Without Darkness, How Can We Appreciate the Light?

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A friend recently found out about a family member’s 10-year obsession with her. They had been compulsively collecting and cataloging her failures and perceived cruelties and mistakes. Their intractable and absolute conclusions as to her intentions and actions over this time, and perhaps even earlier, currently exist as highlighted, underlined, and (probably alphabetized) chronological “proof” of her awfulness. A solution or reconciliation did not seem to be the purpose here and my friend began to think this archive was apparently “evidence” for a retaliation of an undisclosed nature. Regardless of how many times my friend tried to address the root of the problem, the relative would not participate in a solution. It seems that to ask for clarification of, or response to, these logged behaviors would make the accuser have to acknowledge their own failures (the root cause of the dilemma is not necessary to the point here, so the personal details will be omitted).

In this mind-numbing set of circumstances, my friend found herself stilled and bereft of creativity and confidence. She had become very self conscious and nervous after this revelation. If this person were so obsessed with her weaknesses, real or perceived, how would she fare under the scrutiny of others who are not obligated by blood or kinship to be kind or compassionate? After all, even informed and logical life choices she had made had been twisted out of context. How could she guide reality? This worry affected her writing. Her opinions were tepid. Ambition, rather moderate. It took some time before she would even practice yoga in our group! Her sadness would not dissipate; but, she did brave asking me what she should think of all of this. Was she really what this person claimed?

The only thing I could say with certainty is that the need to believe in and, thus, prove the worst is simply just that–a need–rather than a reality or truth. Like other forms of interpretation, what may look to be absolute may have more meaning if one educates oneself beyond the surface “evidence.” If one refuses to question or confront something, any reality can become terrible and impossible to participate in or change. This participation in reality takes strength and courage, not the hoarding of pain and blame. The family member was without the ability to understand or care about this.

After this discussion, she disappeared into herself for a while. Then, after about two months, she reached out. She told me that, after a time, all the obsession about the betrayal began to feed a different energy. She became more analytical about the whole thing. Rather objective. She couldn’t really explain her internal process, but she could offer some solace or help to those in similar situations or difficult circumstances by sharing her experience as a kind of allegory for questioning the self. With calm meditation and reflection, it became evident that her antagonist was quite the narcissist, less focused on revenge than self validation in relation to my friend’s abilities, and accomplishments. The antagonist did not want to acknowledge their own faults. Their lacking was easier to ignore or deny if someone else was to blame for their own life choices or their inability to make wise ones. The accuser stopped being a nemesis holding a “loaded “pile of paperwork “aimed” at her and threatening her very permission to exist as a faulted individual. Her identity could no longer be reworked and scripted through a curated installment of electronic and print missives. For my friend, there was a kind of “dark night of the soul” before her inner light and common sense could regain their rightful place in her consciousness. But that light did illuminate reality and offer the comfort she needed.

My friend’s succumbing to fear and insecurity had been part of the person’s goal; but, she found that hiding and cringing took  more energy than finding relief.  The obsession should remain with the obsessed and not participated in or subscribed to. Through engagement with discomfort and fear came reassurance and affirmation.

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The key here is that her “soul” or inner spirit endured and expelled the darkness. She maintained a sense of self that even a long and highlighted list of ill-informed accusations or misinterpreted scenarios could not eradicate.

We cannot control the results of, or reactions to, our actions, intended or unintended. There really is no outside environment that is worthy of arresting our right to create, grow, learn, and teach. What we can do is move forward and learn to identify what is true and renounce what is false. Then we should, if possible, not walk away but use the experiences to inform our next, productive moves.

What “dark night” can you turn into fodder for creative growth?

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Wishing, Chanting, Praying: Different Approaches for the Same Needs

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One day, as I sat wishing upon wish that I had some guardian angel who would suddenly produce substantial funds for my family or that I had some magic machine that would find buried treasures (artifacts that I could sell like when some treasure hunter found Viking relics on a farmer’s land and made them both rich), I realized that there must be millions of other desires and pleadings being sent out into the world by the minute. I’d always thought of my wishes as significant and personal and that they might resonate with, first, God, and then, as my spirituality evolved, with some general benign energy that wished me well. Karma, planting the right seed, deserving it, earning it after all I’ve gone through over the years . . .

praying intently / the man communes with his God / desperate for his love

The crowded atmosphere of desperation and desire was not really something I understood until the Recession made so many of us around the world genuinely ruined financially with little-to-no chance of decent employment to rectify it. I only then realized how loud the cries must be during wartime. How saturated God/Ancestors/the spirit world must be with pleas for salvation, peace, food. How much competition I must have coming from the refugee camps in Syria. How many in Africa need hope and help? How many newly homeless in NY?

Mindfulness is so very important in our daily lives. Practicing careful consideration of what those around us deserve and need should be parallel to our own concerns. There is nothing any of us is going through that makes us alone. I was told just the other day, by a very kind person, that I must have been “sent” to them. I? I was someone to be grateful for? I may have helped someone accomplish something that they were proud of and that would contribute to their success. It was not planned and  as just being the editor that I am, but it made a difference! Yes, pride is taking hold here. But not hubris. I am also humbled not elevated. This took me outside of my own sense of defeat and, for a short time, gave me a sense of wellbeing. This person had his own wishes and they were much like my own. He was able to value our exchange as a boon. I can only hope I can recognize when someone is sent to me. I seem to only see the financial windfalls.

There is also a practical side to this. As a writer, I must be aware of how effective my character development must be. Or how honest my nonfiction must be. If I write without understanding the larger world or the nature of pain and wishes, my representation of people, real or imagined, cannot resonate with my readers. They should either feel connected to the people on the page or they discover something new about human nature. I’m responsible for creating that verity or enabling the discovery. Every time I realize how connected we are in our motives and driving forces, I can understand what my readers will benefit from. Maybe this understanding will enrich their own sense of self and their own connection to the world. Maybe they will simply feel understood or have an “aha” moment that affects their own writing or daily choices.

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I am still processing what I’ve learned over these past few days. I am still crowding the psychic and spiritual pathways with my fears and pleadings for special attention. But I don’t think I will take precedence. I am among those who have a better chance of saving ourselves. There are others who truly need a miracle. Maybe one of them will become mine.

Ask, and the Answer is Not What You May Expect. Listen, and a Path Opens Up

I listened, earlier, to news about youthful offenders. Missives of sadness. I read now from poems of welcome and belonging. Of comfort and sureness of purpose. Which is more likely to teach me about love and hope? About life and how events unfold and to what purpose? Both.

NPR’s story of the horror of one particular offender’s actions resounded within me. While not identical to my own encounter with another’s cruel and manipulative violation of trust, it answered my desperate question as to how one’s troubling behavior can be overlooked or ignored by others. I was reminded that it is common to find out, after the crime is committed, that the assailant had been exhibiting antisocial behavior already. That their friends and family knew the person was troubled. It’s not personal that no one let you know. It’s not a conspiracy of silence that set you up for trauma. There is basically a pattern of ignorance or passivity that many  participate in expecting that “this behavior” is not a long-term problem or a sign of danger. But if you are dragged into engaging with the seemingly preventable damage, there is a relentless psychological, spiritual, and emotional nagging that adheres to you. It’s like grief after a loved one dies. No amount of comforting or advice can make you skip the stages you must go through and the time it takes to become accustomed to the loss.

I was not comforted that someone else was hurt. By no means. But I was finally brought to face the commonality of many victims’ experience. A sense of community, albeit tragic, came to me. I am not a freak, nor a failure. Just another dupe. No amount of beneficent intentions can prevent bad actions. All one can do is hope to earn the respect and love of others so that you can share all that is good. This trust creates a respite from anything too large to bear alone. There is hope that I can now help myself and others through this unexpected life lesson.

The poetry book, The House of Belonging, now that I think about it, called to me because of my need for gentleness. I have been afraid to let too much gentleness in since my hatred and loathing for another and myself was evoked many months ago. The book has been moved around as I have packed to move. I couldn’t quite part with it but I did not want it near me. It took something as objective as radio journalism to bring me back to face something that is not about being alone and isolated, but a painful part of a greater whole: humanity in all its horrible truths and insatiable lust for healing.

In one morning of routine actions (turning on the radio as I work with the horses) the message of hope I needed found its way to me. All of my prior asking  did not result in satisfaction. But my continued listening did.