On Green Flashes and Ordinary Grace
Is this enlightenment? I thought it would be different, somehow.
In the past month, two different people have listened to me share what is moving through me and casually suggested: “It sounds like enlightenment.”
My immediate internal response was: What? Enlightenment is a "big" word. It’s for grown-ups—not for me. It’s for saints, gurus, and masters; for those vibrating on another plane entirely. It isn't for ordinary people.
But what if enlightenment is actually for everyone? What if it isn’t some unattainable peak, but something within reach? And if it were, would we even want it? Or do we gain something by believing it’s not for us—by keeping it reserved for the "serious," the "spiritual," or the "wise"?
It reminds me of the green flash.
Growing up, I spent many evenings on the patio of my grandmother’s house in Baja. I would sit through the cocktail parties, watching the adults and waiting for the sunset. On clear nights, there was always talk of the "green flash"—that elusive moment when the sun dips below the horizon and a spark of emerald becomes visible to the naked eye. To a child, that was the most exciting part of the evening. I watched and watched. I never saw it.
As I got older, I figured the flash was just a product of too many cocktails. I decided it didn't exist.
Years later, I moved to Baja myself. I began hosting my own cocktail parties on that same patio. One evening, the conditions were perfect: a clear sky, a limitless horizon. Someone mentioned watching for the flash. I played along, thinking, Sure, I’ll humor the drunk people. Then, the sun slipped away. To my complete surprise, there was the tiniest "poof" of a slightly different color—something that could, if you were generous, be considered green.
“Green flash!” the others exclaimed.
“That?” I asked, incredulous. “That was it?” It was nothing! It was a tiny splash of the weakest shade of green, like a bit of dust kicked up as the sun sank.
I am a child of the 70s. I remember waiting in line around the block to see Star Wars back when there was only one Star Wars. Those were "flashes"—lasers tearing through the sky, the Death Star exploding. Standing on that patio, I realized I had been waiting for that. I wanted big. I wanted impressive, amazing, and undeniable.
I hadn't been prepared for the nuance of what actually presented itself. It was so subtle that it would have gone completely unnoticed if I hadn't been in the company of others who pointed it out. Even after seeing it, I still had my doubts.
I wonder if enlightenment is similar. Do we miss our own moments of awakening because we are looking for a SpaceX rocket launch—something that forces itself upon our vision, undeniable and unavoidable?
What if enlightenment is simply the shift we don’t notice until someone else reflects it back to us? What if it is nothing more—and nothing less—than reconnecting with ourselves? What if it is the simple capacity to "be here now," instead of chasing a future state or dredging up the past? And what if that presence is what finally connects us back to Source?
What if enlightenment is finally coming home to ourselves, and of realizing that we are already connected to everything, after a long journey of overextending ourselves by seeking approval and recognition from the world?
If enlightenment is for all of us—not just the masters, but the exhausted, the ordinary, the cocktail-party watchers—what does that mean? What would it ask of us? What would then be possible?
As Marianne Williamson wrote in A Return to Love:
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
Perhaps the "green flash" of our own lives isn't a laser beam. Perhaps it’s the quiet permission to stop shrinking, to stop waiting for the explosion, and to finally notice the subtle, beautiful "poof" of our own arrival.
