Another World is Probable

Even though Passover is long over, I keep thinking about a story I heard. There’s a perception that during the exodus when God parted the Red Sea the Jews walked up to the water and tada! The water parted. However, Jewish teachings state that’s not what happened. The Jews waded into the water up to their knees and nothing. They kept going up to their waists and still nothing. Their chests, no change. The water came all the way up to their noses, meaning they could no longer breathe, and then the water parted.

So often when it comes to miracles, I want them to happen immediately, before I feel any pain. I want the Disney-fied version of events where there’s minimal struggle and I’m plodding along and everything is easy peasy. Sometimes life is like that, but oftentimes it’s not. Oftentimes, higher power waits until the last possible second to deliver a miracle. What to do? Keep moving with faith.

I’ll be honest, if I was escaping Egypt and kept wading into the water without being able to swim and not having a flotation device, I probably would have turned back. I don’t think I would have kept going. I would have acted from a place of fear and not experienced a miracle. I would have done the opposite of what Rumi advises which is, “Move, but don’t move the way fear makes you move.”

Even when it’s blurry, keep moving. Photo by Martin Adams on Unsplash

I often move the way fear makes me move, especially when it comes to money. Bank balance running low? Better apply for a million jobs even if I’m not really interested! No new clients? Start contacting everyone and their mother! But that doesn’t work for me. Desperation rarely does.

The question then, is how can I move with faith? What sort of decisions do I make when I believe things will work out? What if I truly believed the universe has my back, even if I don’t see any evidence until the last possible second?

From that place, I’m calmer, curious, and open. From that place, I remember the magic and the mystery of the universe. When I’m in faith, beautiful things can come out of the blue. I receive a random email or telephone call from someone looking for my ghostwriting or content writing services. I find a random object I’m looking for, such as Play-Doh, on the side of the street for free.

Tosha Silver writes in her book Outrageous Openness if you think of the Divine as your ultimate protection and your Source for everything, “Then the Universe can use anything it wishes to meet your needs. You’re no longer limited to what your conditioned mind thinks is possible.” She has countless stories of this happening in her life and in the lives of others. For instance, she found an apartment through a hairdresser and someone else found a literary agent by bowling them over in a yoga class. Fear leads us to believe we must force things; we have to make them happen. Trust and faith show us we can relax and be shown the next steps on our path. In other words, faith causes us to move differently.

I dream of a world where we soothe our fearful parts when they’re freaking out. A world where we understand what’s ours is ours and will show up at the perfect time in the perfect way. A world where instead of moving from a place of fear, we move from a place of faith.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

I’ve told this story to a few people this week so perhaps it’s also worth sharing here. During the Holocaust, my maternal grandmother bribed a farmer to hide her in his potato cellar. When the money ran out, he evicted her. She wandered through the woods half-starved and came across a young boy. Scared he would alert others to her presence, she threatened him but she wasn’t all that intimidating as she looked bedraggled and emaciated.

After the incident, she slid into hopelessness and no longer cared whether she lived or died. She’d already suffered so much and couldn’t take anymore. She spotted an encampment and decided to walk into it whether it was the Nazis or not.

It wasn’t the Nazis, it was the Russians so she was saved. Growing up when I heard that story, I marveled at the “happy accident,” of my grandmother’s “luck.” But recently I started to reframe what happened. What if it wasn’t an accident? What if it was intentional? What if my grandma was led to safety by guardian angels or water spirits or her intuition or some other benevolent force?

Seen and unseen forces walk beside us. Photo by Jad Limcaco on Unsplash

My spiritual teacher says, “There is no such thing such as an accident – everything is an incident. When an action is materialized within a very short time, or when the root cause of the action is not known to us, we are just seeing the reaction, the incident. When the cause, the causal side of the incident is not known to us, or when the causal side is translated into action in a very short time, we say it is an accident. But actually, nothing is accidental, everything is incidental.”

What about car accidents? And stubbing your toe? The cause could be very simple – someone ran a red light. Or you weren’t looking where you were going. But also sometimes, the cause is deeper and more meaningful than that (I think). I’d like to believe my grandmother walked into a Russian camp because she was meant to live. It wasn’t her time to die yet, so no, it wasn’t an accident.

The reframe is asking me to consider the same about my own life. What if I’m also not alone and instead being led to safety in its myriad forms? It’s clear that I pay attention to divine guidance. I notice when bumblebees land on my window or doves perch on my railing. I listen to the inner stirrings of my gut. Paying attention to divine guidance is what this Passover is about for me, a holiday I’m currently celebrating.

Passover is about the escape from Egypt and as a modern-day Jew, I’m escaping from a metaphorical Egypt. The Hebrew word for Egypt is Mitzrayim, which also means tight spaces or narrow consciousness. This year the narrow consciousness I’m escaping from is the notion I’m wandering around all alone, lost in the woods. That help is out of reach and unavailable.

I’m recognizing I’m not all alone and neither was my grandmother, nor my great-grandmother, nor my great-great-grandmother all the way back to the time of Moses. I, too, am being led from a metaphorical Egypt to a safer, freer, promised land. Even if you’re not Jewish, maybe the same is true for you.

I dream of a world where we remember there are no coincidences, that instead there is always a cause for everything, even if we’re unaware of it. A world where we recognize we aren’t alone. A world where we remember benevolent beings are walking with us, guiding us where we need to go.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

If you’re a business owner, you know there can be a real ebb and flow to income. Some months money is rushing in and you can’t believe your good fortune. And then other months you’re barely covering all your expenses and cursing your fate. I can’t speak for everyone but when I’m in an ebb time, it’s difficult to believe my circumstances will change. Even though I’ve seen it happen over and over again, I still think this time will be different. I fall into a quagmire and count every penny, worrying I won’t be able to pay for things I need. Keep in mind I have plenty of evidence to suggest all my needs are always met, sometimes in amazing ways. Yet, despite the history, a part of me perpetually thinks this time is the exception.

In periods like this, I remember choosing to think my life will improve is exactly what it means to have faith. The literal definition of faith is belief without proof but as I’m learning sometimes even when you have proof you can still struggle with faith. When you’re staring at an uncertain future, the past doesn’t matter all that much, does it? That means faith is not an easy byproduct that just happens. It’s a conscious choice.

Sometimes you need to turn toward the sunshine. Photo by Bruno van der Kraan on Unsplash

For my business, I am choosing to put my trust in the universe that things will get better for me. It means I am fighting against pessimism and holding fast to something else. That something else is spirituality.

A Sanskrit phrase for meditation is Iishvara prańidhána, or seeking shelter in the Supreme. My spiritual teacher says, “Iishvara prańidhána also implies implicit faith in [the divine] irrespective of whether one lives in momentary happiness or sorrow, prosperity or adversity.”

Easier said than done my friends. Easier said than done. I don’t live in implicit faith, obviously, but the alternative isn’t working for me. Living in a state of fear, worry, and catastrophe is draining, just in case you were unaware. I want to be in the opposite headspace which means choosing to believe the right clients will enter my life at exactly the right time. As I typed that a bee landed on my window, which isn’t a common occurrence.

In shamanism, bumblebees represent the honey or sweetness of life. They tell us, “Remember, life is joyful, it’s sweet. Keep going in this direction. Remember good things and keep in mind positive outcomes are just as likely as negative ones.”

What a perfect message about choosing faith over fear. My positive outcome is more money flowing into my life. For you, choosing to keep the faith could be about getting a new job, finding a romantic partner, becoming a parent, or moving into a house. Whatever it is, the bee and I are here to remind you good things are coming. It may seem unlikely or extremely far out of reach but that’s why faith is a choice, not a foregone conclusion.

I dream of a world where we choose faith even when it feels hard. A world where we believe good things are coming. A world where we put our trust in something greater than ourselves. A world where we understand faith isn’t a passive thing but instead something active and conscious.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

I’m recycling this post from February 2019. The message about not needing to know everything all the time is still a valid one. Enjoy.

My therapist said something to me this week that I’d heard before but this time I really heard. He told me, “There are some things you don’t need to know.” I’m a curious person and want to know everything! Curiosity is a key component of being a journalist; it’s my job to find out as much as possible about a story. However, truly, there are some things I don’t need to know.

I understand this concept better when I think of children. Children are not served by hearing the full details of scary or complex things. We don’t tell them graphic details of war or rape. We may paint with broad brushstrokes or present information in a way they understand, but children don’t need to know everything.

In many spiritual traditions, God/higher power/the divine is parentified. We are usually called divine children of God or a variation of that, and so it follows that higher power treats us the same way a parent would, meaning, the universe shields us from certain information. I’ve said before if I knew all the things the universe had in store for me, I would get overwhelmed. That continues to be true. After contemplating I don’t need to know everything about the future, I feel more at ease. I feel more at peace. I trust that while in my professional life it’s my job to gather as much information as possible, the same doesn’t apply to my personal one.

Sometimes it’s OK to be in the dark. Photo by Molly Blackbird on Unsplash

We have the saying, “Ignorance is bliss.” I usually think about that expression with wistfulness, wishing I could go back in time and remain ignorant of bad news. Or I utter it with envy, wishing I could be like someone else who doesn’t know what I know. However, maybe I can continue to experience bliss in the form of ignorance by remembering I don’t have to answer every question; I don’t have to know what will happen next. Maybe it’s OK for me to be in the dark sometimes and trust it’s for a good reason. Perhaps I can relax into the knowledge I am still a child and there is still a parent taking care of me. Not my birth parents, although them too, but also an unseen parent, a mystical parent.

My spiritual teacher says Cosmic Consciousness must look after us, the divine children. He also said this Cosmic Consciousness does whatever is best for us, and that this divine energy better knows our needs and necessities.

“A child of two months does not know what she requires; her mother knows,” he wrote. “She is solely dependent upon her mother. Similarly, devotees are solely dependent on the Cosmic Father, and for that reason, the Cosmic Father has a special responsibility.”

For today anyway, I’m feeling into that more, letting myself be a child. I’m letting myself swim in ignorance, recognizing the bliss that comes with it. I’m remembering I don’t need to know everything. That sometimes there’s value in staying in the dark.

I dream of a world where we realize sometimes it’s OK to not know. A world where we understand that sometimes being in the dark is what’s best. A world where we realize we are like children and there is a force greater than us in the world. A world where we remember that force is here, acting as our parent.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

I keep thinking about the swiftness with which Silicon Valley Bank (SVB) collapsed. In the span of 48 hours, it went bust because as interest rates rose, VC capital to SVB’s portfolio companies decreased. That required the companies to start withdrawing deposits from SVB to fund day-to-day business operations but those deposits sat in bonds that were losing value by the day. The need for cash forced the bank to sell their illiquid bonds at a loss, and boom, financial panic.

Whenever I hear stories like these, I strangely have a surge of hope that it portends the fall of capitalism. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t wish financial hardship on anyone. I don’t relish the idea workers won’t get paid or that their retirement accounts will vanish. But I do very much wish corporate capitalism will fall. Big corporations running the show are destroying, well, everything. There’s a place for small-scale capitalism in the form of local shops and restaurants, but these huge conglomerates exacerbating wealth inequality are choking the life out of us.

This picture will make more sense later. Photo by Tzvi Kilov on Unsplash

I had a visceral experience with wealth inequality this week when I went to San Francisco for an appointment. Every 10 feet I either spotted an unhoused person or was solicited by one. It’s overwhelming to be somewhere people are shouting, “Excuse me! Excuse me!” every few feet, and not because they’re hawking goods but because they are in desperate need of something as basic as food.

I cried multiple times when I came home because it’s heartbreaking to witness the evils of capitalism in your face like that and also to know things could be different. The U.S. is the beating heart of capitalism and materialism and visiting Australia reminded me of that. I was abroad for Valentine’s Day and I barely remembered the holiday was occurring because there weren’t hearts displayed in every storefront. There weren’t exhortations to stock up on chocolate and teddy bears whereas here, every holiday is an opportunity to sell something, and the pressure to buy more, more, more is always there.

Is it any wonder SVB execs did what they did? I’m not absolving them of wrongdoing but I am saying we live in a culture where this sort of behavior is encouraged. And yet, SVB did fail and in that collapse, I take heart remembering my spiritual teacher said capitalism will explode like a firecracker, and furthermore, no one will know it’s about to happen even 15 minutes before.

The time element is likely hyperbole but the strong grip capitalism has on our society is not interminable. It can change and it will change because capitalism will collapse under the weight of its own greed. I don’t know what that turning point will be. I don’t know what event will finally cause capitalism to explode like a firecracker, but I know it’s coming. And I also know I welcome that world because I experienced a small taste of it when I was in Australia, which yes, is a capitalist country, but not nearly as materialistic as the good ole U.S. of A.

I dream of a world where capitalism is a faded memory. A world where compassion, kindness, and care for others are valued over greed and amassing as much wealth as possible. A world where in the moments we wonder if that future exists, we remind ourselves it does because as SVB shows us, capitalism will explode like a firecracker and it may happen fast.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

Members of my community are at the age where they’re starting to die. It seems like every three months or so someone passes away. Some people I’m closer to than others, but regardless, each death leaves an impact.

Have you ever played that game where you stand in a circle and hold a piece of yarn while also throwing it to someone else in the circle? In the end, you wind up with a giant web that connects every person to everyone else. That’s what I think life is like. When someone dies, the metaphorical yarn is tugged and creates a ripple effect so everyone feels it, some more deeply than others. As for me, there are layers of grief. There’s the grief I feel from the person’s death, but there’s also the grief I feel for their family members, their friends, their colleagues. There’s up-close-and-personal grief and there’s also more removed grief.

In my spiritual community, we have a ceremony to honor the passing of people. It’s purely for the mourners, meaning we don’t believe the ceremony has any effect on the recently deceased person. One of the things we say in tandem is, “You have freed us today from all the social responsibility we bore toward our dearest so-and-so.” At one point we all pour water into our palms from the same pot and take a sip from our cupped hands. It’s the bookend to a baby naming ceremony.

This picture will make sense later in the post. Photo by Ryan Hutton on Unsplash

With the baby naming ceremony, we are pledging responsibility to the baby symbolically by adding water into a tub, and with the mourning ceremony, we are taking it away. While the responsibilities are gone, the impact is not. Facebook is showing me pictures from a conference I used to go to in Vienna, Austria, every year. A few of those photos include Eric, a coworker who died years ago. It’s been many years since his passing, and we weren’t close, but every time I see his photo, my heart hurts a little, remembering he’s no longer with us.

I don’t have anything profound to say other than every person who is gone is not forgotten. We carry them with us in our hearts and they’re with us in another form. I’ll close here with an edited excerpt from writer and performer Aaron Freeman who in 2005 explained on NPR why you want a physicist to speak at your funeral:

“You want a physicist to speak at your funeral because they’ll explain to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind them about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. All your energy, every vibration, every BTU of heat, every wave of every particle that was you remains in this world. The physicist will tell your mourners that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you.

The physicist will them the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives. The physicist will explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. The physicist will let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely, the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable, and consistent across space and time. Your energy’s still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you’re just less orderly.”

I dream of a world where we remember every person’s death creates a ripple on the spider web of life. A world where we understand a person may be gone, but they aren’t forgotten. A world where we remember when a person dies, their energy is still around us, and not a bit of the person is gone, they’re just less orderly.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

In April, I wrote a blog for my professional website called “Maybe It’s You” about how I realized after getting rejected by every single literary agent I queried that maybe the problem was me. This is the companion piece to that blog recognizing maybe it’s not me that’s the problem; maybe it is the other person.

When it comes to interactions with other people that go awry, I frequently place the blame on myself. “What did I do wrong? Should I have said XYZ instead?” Call it a carryover from being labeled “weird” my whole life and struggling to fit in. Who knows? Regardless, when other people are unhappy, frustrated, uncomfortable, etc. I am quick to take responsibility.

In one of my recovery programs, there are two sayings that feel apt right now: “You are probably not guilty” and “You can be healthier than those around you.” Both of those statements are revelations. Typically, I’m my own worst critic playing judge, jury, and executioner before you can blink. I’m probably not guilty? It’s possible I didn’t do anything wrong? Really?

Maybe the other person is the clown, not you. Photo by Mulyadi on Unsplash

For the other saying, that I can be healthier than those around me, it’s also hard to wrap my mind around. As someone who is in recovery, seeing a therapist, and generally working on herself, I have this perspective that I’m the sickest person in the room. Everyone else knows what they’re doing, they’re normal, they’re fine. I’m the problem. The irony is after doing all this work on myself it’s become the opposite: In some situations, I am healthier than those around me because I know how to handle my own emotions. For instance, instead of asking you to stop feeling a certain way so I can feel better, I recognize when I’m activated and can do the work to process that.

Because I’ve done so much work on myself to heal my wounds and become emotionally mature, I forget not everyone else is like that. I forget someone can say, “I don’t like the way you did that” and it truly has nothing to do with me. The other person is triggered and trying to place all the blame on me instead of taking ownership of themselves. It’s so very easy to do in our society and we see evidence of this all the time.

Just a few days ago people advocated boycotting Hershey because the company featured a trans woman in an ad. Instead of dealing with their discomfort over trans people, conservatives said, “Boycott.” Why are they upset? I truly don’t understand because if they don’t want to be a trans woman, they don’t have to be, but anyway, instead of processing the discomfort within themselves, Hershey became bad and wrong. Is Hershey the problem here? Given my progressive bent, of course I say no, they aren’t.

This blog is a reminder to me and to anyone who needs to hear it that as much as you resonate with Taylor Swift’s song “Anti-hero,” maybe you’re not the problem. Maybe it’s not you. Maybe the other person is triggered or hasn’t dealt with their own discomfort or has unrealistic expectations or is scared of vulnerability or. . .Maybe you didn’t do anything wrong and in fact, you are the healthier person in the situation.

I dream of a world where we recognize sometimes we aren’t the problem; sometimes it’s the other person. A world where we understand we can be healthier than those around us. A world where we remember other people get triggered and haven’t dealt with their wounds and that’s on them no matter how much they try to place the blame on us.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

This is a repost from October 2014 when I was living in Missouri.

My recovery mentor often says to me, “God is slow but always on time. When it’s time, he moves fast so be ready.” Today I’m marveling at how true that is, particularly because I’m in a place that has seasons. In the Bay Area, there are two seasons: the dry season and the rainy season. Missouri has a proper spring, summer, fall, and winter.

Last Wednesday, I was in shorts and a t-shirt, dipping my legs in the lake. The very next day we had a thunderstorm replete with rain and lightning and then it was cold. Like, pull-out-my-fall-jacket cold. Like, turn-the-heat-on cold. It went from summer to fall in the course of a day. I realize comparing change to the seasons is not so valid anymore, considering that today the temperature is back up to the 70s, but change happens quickly in life too.

I read an interview about the recently departed Joan Rivers whom I’d always unfairly dismissed as a mean-spirited comedian. There was a point in her life when she was blacklisted from The Tonight Show, her husband Edgar had killed himself, and her career was floundering. She seriously contemplated suicide.

What an excellent picture. Photo by Chris Lawton on Unsplash

She said, “What saved me was my dog jumped into my lap. I thought, ‘No one will take care of him.’… I had the gun in my lap, and the dog sat on the gun. I lecture on suicide because things turn around. I tell people this is a horrible, awful, dark moment, but it will change and you must know it’s going to change and you push forward. I look back and think, ‘Life is great, life goes on. It changes.’”

As we all know, Joan went on to have a successful career and a rich life, but there was a point when she was thinking about ending it all. I also reflect on the turn of events for friends of mine. They’re getting married this winter and they didn’t even know each other a year ago! They met in the winter of 2013, got engaged in June 2014, and now they’re getting married.

Even in my own life, I’ve seen how change happens quickly. One day I was settling into my new abode and within an hour a sweet situation turned sour and I started making plans to live elsewhere.

I often think change happens painfully slowly, that it’s gradual – and that is certainly true – but sometimes it also happens quickly, and we have no idea it’s coming even 10 minutes prior. At this point in my life when things are so up in the air, when I have no idea where I’ll be next, what will happen next, what lies before me, it’s heartening to remember my life won’t always look this way. That change happens on the universe’s timeline, and when it happens it can happen fast so I need to be ready.

I dream of a world where we remember the only constant in life is change. A world where we realize the way things are now is not how they’ll always be. A world where we understand our troubles pass sometimes quickly and sometimes slowly. A world where we hold dear the truth that when it’s time for something to happen, it happens fast so it’s up to us to be ready.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

Two sports stories from around 20 years ago are on my mind because my friend showed me the videos of them: that of speed skater Steven Bradbury and swimmer Eric Moussambani. Their stories are amazing if you’re unfamiliar with them. In 2002 at the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics, Bradbury lagged behind the other skaters by a large degree and was nowhere near placing in the top three. Then at the final lap, all of the top-four skaters crashed into one another. That let Bradbury literally glide into first place.

He went from dead last to winning the gold on a fluke. What happened to Bradbury was so incredible that his name has become an idiom. When someone stumbles their way into first place or success, it’s called, “Doing a Bradbury.”

The other story on my mind is Moussambani’s at the 2000 Summer Olympics. He hails from Equatorial Guinea and entered the Olympics via a wild card. He had never seen an Olympic-sized swimming pool before the day of his heat and trained mostly in a lake. He swam the slowest time in Olympic history during his 100 m freestyle but he still won because both of his competitors were disqualified due to false starts. He didn’t advance to the next round but he set a new personal best and an Equatoguinean national record.

The barrier between this pool and the ocean is thin, just like with humans and Source. Photo by Kate Trifo on Unsplash

Moussambani’s story is another example of an unlikely victory stemming from a fluke. In the U.S. anyway, we have this idea you can only win if you’re the very best. It’s all about the cutthroat competition and no room for the recognition there are other forces at work in the world that can also result in a person succeeding.

Yes, these two men were Olympic athletes, they obviously put in the work. Bradbury in particular spent 14 years speed skating and suffered a life-threatening accident and a broken neck two years before his gold medal. Moussambani spent hours training as well. He didn’t sit on his couch and magically get transported to the Olympics. They put in the footwork but something beyond their personal will and grit landed them their victories.

Personally, I’d call it destiny because my spiritual teacher says there are no coincidences. Things don’t just “happen.” He says, “For each and every incident there is some cause.” We may or may not know the cause, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. He gives the example of an earthquake saying perhaps a huge stone took 10 million years to move from one place to another, but when it fell, the action took only a few seconds and caused the earth to shake. The cause took 10 million years to come to fruition but there was a cause for the earthquake.

I take comfort in hearing the stories of Bradbury and Moussambani because it reminds me if something is meant to be, it will happen. There will be a “fluke,” a “chance encounter,” or some other form of “luck” to ensure what is meant to happen to me and for me, does. As long as I continue to show up for my metaphorical race, my higher power will do the rest.

I dream of a world where we remember we are in partnership with the divine. A world where we understand there are no coincidences. A world where we recognize what is meant to happen to us, will. A world where we revel in the magic of supposed flukes, seeing them for the helping hand that they are.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.