  — The Gospel of Thomas

  In the 1970s, one of my martial-arts instructors shared the secret of reading an opponent: “Each person in competition is a mirror to you. As your personal mirror, your opponent will show you who you are in the moment. By observing how he approaches you, you’re seeing his reaction to how he perceives you.” Throughout my life, I’ve remembered my instructor’s words and thought about them often. Later on I began to apply what he had said about competition in the dojo to the way people behave in life. In 1992, I found myself embroiled in an experience where this mirror made no sense at all … it was then that I discovered the subtlety of the second mirror of relationship.

  In the fall of that year, three new people came into my life within a very short period of time. Through them, I would experience three of the most powerful—as well as painful—relationships that I’ve known as an adult. Although I didn’t recognize it at the time, each person would become a master teacher for me in a way that I never imagined he or she would or could. Together, they taught me the single lesson that assured me that my life would never be the same again. Even though each relationship served as a mirror for me at precisely the right time, I initially didn’t recognize what they were teaching me.

  The first relationship was with a woman who had come into my life with such similar goals and interests to mine that we chose to live and work together. The second one was a new professional partnership that was to provide much-needed support for setting up and organizing seminars throughout the country. The third relationship was a combination of a friendship and business arrangement, which involved a man caretaking my property when I traveled for work in exchange for a place to live in one of my unused buildings that was under renovation.

  The fact that these relationships came to me at the same time should have been my clue that something was up—something big. Almost immediately, all three began to test my patience, assertiveness, and resolve. I felt like these people were making me crazy! With each one, there were arguments and disagreements. Because I was traveling so much, my tendency was to discount the tensions and avoid looking for a resolution. I found myself taking a “wait-and-see” attitude until I returned from my next trip. When I did, things were always just the way I’d left them and sometimes even worse.

  At that time, I had a routine that I followed when I came into the airport after each seminar. I would collect my gear from the baggage area, withdraw enough cash from the ATM for gas and a meal, and begin my four- to five-hour drive home. On one particular trip, however, something happened that brought everything in these relationships to a focus. After collecting my bags, I went to the ATM to make my withdrawal. To my horror, the machine quietly printed a receipt that told me my account didn’t even have enough money for a $20 bill for gas!

  This was especially horrifying, because I’d recently scheduled contractors to begin renovations on the 100-year-old adobe buildings on my property, and they’d just been paid with checks written on that very account. In addition to mortgage, office, travel, and family expenses, the machine was telling me that there was nothing—absolutely nothing—to cover any of my other obligations. I knew that it had to be a mistake. I also knew that at 5:30P.M. on a Sunday afternoon in New Mexico nothing could be done—everything was closed until Monday. After convincing the lot attendant that I would repay the long-term-parking bill by mail, I began my extended drive home and thought about what had happened.

  When I called my bank the next morning, I got even more of a surprise. To my disbelief, the zero balance was no mistake; there was truly nothing there. In fact, there was less than nothing—an unauthorized withdrawal by the woman I had entrusted
with my business had completely emptied my account. Because of the penalties that had been applied to each one of the overdrawn checks, I also suddenly found myself with a negative balance caused by hundreds of dollars in overdraft charges.

  I felt shock and disbelief. Quickly my emotions turned to anger, and then the anger became rage. My mind raced with the thoughts of all the people whom I’d written checks to and how I couldn’t honor those obligations. The violation of my trust and complete disregard for me and my commitments was more painful than I expected.

  To make matters worse, later that day my business partnership reached a boiling point. As I opened my mail and looked over an accounting for seminars that I had already completed, I found discrepancies in the expenses, and soon I was on the phone fighting for my share of our proceeds, line item by line item.

  During the same week, I discovered that the tenant living on my property was pursuing interests that were not only in direct opposition to the agreements that we had made, but they were also frowned upon by the state of New Mexico. Clearly, I could no longer ignore what was happening in any of my relationships.

  THERE’S MORE THAN ONE

  MIRROR

  The next morning, I walked down the dirt road leading away from my property to a large mountain that looms over the valley behind my home. In silent prayer, I stepped carefully over the deep mud ruts and broken gravel, asking for the wisdom to recognize the pattern that I was being shown so blatantly even though I couldn’t see it. What was the common thread that wove these relationships together? Remembering what my martial-arts instructor had said, I asked myself, What is the common reflection that these three people are showing me through their actions?

  Immediately, words began to race through my mind, some so quickly that they disappeared, while others stood out clearly. Within seconds, four words emerged above all others: honesty, integrity, truth, and trust. I asked myself more questions: If these people are mirroring what I am in the moment, are they showing me that I’m dishonest? Have I somehow violated integrity, trust, and truth in my work?

  As I asked the questions in my mind, a feeling welled up from deep within my body. Inside of me, a voice—my voice—was screaming, No! Of course I’m honest! Of course I have integrity! Of course I’m truthful and trustworthy! These things are the very basis of the work that I share with other people.

  In the very next moment, another feeling came over me—fleeting at first, then clearer and stronger, until it was solidly present for me to see and know. In that moment, the mirror suddenly became crystal clear: The three people I had so skillfully drawn into my life weren’t showing me what I was in the moment; instead, each one of them was showing another, more subtle reflection that no one had told me about. Through our clashes of belief and lifestyle, rather than showing to me what I am, they were showing me the things that I judge! These individuals were showing me the qualities that triggered a big charge in me—the very qualities that I felt they’d violated.

  At that time in my life, I did have an enormous judgment on the way people held themselves accountable to the attributes of honesty and integrity. In all probability, my charge had been building since childhood. In a moment, my past experiences suddenly became clear. Immediately, I remembered all the times that these same qualities had been violated in my life: past romances in which my partners weren’t truthful about other people in our lives, adult promises that were made and never honored, well-intentioned friends and corporate mentors who’d made promises that they could never keep in a million years … my list went on and on.

  My judgments regarding these issues had been building for years on such a minute level that I hadn’t even recognized them. Now they were at the core of something I couldn’t ignore! The magnitude of having an empty bank account was the assurance that I would have to understand the message of these relationships before I could move on in life. That was the day I learned the subtle yet profound mystery of the second mirror of relationship: the mirror of the things that I judge in life.

  DO YOU RECOGNIZE YOUR

  MIRRORS?

  I invite you to examine your relationships with the people who are closest to you. Next, acknowledge the traits and characteristics that irritate you to no end and just seem to make you crazy. Once you do so, ask yourself the following question: Are these people showing me myself in this moment?

  They may very well be. If so, you’ll know it as your “gut” feeling immediately. However, if the answer is no, they may be revealing something even deeper and more powerful than the mirror of who you are—they might be showing you the reflection of the things that you judge in life. To simply recognize and acknowledge that the mirror exists is where the healing of your judgments begins.

  HEALLNG WLTH THE CASCADE

  EFFECT

  The day after I recognized the mirror of my judgments, I visited a friend who lives and works on the nearby Taos Pueblo. One of the oldest indigenous communities in North America, this site has been continuously inhabited for at least 1,500 years. Robert (not his real name) had a shop within the Pueblo itself and was a tremendously skilled artist and craftsman. Displayed throughout his store were the sculptures, dream catchers, music, and jewelry that had been part of his tradition for centuries before there was ever an “America.”

  As I walked in, he was working on a sculpture nearly seven feet tall that was standing in the aisle beside him. After saying our hellos, I asked about his family and how business had been, and we enjoyed a few minutes of catch-up talk. He returned my questions, asking me what was happening in my life. I shared the events of the past week, the three people, and the missing money. After listening to my account, he thought for a few moments and then told me a story.

  “My great-grandfather,” he began, “hunted buffalo on the plains of northern New Mexico.” I knew that he must have been talking about a long time ago, because as far as I knew, no buffalo had roamed that part of the state for years. “Before his death, he gave me his most valuable possession: the head of the first buffalo that he ever hunted as a young boy.” Robert went on to tell me how this buffalo head had become a treasure of his as well. After his great-grandfather died, it was one of the few tangible relics that connected him with the heritage of his past.

  One day a gallery owner had come to visit Robert from the nearby town. Seeing how beautiful the head was, she asked if she could use it as part of a display in her gallery, and he had agreed. After a few weeks had passed, Robert hadn’t heard from his friend and went into town to see how she was doing. To his surprise, when he arrived at the gallery, nothing was there. The doors were locked, the windows were covered, and the shop was out of business. The gallery owner and his buffalo head were both gone. Robert looked up from his sculpting long enough for me to see that he had been hurt in the experience.

  “What did you do?” I asked. I expected to hear how he’d tracked down the gallery owner and retrieved his prized possession.

  As his eyes met mine, the wisdom of his answer was not lost in its simplicity: “I did nothing, because she lives with what she has done.” I left the Taos Pueblo that day thinking about the story and what it meant for my life.

  Later that week, I began to explore the legal options for recovering at least some of the money that had disappeared from my account. I quickly learned that although I did have a good case, I was looking at a lengthy, drawn-out, and expensive process. Due to the nature of what had happened, I would be required to turn the case over to the authorities as a criminal, rather than a civil, matter. From that point on, it would be entirely out of my hands, and if convicted, the woman responsible could face prison time. All of this added up to a prolonged emotional relationship with someone whom I no longer felt any connection with.

  As I thought about the options, I reflected once again on my conversation with my friend at the Pueblo and the lessons that had been learned. It didn’t take long for me to reach a conclusion that immediately felt right: I chose to do nothing. Almost immed
iately, something unexpected began to happen—each of the three people mirroring my judgments began to fall away from my life. I was no longer angry with them, and I no longer resented them. I began to feel an odd sense of “nothingness” with regard to each of these three people. There was no intentional effort on my part to drive them away. After I redefined what had happened between us for what the experiences were and not what my judgments had made them out to be, there was simply nothing left to keep those people in my life. Each one simply began to fade from my day-to-day activities. Suddenly, there were fewer phone calls and letters from them, along with fewer thoughts about them throughout the course of the day. My judgments had been the magnet that had held those relationships in place.

  While this new development was interesting, within a few days, something even more intriguing and even a little curious began to occur. I realized that there were other people who had been in my life for a long time who also began to fade away. Once again, there was no conscious effort on my part to end these relationships; they just didn’t seem to make sense anymore. On the rare occasion that I did have a conversation with one of these individuals, it felt strained and artificial. Where there had been common ground before, now there was uneasiness.

  Almost as soon as I noticed the shift in these relationships, I became aware of what for me was a new phenomenon. Each of the relationships that were falling from my life had been based in the same pattern that had originally brought the three people into my life … that pattern was judgment. In addition to being the magnet that drew the relationships to me, my judgment had also been the glue that had held them together. In its absence, the glue dissolved. I noticed what appeared to be a cascading effect: Once the pattern was recognized in one place—in one relationship—its echo faded on many other levels of my life.