Here’s a passage from my book The Translucent Revolution.

With the willingness to be less defined comes a loosening of our grip on the past. The past is of little use when you have no case to defend. If the trial is dismissed as boring and irrelevant, you can send the witnesses home to get on with their lives and dump the bulging dossier of carefully crafted case notes into the trash. Translucents have a natural interest in forgiving and moving on. Forgiveness is no longer a moral virtue, or something we need to practice, but the effortless by-product of no longer needing to protect anidentity with a story attached to it. The past is not healed; it simply ceases to be useful.

I know a woman named Sarah who had memories of abuse as a child. She was never quite sure which of the events she remembered actually happened, but they certainly all seemed real. She saw a number of therapists over many years. She visited her family from time to time; she tried to sit down with her father to find out what had really happened. She joined a support group. This identity, as a survivor of abuse, was one of the first things she would tell you about herself. Some years ago, Sarah came to a gathering I offered. She had an awakening; she discovered reality without the filters of her mind.

Recently, I tentatively asked her again about her memories. I knew it was a sensitive subject. “I don’t really know if that stuff happened or not,” she laughed. “Maybe it did. I don’t think about it anymore. It’s not interesting. It doesn’t feel like I healed the past.” She stopped and looked surprised. “It’s more like I don’t really have a past. I’d need to think a lot to create one.” Sarah has been to visit her father on several occasions since her shift but feels no need to talk about the past. They discuss sports results and gardening and have a good time. Sarah discovered forgiveness as a by-product of releasing a part of her identity. It was the death of a part of herself and, apparently, a great relief.

A survivor of abuse has every reason in the world to be angry, to have strong feelings. A translucent’s forgiveness is neither a moral quality nor a cultivated virtue, but the natural and inevitable consequence of knowing oneself as something more than the past. When we disidentify with the story, there’s no need to hold onto it with regret. We forgive as an act of allegiance to the present moment; it becomes choiceless.

Instead of clinging to our familiar identity, as we grow in translucence, we discover a thirst for death and rebirth while still alive. Many of us have experienced several different lives all in one lifetime. Translucents welcome this death of identity with a sense of play and adventure. David Deida describes the process like this: “Once I feel complete with something, it’s over for me as a gift, and it drops, letting a new gift evolve. If I meet someone who could do what I can do better, I stand aside and let them do it, and develop a service that is missing in the world.”

At one time Deida was considered one of the world’s top neuroscientists. He worked at Ecole Polytechnique and the Pasteur Institute in Paris. When that career was complete, he knew it. Neuroscience held no more interest or attraction. He then co-invented a new form of calculus, publishing articles about it in mathematics journals. Then, when he knew that life was over, he moved to Hawaii and taught Hatha yoga for many years. In the mid-1990s he started to write about sex, relationship, and spirit, since he didn’t see anyone else doing that in the way he wanted to see it done. “I’ll be moving on from the whole sex/relationship/spirit thing,” he says, “as soon as someone gets up to speed. The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

Translucents enjoy creating and letting go of identities.

To read more, purchase my book The Translucent Revolution HERE.

Photos credits: Jomphong, africa