Mystics

Why We Should Be More Judgmental

Posted by Chris Dierkes in Emotions, Mystics, Spirituality

Back in my days as a parish priest, I once gave a sermon (this one in fact, in audio even!). There’s a line in the sermon about how I found the spiritual vision laid out in the reading that day (on The Transfiguration of Jesus) both deeply inspirational and deeply disturbing. For the vision laid out in the text didn’t seem to me to be to be on great display in our world. I mentioned I felt sadness, grief, and anger at this state of affairs. It’s worth mentioning that I included myself in that description of having missed the mark. I was not pointing my finger at those evil sinners down there and assuming some self-righteous stance. Still I plainly spoke of my deep pain.

After the service, a woman came and shook my hand and said she was concerned for me given what I had said in the sermon. I mumbled something or other about how I was fine and that I was trying to put in a bit of an edge to shake people up–“comfort the afflicted and afflict the comforted” as the saying goes. This individual proceeded to say that from her perspective there was a continuum with judgment on one side and love on the other and the point of the exercise was to move towards love and move away from judgement.

I didn’t get into a long discussion with her at the time (there were plenty more hands to shake!) but reflecting on her words later I found them seriously flawed. It’s not my intention to single this individual person out because I’ve heard similar perspectives numerous times over the years both inside and outside church circles. In fact, her articulation of a continuum with judgment on the one side and love on the other was actually the clearest explanation of this view I think I’ve ever heard. I appreciate it’s clarity though I think it’s fantastically wrong. It’s a view that dominates our postmodern landscape and I think it’s one that deserves radical questioning. I think that view cripples us in serious ways emotionally and spiritually.

To simplify her outlook, we have this:

Judgment —– Love

With the intended direction supposed to be:

Judgment —> Love

When visualized this way, what do you notice?

Here’s what I notice:

There can be no judgment in love. (Judgment and Love are mutually exclusive).
All judgments are therefore lacking in love.
Judgment is consequently an inherently negative thing.
Which means there can never be a positive version of judgment.

I’d like to question all four of those assumptions. Why can’t there ever be judgment in love? Must all judgments inherently be without love? Is judgment always bad? Can’t there ever be positive, life-giving, wise judgment?

When it came to Love and Judgment, I would say my interlocutor had actually stumbled upon a polarity and not a continuum. I see Love and Judgment as mutually interacting and related to one another (more like the Yin/Yang symbol of Taoism) rather than opposition. I see them as complementary, paradoxically related, not antithetical.

Normally when we come to polarities in life, we tend to favor one side or the other. We choose light over dark. Or decide that some of our emotions are positive ones and others negative ones. We want the former and not the latter (and this is a big mistake).

In particularly bad cases, we may even seek to suppress one side of the polarity and thereby treat it not as a polarity but as a continuum (as this woman did in relation to Love and Judgment). When we see these as a polarity the idea is to move to embrace both sides. In this case we might start by asking questions like:

In what ways are there positive judgments in this world?
When an innocent person is brought to trial and the court finds the defendant innocent is that not a positive judgment?
When an innocent person is found guilty is that not negative judgment (again implying there is positive judgment)?

Can you think of any other positive judgments?

Maybe a time in your life when you realized you were behaving in a way that was hurting you or others and decided this was wrong and took steps to heal the wounds caused and to act in a more life affirming manner?

(Not everything in life is a polarity by the way. Sometimes things are just plain wrong or destructive.)

Not so coincidentally others perceived this woman as at times arrogant, looking down her nose at them. When a voice like Judgment is suppressed–when one half of the polarity is disowned–then it comes out in unconscious and destructive ways. It was her unconscious judgment that was coming out. The problem was not that she had failed to move farther along the continuum away from judgment towards love. It was rather than in framing the issue that way she was always leaving parts of herself disowned (in this case judgment), parts that would express themselves in an unconscious manner.

Again this isn’t me slamming this woman but just pointing out what I think is a rather inevitable consequence of suppressing one half of this polarity: it doesn’t go away it just shows up in a really unhelpful ways.

The view she was advocating was one that is hugely dominant in liberal spiritual circles–that we should be non-judgmental and loving. I think non-judgmentalism is a flawed concept and virtue. Positively stated, I do believe we should be accepting–that we don’t want to stand in positions of moralistic self-righteous. Everyone is a human. We try our best. We fail. We make mistakes. We hurt each other. There’s no need to believe any of us are above all that.

But describing oneself as non-judgmental has the unintended consequence of making our judgments unconscious.

Awhile back I wrote a much longer, more involved piece on this same subject from a slightly different angle entitled: Can We Ever Truly Judge One Another? It generated a lot of feedback–some positive, much of it negative. A good friend suggested that had I used the word discernment rather than judgment I wouldn’t have received any critical comments. I think she was right. While I highly value discernment, I don’t believe discernment is equivalent to judgment. They are closely related but I believe slightly distinct.

Discernment involves sifting through one’s desires to locate the truest, holiest motivation lying within one–a key to finding one’s soul purpose or calling. Discernment also includes learning about the dark and unhealthy sides of one’s desires. Discernment is about individually and collectively reading the signs around us and figuring out a best next step, a best way forward.

It’s true then to say that discernment is a kind of judgment–it’s (healthy) judgment in relation to questions of one’s calling as well as the common good.

But the question I have is what about judgment more broadly?

A point I noted in my earlier piece was that in my experience (speaking generally) marginalized and oppressed peoples do not seem to have the negative associations with the word judgment that privileged peoples do. The marginalized and oppressed actually seemed to embrace judgment because for them judgment means the wrongs they experience are going to be righted. This narrative is especially true in The Bible.

I think for all the talk about being non-judgmental as a great value among well to do North Americans, it’s really fear of having to look into the ways in which we benefit from unjust systems and situations. If we really honed up to judgment, the judgment would probably be on us. Non-judgmentalism as a value often says far less about our supposed ethical love and care, and far more about what we don’t want to come to light.

What I’m not trying to do here is revive some fire and brimstone old-timey religion based on guilt, freaking people the hell out. Of course there are all kinds of destructive judgment: prejudices against people based on age, body size, gender identity, sexual orientation, economic class, ethnic makeup, national or cultural heritage, on and on. What kind of music you listen to (or don’t), what kind of clothes you wear (or don’t), what political party you support (or don’t), the list is endless.

Those are wrong. But please notice in saying that I’m exercising judgment–wise and loving judgment I believe.

Non-judgmentalism is very much like tolerance (another word I’m not a big fan of particularly). Why should I tolerate injustice or cruelty? Why should I tolerate abuse? Why should any of us tolerate those things? That’s different than saying I should despise or seek pain on those who do such things. It’s not intolerance of their personhood I think we should embrace, but rather intolerance of attitudes, actions, and ways of being that are dehumanizing.

In that way, I advocate that we should all be much more conscious and upfront about our judgments. We should be more intolerant, not less. We should seek to hone and sharpen our judgments, not dull them with talk of love and being non-judgmental.

I actually think the polarity is not between Love and Judgment but rather between Mercy and Judgment–Love being the union of (wise) Mercy and Judgment. Mercy is what reminds us that we are all human, full of pains and sorrows, imperfect, and act in ways that harm ourselves and others–as well as we don’t do things that would benefit and heal ourselves and others. Judgment is what holds us to account in love–mercy is forgiveness not getting off the hook. Love is the Warm Presence of Being Herself. Love teaches us the nature of reality herself–Mercy and Judgment teach us how concretely to relate to her properly.

Archbishop Desmond Tutu, one of the great critics of apartheid in South Africa, led The Truth and Reconciliation Commission after apartheid ended. Notice that the emphasis is on Truth first and then Reconciliation. No deep and lasting peace or reconciliation is possible without first truth. As Jesus said, “The truth shall set you free.” [That’s a judgment from Jesus!]

Truth in the context of anti-apartheid meant the truth of the dehumanization and evil of the apartheid system. Showing that this entire thing called apartheid was wrong and led otherwise well-intentioned people to do awful things. The truth also involved the recognition of how everyone was hurt: the oppressors and the oppressed (though certainly not in equal measure). Everyone was dehumanized from apartheid not just the obvious victims of persecution.

Truth and Reconciliation are for me basically interchangeable words for Judgment and Mercy. It could have been called The Judgement and Mercy Commission but Truth and Reconciliation I think has a better ring to it. But it’s the same basic principle. It’s not just saying sorry and offering forgiveness (Reconciliation, Mercy) without clearly annunciating the violence that was done (Judgment, Truth). It’s not simply articulating all the wrongs (Judgment, Truth) and then wanting revenge. It’s articulating all the wrongs (Judgment, Truth), then forgiving them (Mercy, Reconciliation)–saying these evils will no longer have power over us.

Truth and Reconciliation. (Wise, Loving) Judgment and Mercy.

Judgement in this regard is very close to, if not identical, to healthy shame (a subject I’ve written on here and here). The judgment we’re speaking of here is judgment as to actions, attitudes, and beliefs that are causing pain and desecrating life. It’s not a judgment of any human being as to their essence, their humanness. It’s not moralizing. It’s not sneering. It’s not us versus them. It’s radical and deep humility. It’s powerful but also loving. It’s not a license to start blasting people. It’s a call to serious maturity.

The first piece I wrote for this site is about deep hospitality and welcome as an abiding spiritual practice. That includes judgment. Br. Judgment needs to be welcomed into the family for he’s been marginalized for far too long. When he’s welcomed, then he will offer his wisdom of clarity, insight, and clean power. He will then come into relationship his sister Mercy and together they will form Love.

Understood rightly, the path of owning our judgments, is the path to greater Love.

13 Apr 2014 2 comments / READ MORE

I’m Not a Lightworker, I’m a Darkwalker

Posted by Chris Dierkes in Mystics, Shamanism, Spirituality, The Imaginal

In the last year I’ve transitioned from working as a full-time pastor to now working more in the, how do I say this, non-institutionalized version of spirituality popular nowadays. Now that I work in the realm of soul readings, energy healing, and imaginal capacities, I keep coming across the term lightworker. It’s a common term, particularly in the New Age world. I’ve even been occasionally described by others at some gatherings as a lightworker.

This kinda irked me for awhile, but at first I didn’t pay a great deal of attention to it. I just mostly ignored it. Finally at a recent gathering someone introduced me as a lightworker and I gently corrected the person to say that I didn’t identify with the term and didn’t want to be called a lightworker. I said if others felt comfortable with the term I respected that, but personally I didn’t feel right being categorized in that way.

This caused a surprising bit of angsty energy in the room. I received some funny looks (by funny here I mean disapproving).

It’s a strange word, lightworker. First off it’s got the word worker in it, which I find not especially inviting. Worker like worker bee. Seems very corporate-cubicle to me. Very drone feeling.

And then there’s light. Light and work seem an odd pairing. Does light do work? I guess, in a manner of speaking. Light gives birth to plants and food. It warms and heats. But it’s definitely not work in the normal use of the term. There’s a certain ease when it comes to light that doesn’t seem (to me) to gel with the word work.

Anyway, the mechanics of the word aside, what’s the intention behind describing oneself as a lightworker? And why do I have a significant enough disagreement with the term to ask that I not be called it?

What I understand by the term lightworker is the notion that people see themselves as serving the light. The light as in The Light of Truth or The Light of Spirit.

That’s obviously a very honorable intention, one I seek to live out myself. But I find the word lightworker tends to come with a bias towards the heavenly realms. Light is often depicted to be up above. At best this suggests a model in which the Light is needing to be brought down into our human realm. At worst it suggests a seeking to go up and out of our daily existence. It can very easily become an escape.

Admittedly, the higher, subtle planes of reality are more comfortable, pleasurable, and filled with less pain than our everyday world. There’s no denying that truth. There’s less resistance in the subtle, heavenly realms. But as the Buddhist wheel of karma correctly teaches us, even the realm of the gods is still a form of very, very subtle entrapment. It’s the necessary inverse to the realms of hungry ghosts. If there’s a heaven there has to be a hell. If there’s a hell, there has to be a heaven. But what if both heaven and hell were to fall away, to melt into nothingness?

Another potential problem I see is the notion of being a lightworker can be very disempowering–suggesting we don’t have the resources necessary here in material, earthly existence. I’m not suggesting this is the conscious intent. In fact, I think the vast majority of folks who I’ve heard or read use the term seem to me very well meaning, conscientious persons.

Well-intentioned or otherwise, I still think there’s a problem here.

Two questions I often ask myself is: what is the dark side of the light? And what is the light side of the darkness?

I’ve written about this before in relationship to the religion of Jedi-ism (yes it’s an official religion in some places now). I wrote on the Jedi Code and how the original code included lines like:

Emotion yet peace.
Passion yet serenity.
Death, yet the Force.

And then in a later edition of the Jedi Code, the balanced view expressed in the original code became corrupted into a one-sided one with a strong spiritual (“heavenly”) bias against the earthly realm.

The code became:

There is no emotion, there is peace.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
There is no death, there is The Force.

This is what I mean by an overemphasis on being a lightworker. We forget about the darkness totally and make everything “light” or conceive the darkness only as a force of resistance or evil.

Since we’re talking Jedis, a better term than workers would be walkers. Luke was a Skywalker. George Lucas, of course, based the Jedi on various traditions of Eastern monks, who are often said to be Cloud-Walkers (which is where Skywalker comes from). One who walks the high places.

Stephen Jenkinson calls himself the Griefwalker. He walks with people through their grief. The process of undergoing the death journey is called The Deathwalk. Shamans are said to walk between the worlds. My good friend William is literally a Walker (his actual last name) and he literally walked a pilgrimage of his ancestor across Canada and the US (read it, it’s mind blowing).

In other words, there could be a whole ecology of walkers. (I think walker is a much stronger term than worker). Walkers have work to do certainly but they also enjoy the sights.

I wouldn’t push this too far, but maybe I’d call myself a Darkwalker since I advocate for the role of entering into the darkness along the path.

In the darkness is found light.

Consider this teaching from the Kabbalistic tradition (Jewish mystical tradition). In one version of Kabbalah, creation occurs by the Divine Self hiding into The Divine Self, creating a space, as it were, of ‘non-God’. Into this space creation comes forth. There were vessels created meant to help modify, contain, and mediate the Light of Creation. The Light to form creation however was too strong to be held and the light splintered the vessels of creativity, leading to shards (called klipot) scattered everywhere. In shamanic traditions, this is called soul fragmentation. Kabbalah suggests there was a kind of cosmic soul fragmentation–a fragmentation perhaps of the World Soul itself.

The shards are the painful jagged realities of our world. The brokenness, the suffering, the alienation, the loneliness, the enmity, the prejudice, the violence and the chaos that so mars existence.

The Kabbalist is one who neither fights nor succumbs to the shards. The Kabbalist rather transmutes them. For, as the story goes, hidden within each shard is a drop of light, a hidden remnant of the original Light, waiting to be released. When the shard is loved fully, the light is released.

The transmutation of the shards is an act of shadow work. It’s a restoration of the fragmented pieces. It’s a liberation of the light. It’s spiritual, economic, political, social, ecological all wrapped up into one.

This soul retrieval, somehow both personal and cosmic, happens by entering into the darkness. Notice–this is a very subtle and extremely important point–it happens by the embrace of the darkness not just by sending light into the darkness (though that may be a part of the process).

This is why I’ve sometimes half-jokingly/half-seriously said I want to be called a Darkworker. Or now a Darkwalker. Not because I serve the darkness in some demonic sense but I understand the place of the awakening of the darkness. It’s worth recalling that the character of Lucifer is said to be an Angel of the Highest Light who fell–there is then a potential darkness (in the negative sense) in being addicted to the Light.

Not only is there light to be found in the shadowy darkness, there is also a grace to darkness itself. (Darkness here not as the shadow but as the realm of Being).

The great Christian mystic, St. Dionysius the Areopagite wrote of the state of mystically uniting with The Source and Cause of All Reality as “Luminous Darkness.” It’s a light so bright it darkens our minds and hearts. Since we connect to The Cause in this space, this state of consciousness is known as causal.

Dionysius said that we enter into this Luminous Darkness by dropping all preferences. We can’t prefer up over down, left over right, right over left. We can’t prefer sorrow over joy or joy over sorrow. Crucially, we can’t prefer light over darkness. We have to let go, Dionysius would say, even our most subtle spiritual experiences in order that we might rest in Pure Mystery, beyond all words, beyond all concepts, beyond all conventional knowing.

We must be illuminated in the darkness of unknowing, guided only by our burning hearts.

Given Dionysius’ insight, does calling oneself a Lightworker prevent entrance into the Luminous Darkness? Does it perhaps make it harder?

I happen to believe so.

The language, images, and metaphors we use to interpret and frame our spiritual experiences are extremely important. They can push us to greater depth or they can subtly pull us away from certain types of realization and experience. Our frames, especially our spiritual ones, can start to form a deep bias in our minds. As a consequence, there are enormous implications to the frames we placed around spirituality.

So if you think this is all just some word play or heady spiritual talk, here’s a concrete example of how the Lightworker/Luminous Darkness plays out in terms of ethnicity and racial prejudice in the contemporary spiritual scene.

Lightworkers tend to be too addicted to the subtle, heavenly world of Light–chakras, meridians, auras, colors, etc. Those realities have their place and are important but they aren’t more important than the causal luminous darkness–which in turns isn’t more important than the waking-world, material day to day world. Each plays its role and supplements the other.

But because there is an overemphasis on understanding Light in its subtle form, we see a real bias towards light-haired (usually blonde) white woman in the yoga and spiritual communities nowadays. (There are also plenty of social and historical factors at play involved here, in terms of white privilege and power–I don’t want to discount those. But there is also a spiritual reason for this occurrence). I see so many white, often blonde woman, called radiant goddesses on Facebook. I much more rarely see a really very dark-skinned black or brown women called a radiant goddess. If we forget the beauty of the light in the darkness and the luminous nature of the darkness itself, this is what happens. For the record, I have nothing against beautiful white yoga women–I just don’t believe they constitute the radiant goddess norm.

That is just one example, but it points to the reason why I would rather be called a Darkwalker than a Lightworker. If we become overly fascinated with the subtle lights of the heavens, we forget the light trapped in the shadows and we forget there is a realm beyond the subtle, light-filled heaven, a luminous darkness, a Ground of All Being, from which everything comes into existence. Those deserve our time, attention, and love at least as much as the subtle lights (if not in our day more so).

I encourage you (wisely) to walk in the darkness. Walk into the Infinite Abyss of Love, the realm of Luminous Causative Darkness. Try also, when you feel ready, to gently walk with Love into the realm of our personal darknesses–our shadows. There is light to be found there as well.

03 Mar 2014 2 comments / READ MORE

What is Devotion?

Posted by Chris Dierkes in Mystics, Spirituality

I believe devotion is perhaps the single most important and neglected issue in contemporary spiritual practice.

Part of that neglect I think is due to the challenge that faces anyone who tries to describe devotion. Devotion is actually a very difficult subject to discuss. It’s a tough term to define. I’ve been practicing a devotionally oriented form of spirituality almost my entire life and I still have a hard time expressing what exactly it is. What have I been doing all these years? Why have I stuck with devotion? What has devotion taught me? What gifts has she bestowed on me?

In my heart I have a deep sense of the answers to those questions but in practice I find it challenging to articulate. Still I think it’s important to try, knowing that all words will inevitably fall short of the mark. So in what follows i’m going to do my best to give a flavor to devotion. At least one man’s understanding of it anyway.

If I had to summarize devotion in one short phrase, I’d say: devotion is intimate relationship with The Heart of All Life and The Source of all Love.

Devotion is a fire. Devotion is the human heart finding its Maker and uncoiling in the presence of that Absolutely Loving One. Devotion is the doorway into Loving Presence.

It can help to learn what devotion is by contrasting it with other forms of spiritual practice (and learning what it’s not). In that sense, devotion can be distinguished from meditation and contemplation (at least conceptually). In meditation there is Realization–we are graced with the realization of who we most fundamentally are. We awaken to Consciousness as the Essence of all Life. In contemplation we are stunned in awe and wonder taking in the beauty, the harmony, the perfection of Creation.

In devotion however we must learn the art of surrender…from the heart. Surrendering into and as love. In devotion we learn to fall before the majesty of the Love that call us all into being.

In meditation the movement is more about accepting everything as it is (a wonderful practice). In contemplation, the movement is about beholding the beauty in all (also a wonderful practice).

Whereas in devotion, the movement is towards loving everything–loving each and every creation in its uniqueness.

In contemplation we experience ourselves as one part of the whole. In meditation we find our sense of self dissolve as we submerge into the depths of Being itself.

In devotion, however, we must first become whole. And that wholeness is what is then surrendered, sacrificed into Love.

Devotion is a radical act in our day. It subverts the central current of our contemporary Western world–namely the acquisitiveness of the self. Self-possession is the name of the game in our world.

Devotion, in contrast, is about self-emptying. In devotion we find that we become full in the moment that all of us is let go of and released into God, from the heart.

The prospect of surrender is why devotion is simultaneously so alluring and so terrifying. Whenever we talk surrender, it immediately rings an alarm bell within us, crying out:

Who or what are we surrendering to? And can it/he/she/they be trusted?

Other questions often follow in quick succession:

If I surrender, will I lose my mind, my control, even myself?

What if the surrendering overwhelms me?

The sister of Surrender is Trust (aka Faith). Whenever we inquire into surrender we inevitably must come to face the question of trust–who or what can be trusted? Who or what can be trusted with our surrendering?

Trust derives from the notion of a troth–one’s truth, one’s utter commitment, as for example in a marriage (see the root troth in the word bethrothal). One gives us one’s troth, one’s trust, one’s utter gift. This is devotion. And this is what our hearts are designed to do–they are designed to give this troth to The Creator, The King, The Queen of Love.

How can we recognize the one and only one who deserves our troth, who deserves the deepest level of our commitment?

This question lies at the heart of devotion. For one of the root meanings of the word devotion is “loyalty, fealty, or allegiance.”

Wherever we have a sense of deep and abiding faith or trust in someone or something and we surrender to that one, we automatically create deep feelings of loyalty, fealty, or allegiance. That is devotion.

And for that reason devotion is powerful and yet dangerous.

Dangerous because without a conscious intention and clear insight into who and what we devote to, devotion becomes profoundly unconscious. Devotion goes underground and expresses itself in unhealthy ways. As a result, we become devoted to money, power, self-glorification, or our own comfort–in so doing we become bound to the enslaving powers of our day.

Yet within devotion lies the seed of deep liberation.

Devotion is potentially very countercultural.

There’s so much that indicates we shouldn’t practice trust or surrender: political and institutional corruptions of all varieties, desecration of life, massive injustice, and pervasive cruelty. It’s much easier to remain in a state of apathy or despair.

But done properly, devotion awakens justice, forgiveness, mercy, and a deep burning desire for a more perfect reality than the we occupy currently.

In order to experience those graces, however, we must come face to face with The Beloved, The Lord of All. This face to face encounter is a naked one. We are stripped bare before The All Loving, All Holy One. We find however that we are looked upon only in Love.

Only such a one, only one who loves us absolutely, is deserving of our troth. Only such a one deserves our fealty, our loyalty. Only such a one deserves our surrender, deserves our trust.

And what devotional practice has taught me above all else is that there is such a one. We may call this one by many many different names–with each of the names contributing some further dimension of the unending mystery. But there is such a one.

And when we approach this one in a devotional way–that is the in the way of naked humility and trust–we experience something we can experience in no other way. Namely we learn that we are loved, we are forgiven, we are made in goodness, we are appreciated and delighted in at the most fundamental level.

As exalted and poetically rich as the language of devotion can be, devotion is also as simple as sitting on the ground and opening our hands and reaching out in love. It’s a simple as kneeling on the floor and bowing our forehead to the earth, submitting ourselves to Love. The capacity for devotion lies within all of us. It simply needs to be nurtured and cultivated.

12 Jan 2014 5 comments / READ MORE

Is Spirituality A Solution to a Problem?

Posted by Chris Dierkes in Mystics, Spirituality, The Soul

I’m into my third full month of working for myself, trying to make a viable, just, and sustainable business practice through my work in intuitive readings and energy healing. The business side of this work is quite challenging for me. I’m really starting from square zero (if not square negative 1000). To put it mildly, it’s not a natural area of talent for me.

Consequently, I’m reading a number of books on marketing right now. One thing that keeps coming up again and again is the idea that marketing fundamentally is about selling a solution to someone who has a problem.*

On the surface this makes a good deal of sense.

For a grief counsellor the problem people have is that someone they love has died and our culture leaves us radically ill-equipped and ill-trained on how to grieve. Consequently, there are a great many people suffering as the result of being unable to constructively work through their natural grief at the death of a loved one. The skilled grief counsellor offers the remedy of creating a safe space of deep listening and compassion to help a person work through their grief. The benefits to doing so include a greater sense of peace, relief, and maturation for the person who goes through a process of healthy grieving with the aid of the skilled counsellor.

Many many examples could be thought of along those lines: e.g., physical trainers, naturopaths, IT consultants, business coaches, on and on. We could think of problems they respond to–lack of physical exercise, disease, inefficiencies due to poor technological design in a business, and the difficulty of starting and making successful a commercial venture.

But when I think of my work as an attempt, in some form or another, to bring the value of spirituality into contemporary life I’m left wondering….is spirituality a solution to a problem?

On one hand the answer seems quite obvious, well yes, yes it is. Or at least it’s an attempt to be a solution to a problem anyway.

The many facets of the great traditions of spiritual wisdom offer diverse and wonderful insights. For example, the spiritual traditions teach us about how to face our deaths and how to live with the deaths of others. Spiritual traditions teach us about the cycles of life (for example, see this extraordinary one).

The traditions of spiritual devotion teach us about how to maintain a connection with the Divine Lord. The meditative traditions teach us how to come to peace with our minds and to realize the mysterious, beautifully intimate nature of consciousness. The ethical strains of the wisdom traditions teach us how to love, forgive, have compassion, be kind, care about others as well as ourselves, and to protect life.

These approaches of the spiritual traditions bring a great deal of goodness, reduce suffering, and make the world brighter, more beautiful, and sane.

Still, implicit in all of those is the problematic inverse. If we don’t gain clear insight into the nature of minds through meditation, then we will be deluded. If we don’t find our connection to the Beloved Lord, our hearts will forever be restless. If we don’t live with compassion, mercy, love, and tenderness we will see a world of wanton violence, abject poverty, and the oppression of all forms of life.

So yes in one way spirituality is clearly a proposed solution to a set of problems.

Said differently, if spirituality is promoting mindfulness, then the problem is clearly mindlessness. If spirituality is promoting clear-seeing, then the problem is delusion. If spirituality promotes mercy, then the problem is cruelty.

We could even say that many spiritual traditions start with (as they see it) the major problem of all existence–a kind of meta or arch-problem. For Christianity it’s sin, for Buddhism it’s unenlightened reality, for The New Age it’s a state of low vibrational semiconsciousness, and for more animistic traditions it’s disconnection from the earth. The proposed solutions then constitute a state of complete reversal and goodness: the kingdom of God say, the world of complete Buddhahood, the ascended Age of Light, or the New Earth.

While I respect and honor this outlook, there’s something still nagging at me with this analysis. Something inside me feels like this problem-solution framework doesn’t go far enough or at least doesn’t cover another side of the spiritual traditions.

It’s not that I think the outlook of those traditions is unduly grim. Just about nothing could be further from the truth. I’m not naive about the endless, infinite amount of suffering that comes from living out of alignment with our soul purpose and spiritual natures. I’m quite conscious of the havoc these twin mistakes make: monetary, political, social, ethnic, ethical, psychological, emotional, physical, and in every other conceivable way.

So no, I’m not saying spirituality isn’t a solution to a problem because that’s too much of debbie-downer view.

It’s simply that it seems to me spirituality shouldn’t be pitched ONLY as a solution to a problem (or set of problems).Nor is as simple as leading with the presumed benefits rather than the problems because that’s just the other side of the same coin. The problem-solution or symptoms-benefits coin is itself only one part of a much bigger story, at least when it comes to spirituality (I don’t know if this applies in other contexts).

This complex is part of what makes marketing so hard for me. On one hand, I’m quite aware that the experts promote the problem-solution framework for a reason–namely it’s very effective. It’s time-tested and it works. People are often drawn far more by pain than by pleasure. I get it.

On the other hand, when it comes to spirituality always starting with a problem and a proposed solution subtly (and not so subtly in some cases) shifts the ground of spiritual practice. The problem-solution mindset shifts spirituality into a zone of suggesting we get something out of the path, when in fact maybe we always don’t and shouldn’t expect to.

Spiritual traditions, in one form or another and at some point or another, teach that the path is simply the path and is meant to be walked regardless of its effects in our lives. That’s old school I realize but I actually believe there’s a lot of truth in that perspective. Except, I’m not supposed to say this very thing. I’m not supposed to say something I deeply believe. Because, admittedly, it doesn’t sell.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not glorifying suffering. I’m not advocating a spiritual version of ‘no pain, no gain’, which is far too prevalent in many of the traditions. But what if there is something about the spiritual path that is simply true of us regardless of the effects? What if it’s not a solution to a problem but rather just an invitation, something that just is meant to be, that simply is what it is on its own terms?

What if it’s just something about our human inheritance? What if spirituality is actually in lots of way really useless and impractical, maybe even (according to some analyses) radically non-beneficial or even detrimental?

What if it makes life more complex not less?

Then what?

How would I, er, market that exactly?

I suppose I could try to squeeze what I’m saying here back into the problem-solution framework and say that the problem is living in an unnatural way (with the spiritual path being assumed to the natural way of existence), we are living out of flow or so on. But I’m not sure that’s really what’s going on there. I realize I’m not being super articulate here. My thoughts on the matter aren’t super clear. I’m more hunching into the void on this one. Maybe others could give better voice to my intuition here–if so I’d be very appreciative.

I think we have to stand up for the ways in which the path we must walk will not necessarily fix problems or make our lives better. In some ways yes. In other ways, the spiritual path makes life become far more complex, ambiguous, and challenging.

—
* Maybe the word problem is er problematic for some. I also see terms like urgent needs and compelling desires–this is really still problem-solution just with different labels.

08 Dec 2013 1 comment / READ MORE

Does God Hate?

Posted by Chris Dierkes in Emotions, Mystics

A few weeks ago, my good friend Bruce Sanguin wrote a piece entitled The Tender Wrath of God. He described it as an attempt to redeem the language of God’s wrath. I recommend reading his piece in full. I’ve been thinking about writing a piece or giving a sermon attempting to redeem the wrath of God for awhile now, but for some reason I always backed off doing it. Br. Bruce’s piece has inspired me to finally explore the matter.

I’m going to tack differently than Bruce did–I don’t think what I’m going to say is in opposition or critical of Bruce’s view. Just different.

First off, I’m going to change the word wrath for hatred. Some may feel this is an unfair exchange but I think hatred is a word we can relate to more viscerally than wrath (and I think the meanings are very close, if not nearly identical to make the substitution valid).

Could we then speak of The Hatred of God?

Right away I’m sure I’m setting off all kinds of alarm bells. At least I should be setting off such bells. The idea of God’s hatred is a weapon that has been used against countless beings. The formula of course is quite simple in it’s deadliness.

1. God Hates X group of people (fill in the X with aboriginals, gays and lesbians, Jews, atheists, “heretics”, “infidels,” etc.)
2, I speak for God and therefore I have to hate X as well (conveniently for me God and I always share the same point of view, how awesome is that?!!!)
3. I should therefore do any of the following to X:
Ignore them
Ridicule them
Shame them
Oppress them
Commit violence upon them unless they change.

1 + 2 = 3

The history of that ‘3’ is a history of terrible bloodshed, trauma, and destruction. Just as evil, that history is still present reality. So let’s put that giant warning label over everything that’s to follow. It may be as Bruce said in his piece, that redeeming the Wrath (Hatred) of God is not possible.

While holding all that horror in mind, can we still speak positively of the Hatred of God?

Before I jump further into that question, there’s one more prefatory comment I want to make.

One of the criticisms that I find emerges right away in any discussion like this one is that speaking of God being angry or hating or being full of wrath is too anthropomorphic–i.e. it makes God too much like a human being. I definitely appreciate that criticism coming from a place of great respect for the utter transcendence of The Divine–that God can’t be reduced to our human thoughts or feelings. Still, I think we should make God far more human. I think one of the major problems of most theology is that God isn’t nearly human enough. If we make God far more human, I think we would potentially connect far more deeply with our own humanity (and therefore our divinity). As St. Irenaeus said, “God became human so that humanity would become God.” Making God more anthropomorphic is actually about the divinization of humanity.

When we make God (as I think we should) more human, then I think we can talk about the Hatred of God. Please bear with me. I realize this is raw territory full of pain for many people.

Karla McLaren in her book The Language of Emotions: What Your Feelings Are Trying To Tell You, has a chapter on the emotion of hatred. (I mention her book frequently because for me it’s a lodestar). The subtitle of the hatred chapter is The Profound Mirror. The gifts of hatred (*properly held*) she describes as, “intense awareness, piercing vision, sudden evolution, shadow work.”

McLaren writes,

“Though humankind’s expression of hatred has created unrelieved suffering throughout history, hatred is actually a natural, healthy, and exceptional emotion. Hatred is a laser-focused form of rage and fury that arises when your boundary is devastated, not through an attack per se, but through a more intimate and interior hazard that you’re not yet able to confront on your own…Hatred is an intense flare of rage and fury, which means you’re dealing with boundary devastation and the near-complete loss of your equilibrium.” (The Language of Emotions, pp. 215-216)

For McLaren, the guiding question for properly working with hatred is: What has fallen into my shadow? What needs to be reintegrated?

The desire to be nice, kind, polite, even spiritual (or at least to be seen as such) blocks admitting we feel hatred. It’s a normal, healthy human emotion. I’m not surprised that we’re uncomfortable with our own hatred and therefore are also uncomfortable speaking of God’s hatred.

To make this clearer, let’s take a different emotion that we’re also really uncomfortable with: jealousy. Again I find McLaren’s understanding of that emotion really helpful. Jealousy she describes as “relational radar”, a mixture of fear and anger in response to a perceived threat to an intimate relationship.

Just so, The God of The Bible is described as “jealous”. “I am a jealous God” (Exodus 20: 5) God’s jealousy has to do with a threat of God’s intimate relationship with the people of Israel being broken or damaged. The Prophets of Israel repeatedly refer to worship of other gods as a form of adultery for just this reason. The relationship between God and the people is meant to be as close as that of spouses. Worship of other gods isn’t an abstract proposition but cheating on your divine lover.

One of the classic atheist critiques of religion is that humans have projected our emotional states onto a deity–it’s a form of supreme human arrogance. I actually think it’s the reverse. I think God is the only full human and we are less than humans and have to develop into full humanity (which turns out is one with divinity). So, as I said before, I think we should be anthropomorphizing God (*rightly*) much much more.

I think it’s deeply profound that the Biblical tradition speaks of a jealous God. I think it creates a point of connection between us and God. Even in jealousy (*rightly embraced*) we are not separate from God. I love that in the Bible God is variously depicted as sullen, heartbroken, wounded, grieving, and yes even at times resentful or hating. I think it’s much easier to create a nice theology of a serene, unmoved, contemplative God who sees everything as One. I’m not saying that style can’t be attributed to God but it leaves out all the messiness.* I think awakening (i.e. accepting and acting upon our godhood) is much harder, and therefore far more valuable, precisely when that enlightenment is expressed through anger, fear, sadness, grief, joy, jealousy. In the story of Noah and the Flood, God even feels remorse and sorrow (think about that one for a second…it’s a total theological mindf#@!).

So that brings us back to hatred, ours and God’s. If God hates and we humans do not, then we are not yet incarnate. If we hate and God does not, then our hatred is left unredeemed. In other words, I think I’m flipping Br. Bruce’s question. I’m not asking whether God’s Hatred can be redeemed but rather whether our hatred can.

McLaren writes,

“If we can channel hatred inside our own psyches, we can instantaneously reconstruct our boundaries, focus ourselves intently, and perform amazing feats of shadow-retrieval and evolution.” (p. 219)

Hatred, McLaren emphasizes repeatedly, is not mere dislike. It destabilizes the sense of self at a core level. She offers a beautiful practice of how to own one’s hatred within healthy boundaries rather than exploding out onto the one we hate (see her book for this practice).

But let’s look again at that last line, when hatred is channeled inside our own psyches, we can perform amazing feats of shadow-retrieval and evolution. This understanding of hatred raises a very interesting theological question (which I don’t have anywhere near the skill to take on)…if we talk of God’s hatred, do we talk of God having a shadow? If so, what’s in God’s shadow?

Whether God has a shadow or not, we certainly do. And hatred (rightly understood and embraced) has the power to call the shadow material from the depths, so that it might be redeemed and its light released.

Concerning the gift of shadow material brought forth through healthy hatred, McLaren writes,

“This won’t turn you into a brutal, ignorant, or selfish person; it will actually protect you because you’ll no longer be tormented or seduced by brutality, ignorance, or selfishness in shadowy ways. When you reintegrate your shadow material, you won’t suddenly enjoy brutality, ignorance, or selfishness, but you won’t be endangered by them either. You’ll be able to make healthy separations from people who live out those traits, instead of throwing yourself into twisted, hate-filled love affairs with them.” (p.225)

This understanding of healthy hatred and the ability to welcome it, I think opens up a very powerful way of understanding apocalyptic language and theology, of being able to reintegrate shadow, express hatred, and yet have healthy separation–as well as clear boundaries of holding the energy rather than unleashing it in hurtful thoughts or actions).

I think it’s time for a Theology of Hatred (*Rightly Embraced*). To make things a bit too simplistic, we’ve had a theology of unhealthy hatred in many forms of religion, particularly (but not exclusively) Christianity. This shows up as the puritanical, judgmental faith that has caused so many to be turned off by organized religion. We’ve had the reaction against unhealthy hatred in so-called liberal, mainline churches. There’s actually a huge amount of shadow hatred in those churches–particularly against the more conscious haters on the right. But formally hatred has no place in the softer, more gentler, more supposedly loving and forgiving liberal churches (as well as New Age spirituality).

Instead of that, I say let’s have some Healthy Hatred.

—

* As a theological sidenote, Christians have misunderstood their own scriptures for centuries. They often see The God of the Hebrew Bible (Adonai Elohim) as God the Father of the New Testament. This is wrong. Adonai Elohim, The Holy One of Israel, for Christians, is the character of Jesus in the New Testament. It took a literature scholar, Harold Bloom, to point out that obvious fact. Jesus evinces the same range of emotions as does The God of Israel. Jesus shows anger, grief, sorrow, ecstasy, contentment, and yes even hatred. cf, the work of Margaret Barker.

27 Oct 2013 2 comments / READ MORE

Why (Healthy) Shame is Good For Us

Posted by Chris Dierkes in Emotions, Healing Arts, Mystics, The Soul

“Shame may be our most hidden or submerged emotion; it may also be the one we shun the most.” (Robert Masters, Emotional Intimacy p.109)

Shame gets a bad rap. A really bad rap. And for good reason. It can be an absolute killer. For so many people shame is like a virus that infects them at an early age and stays with them for life. Shame can be crippling.

“You’re not good enough.”
“You’ll never be good enough.”
“You really f#@!ed that one up, didn’t ya?”
“You’re a failure.”

This is the voice of shame. This is what we think of as the voice of shame anyway. But I want to suggest that’s the voice of negative and unhealthy shame. The negative and unhealthy there is very important because it suggests that not all shame is necessarily negative or unhealthy. Though it might seem counterintuitive, I’m going to argue that recognizing and embracing healthy shame is a wonderful process in our lives. I feel we should welcome healthy shame.

“Shame is the painfully self-conscious sense of our behavior–or self–being exposed as defective, with the immediate result that we are halted in our tracks, for better or worse. The felt sense of shame is that of public condemnation, even if our only audience is our inner critic.” (Emotional Intimacy, emphasis in original p.109).

There’s two pieces in that definition: painfully self-conscious sense of our behavior or self being exposed as defective. Since shame is about being exposed, there’s no better way I guess to advocate for healthy shame then to share what (healthy) shame has taught me. I’ll start with the painfully self-conscious sense of my behavior being defective and then move to the thornier dimension of self-shame.

Healthy Shame and Behavior

The behavior part of shame is a bit more straightforward it seems to me. I want to separate my actions from my beingness. I, like everyone else, am a fallible human being. I make mistakes, sadly sometimes ones that hurt others, even hurt myself. When I commit actions that hurt people close to me, people who I love dearly, it’s very painful.

So I need to be able to feel remorse, genuine contrition, for those actions, without feeling that something is inherently wrong with me as a human (that’s negative shame). Falling into the cycle of destructive self-recrimination hurts me but it also doesn’t actually address what I did wrong nor give me the energy to heal broken relationships. Without genuine contrition, I will most probably make the same mistake. Healthy shame, when it comes to my beahvior, is about genuine remorse not guilt. Guilt isn’t really a feeling I don’t think. It’s more a state of affairs. Masters describes guilt as something we do with shame (shame mixed with fear).

When I reflection on times I’ve said “I feel guilty”, what I think I was really feeling deeper down was remorse. The painful recognition that I did something that hurt another or possibly myself. I feel really sorry; I feel the wrongness of that action and genuinely seek, where possible, to make amends and connect to a deep desire to live and act differently going forward.

This was not an easy process for me to come to. Being raised in a very traditional Roman Catholic family I had plenty of guilt and plenty of negative shame heaped on me. There were theological variations of negative shame–as in the teaching that I was born a sinner and Christ had to die to save me from my sins. There were ways that such theologizing was used as a social instrument of control. In third grade, I had an old battle ax named Sr. Marian (she was an actual religious sister). Sr. Marian had a crucifix with the image of the vision of La Salette. There was a hammer on one side of the crucifix and a pairs of tongs or pincers on the other. Sr. Marian told me that when I was good, I took the pincers and pulled Jesus’ nails out, relieving his pain. And when I was bad, I was taking the hammer and driving his nails in even further.

My bad actions–which intriguingly happen to include not following her orders about how a classroom should be organized–caused wounds to my Savior. (This is a true story–I’m not making that up, that honestly happened. It’s too messed up not to be real). You’ll see the hammer in the picture above which I apparently used as a very naughty 9 year old to wound sweet Christ Jesus. It didn’t help that I was going through a very difficult period with my childhood asthma so I was on medications that were making me hyper (I’m normally quite calm and chill all the time, even as a boy). This is what got me into trouble with Sr. Marian and got me to believe that I was a cause of pain to Jesus, whom I loved dearly as a boy (and still do actually).*

Anyway, while that is a bit of an extreme example, I think most folks have the experience through childhood–either in family or school or among peers–that something is really fundamentally wrong with them as a human being and they should be ashamed about it. Also they should never show nor feel ashamed about it because that would be weakness, which is even more shameful.

For the record, I was able eventually to realize that Sr. Marian was wrong and that I’m not an evil being. I also was able eventually to work through my anger, feelings for revenge, and hatred of Sr. Marian to eventually come to forgive her. (This took years, long since she had died).

Healthy Shame and self

The second part is harder. How to feel a proper sense of healthy shame that has to do with our self. Here’s Masters again:

“When shame shows up, it can crush us, and it can also serve us, as when it makes us less immune to remorse or less full of ourselves. In the latter case, shame is not an enemy but an ally.” (Emotional Intimacy, p.114)

I’ve talked about my experience of the former (remorse), what about the latter? What about a healthy response that makes me less full of myself?

That one is quite current in my life right now. In the last two months I’ve moved from being a full-time priest in a pastoral charge to working to establish a full-time private practice in intuitive readings, energy healing, and spiritual coaching. It’s a complex process. It’s quite tricky and I’m inevitably making mistakes as I go. I surely will continue to make mistakes going forward. Not ethical mistakes, not things I should feel healthy remorse about. More goals and actions I set for myself that I didn’t follow through on necessarily in the timeline I set out for myself.

I’ve had days where I’ve wanted to pull the covers over my head and hide. I feel the embarrassment, the humiliation, the shame in saying that. In Masters’ language, I’m exposed now.

I mentioned this experience of wanting to hide to someone the other day and they responded by talking about vulnerability. It’s not a vulnerable feeling. Vulnerability isn’t something I struggle so much in accepting. I was very sick as a boy and nearly died a couple of times. I’ve been with people through illness, crises, and in the process of dying and death. So I would never say I’m perfectly at peace with my vulnerability (I don’t even know if that’s possible) but I’m to some significant degree at peace with it.

It’s not vulnerability. No, I’m talking about a sense of potential failure, that I might not be able to cut it. That is a far scarier thought to me than the thought of dying. In comparison, death feels like an inviting release. Swing low, sweet chariot, come take me home any day of the week compared to public failure. As the ancient traditions understood, loss of face is death. Better to die and be actually dead then to die publicly and still be alive and have to live with your demise as a zombie.

So given the challenge of what I’ve embarked upon, it’s not surprising I’ve had moments when I’ve let negative shame take over–those moments of pulling the covers over my head and seeking to hide. It can be a real mind toilet. Negative shame hits the handle and down the shit drain I go mentally and emotionally.

Fortunately there haven’t been too too many of those moments so far.

The way I’ve found to deal with them, however, is to actually call on healthy shame in those moments. I’m definitely not following a ‘just push through it’ mentality. Maybe that works for others, but it doesn’t work for me.

When I call on healthy shame, I accept that I’m starting out and there’s simply too many variables and skills that have to be developed. Inevitably I’m not going to be very good at this in a short span of time. When I accept that…and that’s a big when because it’s hard to do, really hard to do and doesn’t always happen admittedly…but when I do I deeply relax. The hard part is getting to accepting the healthy shame. It’s so challenging in no small part because I’m really big into being an expert. I don’t like to learn on the job or learn by mistakes. I’m not one of those kind of people. I like being able to do things well and when I’m not very good at something I really struggle. Hence this is a difficult time in my life (it’s also a very creative one and overall I’m far more at ease than I was in my previous work).

It’s been a great learning the value of healthy shame in relation to self. It’s something more than simply humility. Humiliation is probably be closer to the mark. Amazingly, I accept the healthy shame of self and there’s a moment of deep pausing (Masters says that shame is about stopping us in our tracks). And then, rather incredibly, I actually find energy to take a step and recommit to the process. In those moments of healthy shame it’s far easier for me to ask for help from others–something that again is very hard for me.

I experience healthy shame as a cleansing feeling. It feels like I’ve just come out of some kind of sweat lodge. I’m a little woozy but purged, purified. It’s not a pleasant feeling certainly but it’s a solid one. There’s a grace in it that I don’t recall having felt or understood so clearly before.

I thank Brother Shame for what he’s teaching me.

—

* (Afterthought: I have to say that a part of me really admires the pure sinister genius of Sr. Marian’s view. I mean that’s way better mind control than telling me that some large-bellied bearded Northerner who visits annually has a system of worldwide surveillance to decipher if I’m in the good or bad child category and won’t give me presents if I’m in the latter. Boo hoo, no presents. I mean that’s nothing compared to hammering the nails into poor innocent Jesus.)

22 Oct 2013 1 comment / READ MORE

What is The Soul?

Posted by Chris Dierkes in Mystics, The Imaginal, The Soul

A couple of weeks ago I wrote a piece arguing that many spiritual teachings around today neglect the place of our souls. I worked off the notion of spiritual bypassing–which is spiritual teachings that hurt people by teaching them to bypass their emotions. I said that spiritual teachings neglected our souls was another kind of spiritual bypassing.

I received some comments and emails asking if I could say more about how I understand the soul.

Peering in at the soul

The soul is often a very ephemeral, tender, and quiet part of ourselves (though when awoken can be a force of incredible power). It’s a tricky one to grasp and speak about. So let’s start perhaps with what the soul is not and that will hopefully clear out some misconceptions. We’ll then be able to speak more clearly about the soul.

Let’s use a simple (but hopefully not simplistic) three part understanding of the human being, We have three identities: ego, soul, and spirit.

Our spirit is the unconditioned dimension of our being. Our spirit is pristine, always at ease, wise, full of love and light. It’s like a smile within us radiating outward to infinity. Though our spirit easily flows with all life, it is unencumbered by the vicissitudes of time and space. There’s no decay, no death, and no wounding for our spirit. Our spirit is what most spirit-ual teachings are aimed at. Anytime a spiritual teacher refers to awakening to the part of us that transcends time and space, is always peaceful and at rest, they’re talking about our spirit.

Our spirit is neither born nor does it die. It can’t really be said to move. It just is.

Our ego or personality, on the other hand, is conditioned. Very conditioned in fact. It’s the part of us that we share with the world (our persona). We go to a dinner party and introduce ourselves–we’ll be expected to talk about where we’re from, what we do for a living, who are our close relationships, etc. The ego is very much a product of our normal conception and experience of time. It’s born, it ages, it will die. And it’s not coming back.

When compared with spirit and personality, the soul is some of both, a little of neither. Like spirit, soul doesn’t conform to a typical lifespan. The soul however doesn’t completely transcend time and space either–this is what makes it so difficult to discuss. The soul both is beyond our normal timeframes and yet isn’t totally beyond all time and space (like spirit). This is where the teaching of reincarnation (in its many forms) comes from. Mystics throughout history have connected with a part of themselves that they realize isn’t bound to the normal cycle of birth and death like an ego or personality is, yet isn’t completely free from all time and space like spirit is. They surmise therefore that this middle part of us, might live through multiple forms or rounds of existence (however we might want to understand that idea).

In the ancient Greek tradition of Middle Platonism (which influenced the great early Christian theologian Origen), there was the notion of the ochema. The ochema is a vehicle–a vehicle of life being lived in multiple expressions. (Origen by the way did believe in the possibility, indeed probability of multiple incarnations).

Our spirit cannot be said to transmigrate or reincarnate. As spirit, we are never born nor then do we die. As personalities, we definitely are born and we definitely will die. And that’s it for the personality. It’s a one time deal only for a personality.

As souls, it’s a little both, but really neither.

We have conditioned or Unconditioned. Awake or asleep. Birth and Death or Unborn and Undying. This is the language of ego and spirit respectively.

But what about the language of the soul?

How do we talk of something which experiences death but doesn’t fully succumb to death either or has a beginning but not a beginning like everything we’re accustomed to which is born at a certain time?

Language is really unhelpful here. We lack a strong language of the soul. I think this is why the soul is usually expressed much better in art, symbolism, and imagery. Language however often fails us at the soul level.

Let’s consider another comparison.

As spirit, we are never able to be hurt or wounded. As spirit, we are radically, completely, and totally free, totally alive, totally awake, totally at peace, totally full of joyous humor. As spirit, life is a complete miracle.

As egos, we suffer, often greatly. Life is hard for the ego, always is, always will be. As they saying goes, “Life’s a bitch, then you die.” (That’s true, in part, for the ego only).

Contrary to spirit, the soul can be wounded. The soul can carry deep wounds, patterns, blocks and restrictions. Having wounds makes the soul (in this sense) more like the ego–which is often profoundly wounded. Except that the soul carries different kinds of wounds and pains then does the ego and (and this very important) the soul carries the pains and woundings differently than does the ego.

The upside of a soul being able to be wounded is that a soul can be healed. Egos can be healed but only to a degree (and not a great degree at that usually). As spirit, we are never injured, hence we are never healed. Soul-level healing is a beautiful, incredible thing.

Again, this is why it’s so hard to speak of our souls. We’re used to pain (ego) or no pain (spirit), unenlightened (ego) or enlightened (spirit). But what about an identity that is kinda both and yet kinda neither? Our minds are accustomed to this or that but the soul is neither this nor that. It’s on the borderland, in liminal space.

Let’s consider a third comparison to explore this liminality a bit more.

As egos we suffer from separation. The ego, in a sense, is separation, it’s nothing but separation. As egos, we struggle to form healthy relationships–with ourselves, with each other, with other sentient forms of life. These bonds, when formed, are always very fragile and liable to tear at a moment’s notice.

As spirit, there is deep and abiding oneness. There is no separation for spirit. There is pure intimacy.

As souls we are distinct from each other and yet the experience of distinction is not one of deep and painful separation as it is for the ego. As soul, our influence extends beyond our normal sense of spatial boundaries. We effect each other at seemingly great distances at soul level. Yet there is still difference and relationship, not pure and total transparency and intimacy or oneness as with spirit but not total separation (like the ego) either.

What this mean is that the soul is able to hold a very deep form of relationship. My experience of soul-level relationship is a feeling of subtlety. It’s like a pulse that radiates outward or like a router that’s picking up the internet wireless signal and channeling it through the house (i.e. the bodymind). As soul, I feel naturally related to earth, to sky, to children, to animals, to dreams, to the realm of shadows.

As spirit I identify as all of those. I AM That. I am dream-like reality. As spirit, I am earth and sea and sky and all that moves therein. As ego I am quite separate from all those, painfully so in fact. As soul, I’m me yet earth and sea and sky and all its creatures are my sisters and brothers and I feel this familial connection with all life in my blood and bones. I don’t have to work at getting that feeling–it comes naturally to soul. It’s built-in.

Now What?

We’ve proceeded so far more by looking at what soul is not, only implicitly speaking to what it is. Can we then perhaps speak more explicitly of soul on its own terms?

In the Tibetan Buddhism tradition they speak of the soul as the energetic container of all our choices. Choices that align with divine wisdom, compassion, and love strengthen the soul. Choices that are out of alignment with divine wisdom, compassion, and love leave negative imprints, restricting the flow of soul energy.

Gandhi–influenced by the devotional traditions of the Bhagavad Gita and The New Testament–spoke of soul force (satyagraha). Soul force is a soul that is most profound alignment with its divine nature and purpose.

The soul is deep memory. This is what I would say above all.

As egos, our sense of time is so conditioned. We’re always living in the past or off in the future in a very unconscious way. We’re predicting futures based on past experience–and our lack of a hopeful vision of the future negatively colors how we recall the past, which effects how we act in the present.

As spirit there is no past or future. There only is the present, the Eternal Present, The Utter Now.

As soul, we again have access to time but in a very subtle way, a way that is not nearly so conditioned and habitual as the ego’s relationship to time. But it is still conditioned–just very subtly and this is the key point. When we look into soul patterns, we are working with very subtle forms of thought, habit, feeling, and identity.

As soul, we have access to the past, to the future, and perhaps even to parallel or possible timelines. The soul is the repository of our deep memory–it remembers our ancestry, our collective human patterns of consciousness, our earthiness. We include mineral, plant, and animal life within us–and the soul remembers the stories and the songs of each. The soul also has memory of the future (which we call hope). It has purpose and desire.

Our souls need to be seen and appreciated. For many of us they’re hiding. They’ve been marginalized by mainstream secularism, mainstream religion, and even by most alternative spiritual teachings. We’re either ignorant of or embarrassed by acknowledging and working with this part of ourselves. We need to learn who we are at soul level, what are characteristic strengths and challenges are, as well blocks and restrictions.

Ultimately we’re each ego, soul, and spirit. Each identity is whole unto itself and yet intrinsically related with the others. None of these three identities wipes out the others. But soul, I believe, is right now the most misunderstood part of ourself and the one most in need of being embraced.

13 Oct 2013 no comments / READ MORE

What Is Loving Presence?

Posted by Chris Dierkes in Emotions, Mystics

The tagline of this website is An Invitation to a Life of Loving Presence. What do I mean by Loving Presence? I’ll start first with a brief description of how I understand presence and from there explore why I feel adding Loving is so crucial to living a contemporary life imbued with spirit.

What Is Presence?

Presence is the word I use to describe the state of awakening at the level of mind. It goes by many different names in different traditions. The names are pointers. What they’re pointing to is when the mind uncoils and relaxes from its tight grip on life and the person feels a deep dropping, a profound release. They begin to experience a state of deep and utter peacefulness. Time and space begin to melt away, fading into oblivion.

I invite us all to take a few deep breaths and just scan and see if we can find this place within us that is already peaceful, already at ease.

Like sinking down to the bottom of the ocean floor…the lights above disappear, the sounds and noise of the day recedes, down to the bottom of the ocean where everything comes to rest.

Presence is that space–a space of freedom and peacefulness.

The word presence points to the presence of Truth in this state. This Presence is Holy Presence, a realization of all being well, at ease, and rest. In this state, everything and everyone, in fact the entire process of Life itself, is felt to be conscious.

There’s a sense of liberation from our conventional experience of time and space. Everything feels whole.

Why Loving Presence?

Now many (maybe most?) spiritual teachings of enlightenment stop here. The path becomes one of deeper and deeper immersion in this state of presence. There’s truth in this perspective as there’s never an endpoint to Presence. It is infinite in nature.

But to be a little crass for a moment, there’s more to the show. There’s another track, another dimension of awakening and that’s why I talk about Loving Presence. Adding the word loving to presence is meant to convey this second dimension.

While it might seem redundant to add the word loving to presence, when talking in the context of spiritual awakening, my experience is this is DEFINITELY not the case.

The state of presence can be a bit of a safe place. It can be seductive because it is so free of pain, worry, and struggle. It’s totally natural to simply stay there forever in state of natural perfection.

But our world is deeply struggling. We can’t stay “there” forever, however much parts of me emotionally share that view.

There is a still deeper movement–a movement of the heart.

The awakening of the heart retains the goodness of the mind’s awakening. There’s still the peace, the freedom, and the ease. But there’s something added that presence alone does not convey–a warmth. It’s a feeling of liquid fire.

In this fire of the heart, one is not only in a state of peace and rest but also of profound devotion to life. The state of presence alone is always a little well kinda spiritual. I mean it’s a bit special feeling, a little too awakened.

The state of the awakened heart doesn’t feel so spiritual (in the normal sense of the word). It feels radically sane and normal–undergirded with a deep pulsation of fiery love. This is what I’m trying to get by adding the qualifier loving to presence.

A Brief Glimmer of the Heart

Here’s a process I’ve found helpful to connect to loving presence. The heart is a realm of grace. It can’t be earned. So it’s not that doing this process gains me an experience of the heart. It’s not a cause and effect thing, but it does help to put me in a space where I’m more open to the possibility of the grace. Another way of saying that is that the process helps release some of the restrictions that may get in the way of grace.

I sit, take a few breaths to relax. And then I go about feeling and scanning–both within myself and in my perception of my environment. It’s kind of hard to describe but I feel and sense that there is a Love already present. In theological language I would say God is already praying for us and that prayer is Love. My role is to join in that already ongoing and already existing prayer.

Love is meditating us. Love is praying us into being.

It’s a feeling of pervading warmth. Love begins to mold us, shape us, and form us.

I then sit in that space and listen. What is Love trying to tell me?

The answer often comes in strange ways….a slight bodily contraction or opening, a dreamy image may come to mind, or I may hear a word or phrase that just pops into my head. I’m not sure from whence any of these come but I’m learning to trust them and my ability to be taught by them and understand their messages. I always check them and I check my interpretations of these pieces of information against this space of Love.

More and more however there’s just somehow a knowing, a feeling of what is right without a lot of content.

Sometimes the response is to experience a sadness or even a grief but one that’s not personal to me (or at least not exclusive to me). It feels more like the sadness or the grief of God. It’s an unconditional and totally open sadness or grief. Conversely sometimes it’s a feeling of unbounded joy or complete gratitude for no particular reason, just because. And other times it’s simply sitting in a space of pure love. It is that pure love that will become our teacher and guide.

06 Oct 2013 4 comments / READ MORE

The Problem With Donkey Kong Spirituality

Posted by Chris Dierkes in Emotions, Mystics, Shamanism, The Imaginal, The Soul

Recently father and video game developer Mike Mika redesigned the classic game Donkey Kong to reverse the gender roles of the characters. In his version Pauline became the heroine saving Mario from the evil giant ape. Mika did this based on his daughter’s stated preference that she wanted to save Mario. According to Mr. Mika, his daughter seems to enjoy the game more since the switch. This story became widely distributed over the internet as a much needed victory for empowerment of young women. You can watch Mika’s version of the game here.

While I definitely appreciate Mike Mika’s redesign I think there’s a deeper issue not being addressed by the gender inversion. Namely I believe Donkey Kong reveals a mytheme. A mytheme is the essential unit or kernel of a myth. It’s a structurally similar form seen across a variety of different versions of a myth. In this regard video games like Donkey Kong to me are a holdover, a residue, or perhaps better an echo, of a classic mytheme surrounding mysticism, namely the mysticism of ascent.

When I speak of the mysticism of ascent I mean a spirituality that emphasizes a transcendent reality somewhere up above this world that one must journey towards. One must leave or transcend this plane of reality to reach a more perfect one somewhere else.

This ascending mytheme evident in many video games has some potentially problematic aspects–aspects that are going unexamined and replicating themselves in human consciousness through the proliferation of video games. Donkey Kong is a primordial video game and therefore is a great example to use. It’s one of the first platform video games. It’s the first with a full narrative storyline. It’s also the first to introduce the mytheme of saving the damsel in distress (which Mike Mika’s hack so brilliantly deconstructed).

Whether it’s the Hero’s Journey on TV shows, Shamanism in Modern Day Fairy Tales, The Christ Story in superhero movies, or the Path of Ascent in video games, mythemes play themselves out in our media culture, however officially secular it may be. I see a strong resonance of the ascending mystical traditions in the tradition of video games, particularly in Donkey Kong. This deeper structure–with its potential problems–will not be unearthed simply by a gender inversion process however helpful that is on it’s own terms.

What exactly do I mean by the mysticism of ascent and how is it being replicated in Donkey Kong? Let’s consider some parallels.

The Great and Mystical Donkey Kong

In Donkey Kong there are levels. One ascends through the levels by mastering each successive one. This is literally the case in Donkey Kong as one scales up ladders and each new level is located up above the one prior. Similarly, in the mystical traditions there are levels of ascent–usually depicted as planes of reality. The mystical aspirant is taught, through various techniques, how to “jump” up to higher levels of consciousness and being.

In Donkey Kong one must master (“beat” in original video game player-ese) each level and its attendant challenges and opponent. On the mystical path one must defeat various characteristic enemies in order to reach a higher level. Challenges and opponents on the mystical path include deep-seated fears, common misperceptions, potential fixation on pleasure-inducing mystical phenomena…as opposed to say falling barrels and moving fire.

Nevertheless the same basic mythic structure is in place in both–both are a kind of game, a form of hyperreality.

In Donkey Kong, as in mysticism, one is assumed to be a solitary individual who must ascend this obstacle course. Originally the character in Donkey Kong was known as ‘Jumpman’. Truthfully this is a pretty good name for the mystical ascender: A Jumpman (as usually, though not always, they have historically been men).

This solitary individual must journey alone (or perhaps occasionally with the aid of temporary helpers) and overcome various obstacles and challenges. These challenges are overcome through the use of some basic, repeated techniques. In Donkey Kong that’s jumping, ascending and descending ladders, moving side to side, and using the various tools on screen (e.g. hammer). In the mystical traditions these techniques consist of things like allowing energy to rise up the back of one’s body, opening up above oneself, closing the eyes and turning them upward, repeating mantras, guided visualizations, and the like.

In Donkey Kong, Mario (or Pauline in Mike Mika’s version) undertakes all these actions and seek to overcome these obstacles in order to unite permanently with his beloved. In the mystical tradition, one ascends to unite with the Transcendent Source.

Notice that in both the video game and the ascending spiritual tradition there is a journeyer, a set of techniques, a game of challenges, and a love or goal at the end. Having reached the pinnacle, this individual will conquer the final barrier and be forever united with his beloved.

(Sidenote: Though in a brilliant, perhaps even ironic twist, in Donkey Kong once one finished the original four levels and saved Pauline, the game restarts from the beginning in a more advanced form–leaving open the possibility that there never actually is a finish to the ascent, leaving the individual forever struggling upward. In the history of mysticism this is known as epektesis, and was actually the view of one of the greatest Christian mystics, St. Gregory of Nyssa, who argued we would never ever fully completely reach God but would forever journey more deeply into what we could experience of The Divine Mystery.).

There are many variations on this same basic theme of mystical ascent in the world’s spiritual traditions. In the tradition of Merkavah mysticism of Kabbalistic Judaism one meditates and ascends up to the Chariot of God (or the Throne of God). In Shabd Yoga one follows inner sounds upwards, through thee sound’s current until one reaches the Primordial Sound, seen as the Originating Source of all reality. In Kundalini Yoga, the serpent power lying coiled at the base of the spine uncoils and rises up the spine until it pushes through the crown of the head leading to an experience of ascended light. In the Christian mystical tradition primary images include the Ladder of Ascent usually up a mountain or climbing a staircase to heaven. Other examples could be given, these are not meant to be exhaustive, merely representative.

Critique of Donkey Kong Spirituality

There are some characteristic problems associated with the Donkey Kong-esque mysticism of ascent.

1. The Critique from The Absolute

As I said the mysticism of ascent assumes the coherent identity and reality of a separate self-sense. It then uses certain techniques to effect a major transformation in this self-sense. Traditions like Zen Buddhism and Advaita Vedanta (along with many others) question the automatic assumption of a self-contained, individual self. They do this through processes like koans or inquiry, repeatedly asking “Who am I?” “Who is asking this question?” These traditions argue that it we follow these processes deeply enough they will show the insubstantial nature of the self sense. With no separate self, then there are no practices to do to effect change for that self. In addition there is no longer any objective outside world relative to that self, nor any prize that self must attain (whether Pauline or total absorption into the Source). The whole self-world-enemy-attainment-God complex falls apart once the separate self drops. No levels, no ladders, no up, no down, no climber–just free fall in space.

2. Critique of Ascent

This critique can be combined with critique #1 or exist on its own. The mysticism of ascent is, as the name implies, ascending in nature. As a result, the history of spirituality in the last 2,000 years, which has largely been dominated by the traditions of ascent, has left a destructive trail. When our ascent becomes driven by fear, then mysticism can become a cover for teachings and communities that deny the value of the earth, of the human body, of women, of sexual existence, of indigenous wisdom, and of our inherently animal nature and connection with all life. I don’t think I need to remind any of the pain that mistake has caused and continues to cause.

Now What?

Given these trenchant criticisms, is there any value to Donkey Kong spirituality? Is there anything worth salvaging in it? Anything worth rescuing? I think there is.

If we look at traditions of iconography–for example Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, Sufi among others–we see halos. We see beings of grace who radiate a light that encircles their heads, shining outward. For our purposes here what interests me about a halo is that they reach up above the top of our physical heads. Our incarnation is more than our physical selves. We extend around, below, and above our physical bodies. The halo tradition is not simply a metaphor, it’s a clear artistic description of a spiritual reality. There’s part of us that are up above what we normally think of as our physically defined bodies. A halo reveals a person whose “higher” forms of themselves are open and full of light. I put “higher’ in quotes there because higher here doesn’t mean better–that was the mistake of many of the ascending spiritual traditions, to see these parts of our incarnation as our salvation and to seek to flee from our “lower” parts and live exclusively in our “higher” selves.

But what if we don’t make that Donkey Kong mistake? What if we aren’t driven by a notion that we have to climb “up there”, to save some Prince/Princess, to finally and forever overcome some devilish or apeish foe? What then? Well, it means we could retain a, maybe the, central insight of the ascending traditions–we could open up these parts of ourselves and become responsible for the full range of our being here as human. Part of the spectrum of our being here does include parts of us that are more transcendent, subtler, more ascended in nature. (For readers interested in a somewhat more technical description of what these parts of ourselves are through the framework of chakras, see this piece I wrote on the subject.)

Responsible is the key word there. The Donkey Kong tradition of spirituality is too much of a game.* It’s too achievement-oriented, too immersed in a mentality of conquering and winning. Responsible, on the other hand, means realizing that these parts of ourselves are always operative. Either we will come into conscious relationship with these dimensions of ourselves and therefore become responsible for what we are putting out there or we won’t and they will unconsciously transmit their conditioning, potentially hurting us and others. (For the record, this exact same mechanism holds for the “lower” end of our incarnational spectrum.)

There’s no winning in the spiritual path.

With the current range towards embodiment in spirituality (one I’ve been critical of) I do think there’s a subtle bias against the ascended portions of ourself. By ascended I mean these parts of ourselves that are extend up above our heads–the subtler domains of ourself that are depicted with halos.

I think we should retain the opening of these ascended portions of our incarnation without this whole narrative of ascent. Ascended yes, ascent no. A model to consider for such a way of approaching the subject would be emotional literacy. Emotional literacy training is simply about learning to name and experience different emotions, recognizing the distinct role of each and how they work together, and how to take proper care of emotional boundaries. I could see an “ascended literacy” which would strip these domains of the narrative of ascent and spiritual heroism (and the subtle or not-so-subtle arrogance that inevitably comes from such a viewpoint). It would just be rather plain and straightforward–creative, fun, and interesting to be sure–but not a game. Not about who has the highest score and can reach the highest most spiritual state. It would just be about the learning the language, the experience, the strengths and limitations of the ascended portions of ourselves–and this would simply be one course, if you like, in a more integrated curriculum. A real spiritual path that would seek to welcome and work with our bodies, our emotions, our shadow, our beliefs, our souls, and so forth.

—

* Another article for another day and for another person to write would look at the postmodern turn in video games, particularly multi-player online role games. i.e. The way in which video games are reflective of and furthering the movement towards postmodern consciousness. In the multi-player role games especially the landscape is arguably much flatter (more horizontal) than the vertical orientation of most classic video games. The storyline element, nascent in Donkey Kong, is much more in full flower. The way in which characters can co-construct collaboratively their environments (think 2nd Life). The way in which characters can create their own identities. These are all hallmarks of postmodern consciousness.

15 Sep 2013 no comments / READ MORE

Welcome: A Spiritual Practice

Posted by Chris Dierkes in Healing Arts, Mystics, Shamanism

Welcome to this site. Welcome to this place. Above all welcome to this work.

Welcome is a crucially important element necessary to live a human life. It’s one that I think is so often overlooked in the contemporary Western world. It’s an art we’ve lost, though it’s definitely still a finely honed art in many places around the globe. Hospitality is the fancy more ancient word of what we’re talking about here.

Welcome is not only a metaphor but a practice. It’s a way of being.

In my own practice and in my work with folks, welcome is immensely valuable. Welcome is more than worth it’s weight in gold. Fr. Thomas Keating once said that we should have “a jolly attitude to even the most horrid of thoughts.” That jolly attitude he speaks of is a welcoming posture.

A woman comes in struggling with anger. Her family taught her that ‘good girls don’t get angry.’ She’s shown anger–maybe healthy, maybe not so healthy–in her adolescence and someone labeled her a bitch. That someone who called her that name was very possibly another girl or woman, probably herself struggling with anger.

This hurts her…badly. Not surprisingly, she doesn’t try to show anger anymore. She tries not to show, not even to feel, anger. This approach doesn’t work so well. She finds herself grouchy, ill-tempered, even worried she is in fact becoming the ‘b’ she was called.

A man comes in real suffering. His five year relationship with his sweetheart has just ended. He’s wracked with pain, guilt, grief, and sadness, among other feelings. But he can’t show or express these feelings to his friends. They’re all too busy trying to fix him up with someone new to able to listen attentively and compassionately to his pain. They sincerely mean to console him, reminding him of all the fish in the sea. He’s supposed to get “back up on that horse” (why eligible women are horses in this analogy I’m not quite sure, but that’s a story for a different day I guess). His mother is not so secretly pleased with the situation because she never really got along with his ex anyway: “She wasn’t marriage material”. He feels really alone even though he’s being swarmed by people trying to help him. He finds their help, well, the opposite of help.

He can’t show vulnerability and pain. He’s supposed to be a real man (whatever the hell that is). He’s afraid he’ll be called unmanly if he cries or has to admit defeat. Meanwhile his body is sending him signal after signal that he’s not well and needs to take a break. He doesn’t listen. He’s afraid to face these feelings alone. He feels unequipped to handle them.

First off, what they both need is welcome. They need to create a space–perhaps with someone skilled in facilitating such a space–where they can welcome these feelings. These feelings are harbingers of healing. These feelings are helpers, teachers, and friends for them, intimates who actually know how to deal with the challenges these two people are facing.

When the beautiful mystic St. Francis of Assisi was in his final days and hours, he asked to be taken outside. He wanted to die in the arms of Mother Earth. His friends were around crying. But Francis said, “Let us welcome Sister Death.”

Similarly, let us welcome Brother Anger, Sister Grief, Grandmother Sadness, Grandfather Guilt, Mother Fear, and Father Vulnerability.

Our sister begins to embrace her anger and finds she can set much clearer boundaries. She has more energy. She actually feels happier. Contrary to her fears, she’s not angry all the time. She’s not bitchy. Her expressions of anger are becoming cleaner and cleaner. She finds, amazingly, she can express love at the same time she can express anger. And she now knows if she needs to go away for a little bit and just have a rant in private to exorcize some deep frustration, she can do that. She’s going to be responsible for she what she does. She’s not going blast somebody and hurt them because she knows what the pain of unhealthy and unwelcome anger did to her. She doesn’t want to inflict that on anyone else.

Our brother, after a number of false starts perhaps, with grace, begins to welcome his pain, his loss, his tenderness. He finds in them a deep strength. Not an all-powerful, all-conquering kind of strength, but a genuine source of help in time of need. It takes him some time, more time than his friends and our culture tell him he is “supposed to need”–though interestingly he notices that none of them seem all that content in life (weird huh?)–but he feels that a dawn is starting to shine after a long dark night. He comes to learn skills that serve him and a future beloved better in his next relationship. He forgives his ex and asks for forgiveness from her in return. He finds he’s more patient with others, slower to jump in with advice for them in their struggles, and more willing to listen and simply offer attention and care. Quite incredibly, increasing numbers of his friends, family, coworkers, and acquaintances start sharing their pains and their hurts with him.

Both our sister and our brother find moments, sometimes only fleeting in duration, when they sense a peace, a deep reservoir of something they can’t exactly name. It feels like an undertow pulling them in. They find themselves both fearful but also strangely attracted to this pull. They don’t really know what to call it, though spiritual comes to mind. Except they’re not really sure they feel comfortable with that word. Spiritual. It seems too heavy, too cold and formal. But never mind, somehow when they relax their thinking they simply return to this sense of….whatever it is. This ‘thing’ they like, this ‘thing’ that draws them in. They welcome this feeling, this experience as well.

This whatever-it-is feels somehow different than yet connected to the moments of welcomed anger, grief, sadness, and pain. They are really unsure how to talk about this experience with others. They’re concerned they’ll be branded weird or be misunderstood. Yet this feeling is one of coming home and they can’t ignore that truth.

They are learning to welcome the moments of clarity as well as confusion.

21 Aug 2013 no comments / READ MORE

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