I’ve heard the concept “the dark night of the soul” bandied about like a tennis ball. People talk about it in New Age circles as being the point where they hit bottom before things turned around and got better. However, I did some research and it’s far older and more mystical than I would have thought – it dates to the 16th century and is the title for a poem by poet and Roman Catholic Saint John of the Cross.
The original meaning of “the dark night of the soul” is the experience of a spiritual crisis in the journey toward union with the divine. I felt relief when I read that because my experience of the dark night of the soul hasn’t been literal. There hasn’t been one night of pain or darkness followed by things turning around, nor has there been one period of it. Reading about the origin, I’m reminded pain is not a one-time experience.
Sometimes we have to go into darkness to see the light.
In our capitalistic culture, it seems to me there’s a notion happiness is a commodity. Not only can happiness be bought with nice vacations, a fancy car, or a great pair of shoes, but happiness can be achieved with a thin body, the right romantic partner, and a fulfilling career. And once those things come into our lives, we’re never supposed to feel pain again, or at least that’s been my interpretation of the message.
I call baloney. Life is a series of ups and downs, of pleasure and pain, and instead of working hard to avoid the pain, these days I’m sitting with it.
I’m reading Glennon Doyle Melton‘s Love Warrior, which is delightful. There is so much I could say about this memoir, but what’s relevant to this post is Glennon talks about crisis, how the root word of crisis is to sift, to separate. What happens in a crisis is everything else falls away in order for us to see what’s left, what cannot be taken away. That’s what the dark night of the soul is – a crisis, a sifting period to discover what is permanent. What’s permanent is me and God. It may take years, it may take several dark nights, but there is always something to be found in a crisis if we’re willing to dive into the pain.
What I’ve found going through my own crisis, primarily with my health, is me. I’ve lived most of my life operating under the assumption everyone else knows more than I do, that everyone else has the answers for my life. I’ve valued “other” more than me.
What’s interesting about this health journey I’ve been on is learning I already have the answers I seek, I already know what’s going on with my body. I see doctor after doctor, healer after healer, hoping they’ll tell me something I don’t know. They don’t. Not a single person has given me information that surprises me, which tells me I already know myself. I don’t have the solution yet, but I trust it will come when the timing is right, and I don’t need to frantically throw darts to see what sticks.
I am on a journey toward union with the divine, also called self-realization. By valuing others, I’m not honoring myself or my own wisdom. I’m not trusting myself, and trust is essential for union. I can’t trust in me if I constantly think inspiration lies outside me, that the solution is “out there.” It’s not. It never is. Higher power and I are walking this path together. Higher power communicates with me all the time and it’s my job to listen and to trust. The path is not supposed to be pain-free, and anyone who says otherwise is selling something.
I dream of a world where we recognize the gift in pain. A world where we recognize the dark night of the soul is a crucial part of the process toward union with something greater than ourselves. A world where we understand sometimes it’s important to undergo crisis in order to see what’s left.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I have big dreams for myself and the world. I want social and economic justice for all. I want to live in a place where racism is eradicated, poverty is eliminated, and everyone has their basic needs met. Even typing that sentence I want to laugh because it seems ludicrous. I want to pat myself on the head condescendingly and say, “That’s great Rebekah. You keep having those dreams. I’ll be over here in the real world while you live in fantasy land.”
And it seems that way doesn’t it? Like an impossible dream? When I start to think this way, I fall into despair. However, the words of Rabbi Michael Lerner keep ringing in my ears. A few times during the recent Jewish High Holidays he said:
Our plans [for change] are “unrealistic” in exactly the same way that it was “unrealistic” for women in the 1960s to think that sexism and patriarchy could be challenged effectively; the way that challenging segregation in the U.S. and apartheid in South Africa seemed “unrealistic” before they were overcome; and the way that gays and lesbians were being “unrealistic” to push for marriage equality. It’s always like this: The fundamental changes that are needed in our world are dismissed by the media, the politicians, and even by many people who want those changes as “unrealistic” before people engage in building movements to achieve them, and then described by the media pundits and sociologists as “inevitable” once they have been achieved.
The question for me becomes: how? How do I engage with my personal and public dreams in such a way they become inevitable? First, I think it’s important to have patience. To understand I’ll fail many times before I succeed. That change will not happen overnight, as much as I would like it to. Second, I think about something my spiritual teacher has said. To paraphrase, our actions must be in alignment with a power greater than ourselves. He likens it to the numbers one and zero. A higher power is the number one and our actions are like zeros. If you take the one first and to that one perform your actions, it is like adding zeros to the one – it is like multiplying by 10 with each action.
Not sure why, but I love this picture.
What does that mean exactly? I think it means first and foremost remembering I’m an instrument, but I also think it means to do the things my heart urges me to do. I’m not talking about the passing whims, the, “Ooooh, let’s learn to play the trumpet!” or “Let’s quit our job and open a ski chalet in Switzerland even though we don’t know how to ski!” I mean the persistent, constant dreams that nag us like woodpeckers knocking against a tree. It’s those dreams that carry weight. It’s those dreams that leave a mark, and it’s those dreams I have to believe have a “one” in front of them, so to speak.
I dream of a world where we keep the faith that certain dreams will inevitably come to fruition. A world where even if it seems unrealistic, we keep plodding along because in our hearts we know we must. A world where we keep our eyes trained on our goals knowing we will reach them.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Lately I’ve been enthralled with the idea the small things we do today can have big consequences later. Sporadically I listen to Elizabeth Gilbert’s podcast “Magic Lessons.” In one of the episodes, she speaks with a woman of Irish descent about the importance of stories and how they’re not frivolous at all. Liz mentions the book, How the Irish Saved Civilization, describing how during the 6th and 7th centuries Irish monks and scribes copied manuscripts of Greek and Latin writers, both pagan and Christian, when most people weren’t even reading yet. When the Roman Empire fell, all these works of literature would have been lost, except the Irish had copies and were able to reintroduce the manuscripts to the continent.
This story charmed me because here these monks and scribes were, engaging in the seemingly pointless task of copying manuscripts, and then years later, that task proved useful. I’d like to believe the same is true for all of us – the seemingly trivial things we engage in even though we’re not sure why, will some day become important. We may not all save civilization, but we all still matter. We’ve all seen television shows and movies where people go back in time and because one detail was altered, history changes. What I’m starting to contemplate is how the same is true for the future – that what I’m doing now affects things down the road. Not just my personal life, but for the lives of others.
What will unfold in the future?
I think I’ve used this quote before but it’s fitting in this context. My spiritual teacher says, “The Milky Way is vast from one end to the other; an ant is a very small creature, but the role of both of them in maintaining the balance of the universe is equal. If one ant meets a premature death, it will disturb the balance of the entire cosmos. Therefore, nothing here is unimportant, not even an ant. Suppose, an ant is sitting on the edge of a rock and it moves even one inch from east to west, and this disturbs the balance of the rock, it may cause a big earthquake – because after all, the ant is also God’s original creation.”
I’ve heard that quote a few times, but when I mull it over, it’s incredible. The premature death of an ant can disturb the balance of the entire cosmos! An ant! What does that mean for us and our lives? Particularly when we look beyond the scope of our death? Some of the reactions to our actions won’t come to fruition until we are long dead and that’s amazing to think about. How even from the grave our actions are rippling out, affecting humanity. It may not be as monumental as preserving classical literature, but then again it might.
I dream of a world where we realize no one is unimportant. A world where we realize our actions have ripple effects that we may never see. A world where we keep doing the things we are guided to do even when our brains ask, “What’s the point?”
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
On Thursday, I finally finished my Saturn return, meaning Saturn left the 20 degree orb from where it was when I was born. This led me to reflect on what the past four years have been like since I started this process, and what I’ve learned from this period. One of the biggest things I’ve learned is how to make and set healthy boundaries.
Boundaries do not come naturally to me. My natural predilection is for merger and oneness. I grew up in a yoga and meditation group that advocates dissolving the microcosmic self into the macrocosmic Self. My meditation practice focuses on feeling I am one with the loving, creative force that pervades the universe, and to see every expression as that loving, creative force as well. In my mind, boundaries keep me from that transcendent space. No one said that to me, by the way. That’s purely my interpretation.
Boundaries are a good thing. There’s even a heart in this photo.
I’ve been blogging for more than eight years so I have a digital record of my life and the issues I’ve faced. In November 2011, I wrote a post about boundaries as well. In it, I talked about the necessity of boundaries to keep myself safe. I displaced the notion safety meant avoidance and understood assertiveness is required for safety. The past several years has been learning that lesson over and over again until it stuck, but also I’m seeing the benefit of boundaries, not just because that’s how I keep myself safe, but also that’s how I become a vessel for cosmic consciousness.
In addition to emphasizing merger and oneness, my spiritual practices stress surrendering the mind, the self, letting it all go. I’ve wanted to surrender my mind and my self before understanding what they are, but that doesn’t work. How can you give something away if you don’t take ownership of it first? That’s like presenting a person with a prewrapped gift – how do you know what’s inside if you never took off the wrapping?
I feel so uncomfortable writing this post because again, it flies in the face of my natural inclinations, but what I’m coming to see is boundaries make me a container for the divine and creative force permeating all existence. Boundaries make me a vessel and an instrument that allows me to co-create with a power greater than myself. I liken it to a pen and ink. Cosmic consciousness is the ink and I am the pen. You can write with ink and no pen, using your finger perhaps, but it’s blotchy and messy and not very clear. Writing with a pen though is sharper, more distinct, easier to read.
Boundaries make me better able to show up in the world and do the work I am meant to do. Declaring this is me and that is you keeps me from codependence, which is a kind of subservience where I make someone else more important than me. Where I make someone else’s needs more important than mine.
We are each divine children of the universe, no better and no worse than anyone else. Taking care of myself by acting assertively, by understanding where I begin and where I end allows me to act accordingly, to treat myself with love, and to become a vessel for something greater than me.
I dream of a world where we understand boundaries are a necessary part of life. A world where we understand boundaries make us better able to do the work we are meant to do. A world where we realize boundaries make us vessels for love.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I feel a little strange writing this post on Rosh Hashanah eve, the Jewish New Year, for those of you who don’t know. The New Year is a time of hope and celebration, optimism for what’s ahead, but this post is about temperance.
For the past month, I’ve been getting in touch with my propensity to hope without any evidence. To hope things will change based on nothing more than a whim. September painfully brought me back down to earth, not because anything happened, but rather because I realized how damaging it is to have unbridled optimism.
For many years, I hoped people in my life would be different, that they would change their behavior, not based on any indication they had a desire to change, but rather because I wanted them to change. Last month in addition to accepting my health is what it is, I also started accepting people as they are. There’s a version of the serenity prayer applicable in this instance: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the people I cannot change, the courage to change the one I can, and the wisdom to know that one is me.”
Hope can still be magnificent if it’s grounded.
As an optimistic, idealistic person, learning to temper my hope has been painful. Learning to live in reality and accept that this is the way things are, has been a tough pill to swallow. But on the other hand, I’m not so disappointed anymore. When someone responds the way they normally do, instead of feeling crushed, I feel neutral.
This post focuses on other people, but the case is also true for me. There are some things about myself that are not going to change, no matter how much I pray, say affirmations, or wish they were otherwise. And instead of feeling upset, I feel at peace.
I’m not saying hope is a bad thing because it’s not. Hope is a powerful virtue when it’s applied properly. There are many people doing great things in the world, and they give me hope for the future. That sort of hope is grounded, right-sized.
My spiritual teacher talks about harmony and equilibrium as most spiritual teachers do. It wasn’t until this last month that I realized virtues also apply. I must strike a balance between hope and resignation, optimism and pessimism, faith and doubt. I used to think resignation, pessimism, and doubt should be avoided at all costs, but now I’m realizing they have their place, they serve a purpose. They help me live in reality and that’s not such a bad thing.
I dream of a world where we temper our virtues. A world where we base our hope on evidence. A world where we strive for harmony and equilibrium, understanding that’s how we know true peace.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I am a compulsive doer. It’s hard for me to sit still. I jokingly say I developed maladaptive stress syndrome because I burned out my adrenal glands from doing too much. But maybe it’s not a joke. It should come as no surprise then that I search far and wide for solutions to my problems. I devour every book, every method, every suggestion with frenetic fervor hoping this, this will be the answer. Thus far, the answer has not presented itself. There is nothing worse than telling a compulsive doer there is nothing to be done.
On Wednesday, I went to the doctor again as a Hail Mary. I haven’t had diagnostic tests done for several years so I figured why not? I cried and later laughed as she threw out suggestion after suggestion of things I’ve already tried. In addition, the bevvy of diagnostic tests all came back normal. It has become clear to me this is the end of the road. There is literally nothing left to do because everything has already been done.
I asked myself, knowing I have tried everything, can I finally accept my reality? Can I finally accept things as they are? After many tears, the answer is yes. A weight has been lifted from my shoulders because I no longer need to do anything. All the solutions have been tried. All that I’m left with is acceptance.
Sometimes the answer is counterintuitive, like an oasis in a desert.
Not knowing what I’ve been going through, a friend sent me a podcast from Invisibilia called “The Problem with the Solution.” In it, the show hosts talk about this very concept in the context of mental illness. They traveled to Geel, Belgium, where people with mental ailments live with families and are accepted just as they are. There is no stigma, the families don’t even know the diagnoses. Mental illness is accepted just as it is, and wouldn’t you know it, counterintuitively, people thrive in Geel. That’s not to say the diagnosis vanishes, but it improves.
In the U.S., we are obsessed with solutions. We believe if we look long enough and hard enough, the solution will present itself. But what if it doesn’t? What if there is no solution? What if the solution is accepting things as they are, right now? Please don’t misunderstand, I’m not suggesting people become doormats or tolerate injustice or give up on trying in general, but for the things which we keep trying to fix and are unable to, maybe those things require acceptance.
There’s a story in the Mahábhárata that comes to mind. When Duhshásana was pulling the sari of Draopadii, she was tightly holding the cloth to her body with one hand, beseeching lord Krśńa with the other. “Oh! My lord, save me!” But he didn’t come forward to save her. When Draopadii found no means of escape, she then released her hold on the cloth and appealed to the lord most piteously with both hands outstretched, saying, “O lord, I surrender my all to you. Do what you think is best.” And then the lord immediately rescued her.
I don’t offer that story as a means to get what we want, because surrender and acceptance has to be real, legitimate, and complete without thoughts of what we want, but the story reminds me that when I surrender, release, and let go, that’s when the divine has room to enter into my life.
I dream of a world where we accept the things we cannot change. A world where we understand there aren’t always solutions. A world where we realize instead of doing something, sometimes we need to do nothing.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I am very attached to my vision of things. I have an idea of how things “should” look and it’s hard for me to let that go. In the nonviolent communication world, we’d call that being attached to a certain strategy for getting a need met.
This week I’m zeroing in on my strategies and also realizing I can still get my needs met without employing a specific one. For instance, I have a need for intimacy and connection (we all do). My perspective has been because I’m single, those needs are not getting met. However, I finally looked up the definition of both those words, to be sure they mean what I think they mean.
I’m refocusing and realizing things are perhaps not what they seem.
The definition of intimacy is “the state of being intimate; close familiarity or association. Nearness in friendship.” And intimate means, “Innermost; inward; internal; deep-seated; hearty. Or near; close; direct; thorough; complete.” Once I read that definition I said, “What am I complaining about? I have that in spades.” Because I do. I have that with myself, I have that with friends. Heck, I have that with strangers.
Similarly, connection means “that which connects or joins together; bond; tie.” Did you know Rebekah means to tie or to bind? Guys, connection is quite literally my name. I already have what I want, it’s inherent to who I am. It feels good to refocus and see nothing is missing in my life, although on the surface it may seem that way.
This topic also reminds me of one of my favorite movies, Under the Tuscan Sun. The main character moves to Tuscany, by herself, and cries to a friend about wanting a wedding in her house, and a family, and someone to cook for. She imagines that wish will become a reality because she meets someone, but in the end, her wish comes true in a different way: she hosts a wedding for her neighbor, her best friend moves in with her newborn daughter, and she starts cooking for her friends.
I realize Under the Tuscan Sun is a movie, but I love stories like these because they remind me the universe is open and surprising. That there are many ways to meet a need. That I don’t have to cling to a certain strategy because the world is a vast and mysterious place. And furthermore, when I refocus, I may find I already have what I want.
I dream of a world where we take a closer look at our needs and find how they’re already getting met. A world where we let go of our attachments to how things “should” go and instead let the universe unfold as it will.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
When I was 20, I studied abroad in London. I interned with a publication that encouraged me to plagiarize. As you can imagine, it wasn’t a good fit. I was miserable and tried everything I could to get out of it – even going so far as lining up another internship, but the study abroad program said no. I still don’t know why. My parents got involved too and that also yielded nothing. It was the first time in my life that I couldn’t make my circumstances better. The first time I had to wait out a crappy situation. It was the first time I experienced a taste of authoritarianism and I hated it. The unfairness of it all outraged me.
The other day I watched a movie, Desert Dancer, and was reminded again, authoritarian regimes continue to exist. Except other people have it far worse. The movie takes place in Iran in 2009 where dancing is forbidden. I know, that’s also the theme of Footloose, but Desert Dancer is no sappy comedy, it’s real life. People are literally beaten and killed for expressing themselves artistically. As an artist myself, I’m horrified. Living in the U.S., I forget there are places in the world where legitimate authoritarian regimes exist. Where other people are not nearly as privileged as I am.
Become a gift.
After my experience in London, I was able to come back to my normal life, to one of privilege and relative ease. But the people in Iran? Or Syria? Or some other country that barely registers in my brain? They are not so lucky.
It is easy for someone like me, a college-educated white woman living in the U.S., to do one of two things: feel guilty for my privilege, or forget other people exist. In conversations with other white people, I see so often we wring our hands and say we feel badly about the things other people have to endure, but what can we do? Or we feel guilty our lives are different because of our privilege. We carry around our white guilt like a suitcase at airport security, always ready to show it to someone else for inspection.
I also see that we forget. We forget other people exist except when a horrific tragedy jerks us from our daily lives. We go about our days wondering if that guy will call or the raise will come through. We get caught up in our own worlds. I’m not saying that’s entirely a bad thing – we must take care of ourselves – but we must also take care of others.
Friends, I don’t want my two options as a person of privilege to be white guilt or amnesia. Neither of those options does anyone any good. I would much rather use my skills to make the world a better place. As a journalist, that means giving a voice to the voiceless. It means telling someone else’s story and broadcasting it far and wide. For you, it may mean healing the sick or planting a community garden. We all have gifts and talents. There’s a quote by Hans Urs von Balthasar that sums this up nicely I think. He said, “What you are is God’s gift to you, what you become is your gift to God.” May we all become gifts not only to God, but to the rest of humanity.
I dream of a world where we use our talents in service of others. A world where we remember other people exist and we do our best to make the world a better place for everyone. A world where we all become gifts.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
The other day I had an interesting experience. Coming home from the city, I stepped into Walgreens and noticed a couple in front of me, primarily because the man had a huge, green backpacking backpack. The couple left and I didn’t think much of it until about half an hour later when I exited my station and I saw the same man! This is surprising because there are many trains and many stations he could have taken, but we ended up at the same one. Keep in mind, my station is a residential one – it’s not a popular destination.
If that wasn’t intriguing enough, the same day I sat next to someone at the train station and he too, got on my train and exited my station. When I noticed his presence as well as the man with the green backpack, all I could do was laugh. It reminded me that knowingly or unknowingly we are all moving together.
Even bubbles share space.
In Sanskrit there are several words to denote this concept, one of which is samáj, which means “society,” or a group of people who are moving happily and peacefully. In today’s world, this concept seems especially important to remember. Some people live in their own little bubble, thinking they are the only ones in existence. Other people are not thinking much about their actions and only looking out for themselves.
In the U.S. in particular we praise independence and rugged individualism. We’re in love with the myth of the self-made person, the lone wolf. We romanticize the notion of self-sufficiency, or at least that’s my perspective. However, I would challenge that notion. As I said to a friend the other day, it takes a village to raise a child, but I also think it takes a village to be a person. We’re not meant to do everything by ourselves, and why would we want to? Like it or not, we’re all in this together. Noticing those people on the train the other day reminds me we may think we’re our own little universe, but our universes are moving together. We are all on this big blue planet spinning through space.
My spiritual teacher says, “The proper thing is for all members of the society to move in unison; and while moving together, each member should feel a responsibility for every other member of society. Those who are unable to move must be carried so that the rhythm of the collective movement remains unbroken.”
I love this notion because we may pretend otherwise, but we are all dependent on each other and the world would be a better place if we all started acting like it.
I dream of a world where we realize we are all moving together. A world where we feel responsible for other members of our society. A world where we take care of not only ourselves, but each other.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I am an impatient person. Almost nothing happens fast enough for me. I want things yesterday. Wait for something? No thanks. This is an attitude supported by our society, in my opinion. There’s an underlying belief if something isn’t happening on our timeline we need to move on. I notice in myself and others we don’t want to wait – we want things to happen instantaneously.
I reflected on this during my meditation the other day and what bubbled up is, “What’s the rush?” What’s the rush indeed. Why am I in such a hurry to get where I’m going? Can I let things unfold naturally, and slowly?
My spiritual teacher says, “Suppose, immediately after planting some saplings and seeds, someone digs them up to find out if they have taken root or sprouted. That would not be considered wise.” He also says, “Each action has an equal and opposite reaction provided the three relative factors of time, space, and person remain unchanged. Whatever you do is an actional expression determined by your past actions. Your actions will certainly have reactions, but you may have to wait some time for their expression.”
Can we wait for flowers to bloom?
Again with the waiting. We all know patience is a virtue and things get better with time, like wine and cheese, but I don’t consume either of those things so I don’t connect with that comparison. What helps me is I think of my mother. My mom graduated from medical school when she was 64. That in itself is inspiring, but particularly what I think of is how she opened her own medical practice. In the first year, she barely made anything, she hardly saw any patients. It would have been very easy for her to say, “Oh well, not happening fast enough, time to move on to the next thing.” Instead, she stuck with it. It’s been a couple of years, but she reached a point where she needs to hire someone a few hours a week to help out around her office. It didn’t happen quickly, but she’s finally seeing results.
That also reminds me of a podcast I listened to the other day on fear and creativity by Elizabeth Gilbert. One of her guests was comedian Michael Ian Black who said persistence is the most underrated quality a creative can have and talent is the most overrated. That concept stuck with me like a burr because it says to me if I persist, I can be successful. If I keep putting in the work, eventually it will bear fruit. The timeline is not up to me, but the work sure is.
I’m not saying stick with something if it makes a person miserable. But maybe we’re giving up on things too soon? Maybe if we had a little patience we’d see the results we’re after? There are no hard and fast rules on this unfortunately, but for me, erring on the patient side often seems more beneficial than the action side. Maybe that’s true for others as well.
I dream of a world where we are a little more patient to see results. A world where we’re a little more patient with ourselves and each other, understanding not everything can be hurried. A world where we ask ourselves, “What’s the rush?” and realize often there isn’t one.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.