Reflective Life

Hunger in Emptiness

I don’t know about you, but my life seems to go in waves.

Sometimes my life seems so full of richness and joy that nothing feels disturbing or out of place.

But then something happens to upset whatever fullness and joy I’ve been experiencing.

It’s like whatever fullness I’ve had has been emptied out.

It’s not like I’m sinking down into despair or hopelessness (although I’ve definitely had a lot of those in the past).

Instead, its like there’s now a great yawning space within me waiting for something, anything, to fill it up.

In those times, I know I need to be very cautious. When I feel this way I can easily engage all sorts of unhealthy habits.

Whether it be filling myself with food, drink, numbing out on social media, or any other unhealthy habit, I feel the emptiness within me needs to be filled.

But how, really, can this happen? And, what opportunities can I find in such times of discomfort?

How, really, can I be filled? And, what opportunities can I find in times of discomfort?

Now, I know from experience there’s no one formula for resolving times of discomfort.

Sometimes it can come in the form of a phone call with a close friend. Sometimes it can happen by receiving therapy. Other times, it can come simply by waiting it out.

Regardless of what is needed to resolve the times of emptiness, I am very aware of how uncomfortable such times can be.

They can induce feelings of desperation, tears, crying out to the universe, and a deep desire for the pain just to go away.

In such times, it may take medication to help the feelings of emptiness go away. There is no shame in this. When you’re sick, you see a doctor–the doctor will help you.

But, medication often needs to be accompanied by inner work.

Medication often needs to be accompanied by inner work.

Again, there’s no formula for what this inner work ought to look like.

But here are some things to be aware of:

1. Spirituality must include, not exclude

When we talk about inner work, people often think spirituality will solve all their problems.

This belief can manifest itself as an aversion to seeing counsellors or psychotherapists.

It can also manifest itself as a wholesale avoidance of medication, no matter the severity of the emptiness being felt.

Both approaches are not quite right.

When it comes to such questions, I like remembering a teaching from leading philosopher of spirituality Ken Wilber: no approach is 100% right; neither is any approach 100% wrong.

Practically, this means a person must find an approach that works for them, while also recognizing that whatever they adopt will probably not work for everyone.

Therefore, it’s also worth acknowledging that a truly spiritual approach will include several ways to engage emptiness.

This is because spirituality integrates all experiences and approaches into an overall direction in life.

To prematurely exclude something simply because it doesn’t mesh with one’s own “spiritual” ideology therefore denies spirituality its capacity to include and integrate.

2. Don’t underestimate what spirituality can offer

While spirituality will naturally include several approaches to emptiness, it also has its own wisdom.

For example, Buddhism teaches that a full engagement with reality realizes the marriage of emptiness and form.

Similarly, Christianity teaches that fully human lives mediate the infinite into finite realities.

While emptiness and the infinite in both traditions bear some similarity, neither really captures the kind of emptiness I’m describing.

Instead, Christian teachings regarding desolation are a better match.

According to these teachings, everyone goes through periods of consolation and desolation.

In times of consolation, everything seems to be working. You feel you’re in tune with the universe. Life seems to work.

In periods of desolation, in contrast, life feels like grinding gears. Nothing seems to go the way it ought. Frustration, irritation, and alienation rule.

Put differently, during times of desolation, a person feels out of synch with the rest of reality.

Yes, such times are very similar to times of ill mental health. In fact, such times can cause ill mental health.

But there’s also a deeper spiritual invitation during such times.

3. Seek the emptiness’s truth

When we live our lives, we live in, among, and through everything else that’s happening in our world.

This means we’re always connected to everything and everyone in ways we scarcely can bring to words.

When the world is in turmoil, this then can also create turmoil in us.

Similarly, when the world is rejoicing, celebrating, and enjoying various things, we too can get caught up in this.

But when there is not a clear or obvious connection between what we’re experiencing and what everyone else is experiencing, then that raises questions.

Why do we see life so differently? What is it about us that creates such a difference in perspective?

These questions can be extremely uncomfortable. They can prompt the times of emptiness and desolation I’ve been writing about throughout this post.

But they also point to the fact that emptiness is often calling us to go deeper, to open ourselves to a greater reality that is far beyond what most experience within their daily existence.

Medication can be necessary to quell the anguish of such experiences. Therapy can help reframe such experiences so we don’t get caught in them.

But spirituality invites us to consider how we can expand ourselves so our sense of self is not consumed by the emptiness.

So, the truth of emptiness is that it can be a vehicle for transfiguration and transformation, if only we learn to use it as such.

Hungry beginnings

While none of this diminishes the need for good mental health support when times get desperate, it does encourage a holistic perspective.

Spirituality invites all people to consider how times of felt emptiness can prompt growth and expansion.

Spirituality invites everyone to consider how times of emptiness might in fact be signs of hunger–hunger for something better, something beyond, something that can satisfy.

Such hunger invites all of us to seek that which can truly satisfy. And that seeking is just the beginning of a full and lifelong journey . . .

Disclaimer: The advice and suggestions offered on this site are not substitutes for consultation with qualified mental or spiritual health professionals. The perspectives offered here are those of the author, not of those professionals with whom readers might have relationships as clients or patients. In crisis situations, readers are encouraged to contact these professionals for appropriate support and treatment if needed.

Transforming Reality: Over and Under, In and Through

When I was much younger, sometimes I would love simply to lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling.

Strange? Perhaps.

But it challenged me to play with my perceptions.

What if the ceiling was in fact my floor, and my floor was in fact the ceiling? How would I navigate that reality?

I imagined I’d have to step over light fixtures and wear different kinds of shoes to guard against the stipple on my new floor.

And then, how would I sleep in my bed if my bed was all the way up there on my new ceiling? I’d have to find a way to settle into sleep on the surface on which I found myself.

Confusing? For sure! But it also taught me how limited my own perspectives were.

Just because I experienced my bed as a comfortable object resting on the floor that was also underneath my feet did not mean this was universally so. If I was a bat, I’d probably much prefer to have my feet high above me when I was needing a snooze.

My realities, as I discovered, were very much my human realities. If I were not a bipedal Homo sapien, it’s likely my understanding of reality would be much different.

If I were not a bipedal Homo sapien, it’s likely my understanding of reality would be much different.

Now, if carried to extremes this can be crazy making stuff. You undermine a person’s sense of reality enough, all sorts of negative consequences can be the result.

But, there is something of great importance here: you get too attached to the way you think things are, the more you narrow down the possibilities for what might be, not only now, but also into the future.

Does this mean we need to abandon all the things we think we know?

Absolutely not!

However, we might want to re-examine how we know some of these things.

Let me illustrate:

In my day job, I’m payed to research various topics. I’ve been in the research world for well over a decade now, so I think I know a few things.

However, this doesn’t mean I stop reading books and articles, or decide to give up my desires to write and speak in various places.

Why is this?

The answer is simple: the more I read and study, the more I am aware my understanding of any given topic can change in an instant.

In some ways, this is the thrill of research. Yes, knowing things is exciting; the building of concepts and finding the perfect way to express an idea are some of my greatest joys in my working life.

But, discovering a better understanding of something I’m looking into is also a great joy.

To know that I haven’t got all the answers is what keeps me going in my work. It’s what keeps me going in life.

To know that I haven’t got all the answers is what keeps me going in my work. It’s what keeps me going in life.

Psychologists have discovered what they call the Big Five traits of personality. Of these Big Five, openness to experience is one of them.

According to its description, a person who scores highly in this trait likes to experience new things often. It means they’re committed to not having life always be the same.

Instead, they seek after the new, the novel, and the interesting.

While this can cause problems, particularly if such a person gets bored easily, causing them to change jobs constantly, openness does prompt such people to continually expand their horizons.

Spiritually, this gives them greater flexibility and curiosity than those who are committed to maintaining their specific vision of reality at all costs.

The result is open people can imagine new possibilities. They can see beyond what is immediately in front of them to create a new and better world. They can transform reality because they are aware reality is malleable.

How do they know reality is malleable?

Open people know this because their own sense of reality is always being shaped and moulded by things not yet within their experience.

Open people can therefore change reality because their own sense of reality is constantly being changed.

Open people can change reality because their own sense of reality is constantly being changed.

But here’s the flip side: for a person’s changing realities to have lasting impact, they also have to be deeply rooted.

Somewhat ironically, it’s this deep sense of rootedness that allows a person’s openness to really influence others and bring new things into being.

Why is this?

If a person constantly shifts their sense of reality without working to understand newness within the bigger picture, then novelty becomes an end in itself.

This is not entirely a bad thing.

But, given a person’s spiritual health depends on their ability to integrate themself to the fullest extent possible, the pursuit of novelty solely for the pursuit of novelty could also be ruinous to a person’s selfhood and spirituality.

To counteract the “free-floating” tendencies in many spiritualities, then, it’s necessary to understand openness as multi-dimensional.

To counteract the “free-floating” tendencies in many spiritualities, then, it’s necessary to understand openness as multi-dimensional.

To expand outward, it’s also necessary to expand inward.

Why?

Because inward expansion is the foundation for whatever outward expansion we might experience.

As our lives get bigger, and our responsibilities more encompassing, a person needs maturity, insight, and wisdom to successfully navigate the increasing newness of all their life now holds.

In other words, to avoid getting lost in the newness of all that is, a person needs to be anchored in a sense of self that transcends the impulse to pursue novelty.

This deep, resonant, cosmic sense of self sees the new as . . . the new. But the new is not the eternal. Yet, new and novel manifestations of the eternal is the concern of true spirituality.

New and novel manifestations of the eternal is the concern of true spirituality.

So how does a person begin to change reality as we know it?

It starts by seeing the eternal in and through, over and under everything we encounter on a daily basis.

Then, we deepen our perception of the eternal by making space within us to experience it in and through, over and under us, to the very core of our being.

By growing in all dimensions, then, we grow our capacity to sense and embody the eternal in all circumstances.

In doing this, we also gain the capacity to call the eternal forth from all people and all beings.

So this is how reality can be transformed before our very eyes: by growing our ability to be a channel for the eternal, we also grow our ability to draw all beings we encounter into a similar ability.

This is not airy-fairy stuff.

Rather, it takes the hard, deliberate work of integration to get us moving toward this goal.

But what a goal!

When we experience the eternal in and through, over and under all that is, we participate in the very life of the universe.

Such participation is our birthright; it is our very reason for being.

So let’s aim toward that. Let’s let go of whatever limits such participation. Let’s open ourselves to all that is, over and under, in and through us–our world might change as a result!

Walls of Entanglement

I like living behind walls. They keep the outside out, and the inside in.

This is especially important in my part of the world. Winters get cold. Well-insulated walls keep the cold out and the warmth inside. If my walls are not doing their job, my life is uncomfortable and my heating bills are exorbitantly high.

Little wonder that a common refrain in my house during winter is: “Shut the door! You’re letting the cold in!” That’s to say nothing of the snowdrifts that form inside our entryway door–but those are another story.

Now, walls do some other things as well.

They define space. They tell me what’s mine and what’s yours. They help me keep what’s mine in my space and what’s yours in yours.

There’s nothing like finding a foreign object in a space I consider mine. “Who put this here?,” I might call out to my family.

Or, a more common experience is not finding something where it’s supposed to be. In our house, keys are famous for their nomadic behaviours.

In the early days of my marriage, there would be the stereotypical early morning panic to the chorus of “Where are my keys?? I’m late, and I can’t find my keys!” The result would be a frenzied searching.

Then, once the wandering objects had been found, one of us would say: “You really should keep those in the same place because then you’d be able to find them!”

When an entire space is yours, what’s importantly yours can easily get lost. So, some definitions of space are important, if not necessary.

Some definitions of space are important, if not necessary.

But what’s the point of all this spatial wondering/wandering?

I’ll tell you:

I’m experiencing a bit of internal tension. On the one hand, I belong to a faith tradition that has been millennia in the making. My tradition has clear teachings on a whole host of matters, most of which concern the ultimate nature of reality.

Important, right?

To this I respond with a resounding, Yes!

As much as science, institutions, and governments can help us structure our lives, none of them, read none of them, can help me answer the question of why I, in all my messy selfhood, am alive.

Yes, they can respond to that question from the perspectives of evolutionary history, biology, and my contributions to my country’s economic and social wellbeing.

Yet none of these can tell me who I am.

Even though governments, scientists, and statisticians might collect a lot of objective data about my age, my education, my socio-economic class, or my professional involvements, they are not interested in my specific, quirky brand of humour, why I like certain kinds of music, or the fact that my last batch of sourdough bread didn’t rise properly, thus causing me great frustration.

Science, institutions, and governments simply aren’t interested in those realities.

But to me, these things are of infinite importance. They’re what make life liveable, enjoyable, and rich.

Now, strangely enough, these are precisely the kinds of things that faith traditions are interested in–the seeming minutiae of lived experience.

Faith traditions are interested in the seeming minutiae of lived experience.

Why? Because faith traditions are connected to questions of what constitutes the good life. They help us understand what’s good, true, and beautiful by offering us compelling pictures of reality.

Yes, many of the symbols, metaphors, and morals offered by faith traditions are challenging. Many consider them outdated. But, when engaging them with the appropriate experiential depth (not necessarily intellectual depth, although that’s important too), they can also be profoundly transformative.

(There are some extremely important questions bound up with this last statement–those will be dealt with elsewhere)

So this is why the question of fit and boundaries becomes so important.

To know where you stop and another person or tradition begins helps to create a stable sense of identity. Developmentally, having a stable identity is a foundation for mental, emotional, and spiritual health.

So, to know your own faith tradition, what it teaches and what it doesn’t teach, is extremely important.

But it’s also important to know how to recognize and embrace truths that seemingly come from other places as well.

It’s also important to know how to recognize and embrace truths that come from other places as well.

“Oh no!” you might say, “now you’re undermining my sense of self! If I admit that other places might have truths to share, doesn’t that compromise what I’ve come to understand as good, true, and beautiful?”

My response? Well . . . yes . . . and no . . .

Here’s what I mean, using the metaphor of walls.

Walls are typically built to keep the outside out and the inside in, as I said at the beginning of this post.

The challenge is walls would not be necessary had I not first encountered something needing to be kept outside in the first place.

In my part of the world, the walls of houses are built using specific materials. These materials are used because the winters can be very cold and the summers very hot. Making sure our house’s walls can withstand both the heat and the cold is therefore necessary for the comfort and wellbeing of my family.

But, my family also expects certain kinds of comfort and wellbeing, in part because of how walls in my part of the world are constructed.

If we lived in another part of the world, we might be limited in the materials we could use to build our houses. Therefore, our house might be cooler in the winter, and warmer in the summer, and we wouldn’t know the difference.

But then people in that other part of the world might also have developed traditions of weaving intricate tapestries and carpets to provide more insulation for their walls and floors.

People in my part of the world use carpets and wall-hangings as well, but not necessarily to keep themselves warm.

But my family lives in one of the oldest neighbourhoods of our city (this is true). Our house was built a long time before good insulation was being manufactured.

If we wanted to spend a lot of money, we could get the house re-insulated.

But for that kind of money, we might want simply to move to a different house with better insulation. Doing so, however, would mean leaving a house we’ve lived in for over decade, where our children were born, and where we’ve made a lot of memories with family and friends.

So, what if finding some really effective carpets and wall-hangings would help our house feel warmer?

And what if the carpets and tapestries from that other part of the world were really effective in keeping houses warm in the winter and cool in the summer?

And what if they also add an element of beauty and elegance to our house that could not be achieved using the insulation techniques available in our city?

Now, this metaphor is, in some ways, laughable. Not only does it suggest an impracticality that few would indulge. But, when brought into conversations about religion and spirituality, it suggests such matters are questions of mere preference or artifice.

What remains, then, is the reality we are always bringing things within our walls, just as much as we are taking things outside them. It could be as simple as bringing home the groceries, or as complicated as building materials for a comprehensive renovation project.

The fact is walls are never solid. Even if a person lives in a fortified bunker, it is likely they are trafficking in ideas and information. The internet, news media, social media, not to mention all the various art forms and community projects make it impossible to keep the outside out and the inside in.

A person could argue there is no true outside nor no true inside.

In fact, a person could argue, there is no true outside nor no true inside.

Even though the walls of my house keep the heat of summer and the cold of winter outside, my body is still shaped by the changing of the seasons. My sleep patterns change as the dark of winter descends on the northern hemisphere. And then, when the light of spring and summer returns, my circadian rhythms change yet again.

So, in faith and religion, I am familiar with my tradition. But, to what extent am I familiar with all the different forces that shaped my tradition. To what extent am I familiar with all the forces that shape me, regardless of whether they “belong” to my tradition or not?

Whatever walls I might want to build around my tradition are always, always, entangled with realities I can scarcely name.

But, if I believe faithfulness to my tradition involves engaging life in all its fullness, from its intimate minutiae to the social, cultural, political, global, and cosmic forces in all their fullness, then it is impossible to escape all my entanglements, regardless of the numerous values I might place on them or not.

So, yes, let’s be aware of our walls and how important they are. But let’s also be consciously grateful for the conditions that necessitated the walls in the first place. They too can be great teachers, if only we let them inform how our walls might continue to exist into the future.

_____________________________

Despite our older house having many problems, my wife and I don’t want to get rid of it, at least not yet. There’s too much at stake in moving right now. Does that mean we’ll continue living here for the rest of our lives? Probably not. But for now it’s home. When we outgrow it, or it no longer serves the needs of our family, we’ll probably find another place to live.

If treated as a metaphor, this is a challenging one, to be sure.

But I wonder for how many people this metaphor expresses the truth of how they engage their specific tradition.

At the very least, it gives me a lot to ponder.

Alchemy, In the Best Sense

I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a lot of losses in my life. I’ve lost relationships, communities, loved ones, jobs–I’ve even had a child who died. And, no matter the loss, each has hurt, deeply.

Now, as a culture, North Americans are not good with loss. We like to profess our undying love and loyalty to those we care about. We like to deny our mortality to the extent that frail and elderly people make many other people uncomfortable.

On the one hand, I get this. To dwell constantly on loss is not only morbid. But it also has many negative psychological consequences.

Yet, on the other hand, to deny loss, to squelch, stuff, or not acknowledge it–this too can come back and bite us.

To dwell constantly on loss is not only morbid. But it also has many negative psychological consequences.

I remember a time earlier in life when I was living with multiple losses, and I hadn’t dealt with any of them very well. I thought that if I ignored my feelings, if I maintained my strong front, my serious and unemotional self, that everything would be OK. And it was, at least I thought it was.

But then I experienced some further losses. And that’s when everything fell apart.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. Tears would come uncontrollably. I was depressed and despondent. Worse still, I told myself the only things I had experienced in life were loss. I began to expect the rest of my life would follow that pattern. I began to despair for my future.

Perhaps ironically, it wasn’t until my wife and I experienced the full-term stillbirth of our second child that I began to deal with loss differently.

In that situation I made a conscious decision to be changed for the better by that experience. But did that ever hurt!

By surrendering myself to the waves of grief and sorrow that would come to me unexpectedly, I learned there was part of myself that grief and sorrow could never touch.

This was not because I was numbing out or ignoring my pain–quite the opposite.

Instead, I was so acutely aware of the fullness of my grief that I came to understand that my grief was only part of my experience.

I was so acutely aware of the fullness of my grief that I cam to understand that my grief was only part of my experience.

In the days and weeks that followed that tragic event, there was such love and compassion extended to me, my wife, and my family that even now my eyes brim with tears when I think of how we were supported after our son’s stillbirth.

So, while there was part of me that was fully riding the ups and downs of grief, I also experienced my heart as torn open by love. What love I couldn’t offer my son, I found I received and expressed as much to all the other people who surrounded us at the time of that loss.

I know this is not everyone’s experience of such a tragedy.

While there was part of me that was fully riding the ups and downs of grief, I also experienced my heart as torn open by love.

What I learned through that experience is that loss, change, and transition are always deeply challenging times. They destabilize our sense of self, of wellbeing, and often our sense of connection with others.

Yet, if there’s a way to remain openhearted in the midst of loss–and I know how deeply fear inducing this can be (I really do!)–somehow that openheartedness can enable us to be transformed by whatever we experience because of the loss.

___________________

There’s those seemingly crazy stories coming from the European middle ages about the alchemists who tried to transform lead into gold.

When taken literally, these stories illustrate how much science we’ve learned over the past thousand years.

But when taken differently, there’s a deep truth expressed in alchemical thought.

Loss, and the grief that comes with it, have a strange sort of wisdom. If we open ourselves to this wisdom then the leaden feelings that often come with grief can be transformed into the gold of love and connection.

Yet discovering such wisdom will not dismiss grief forever. Once grief arrives, she will come again and again, sometimes in a familiar form, sometimes in a different one.

But if we learn to meet her in whatever form she takes, we may discover she has gifts to offer, if only we receive her properly.

What a strange visitor grief is, yet what wisdom she possesses! For what gold could be more valuable than that which is hard won, that which has been wrest forth from lead, as if our very lives depended upon it.

May love and connection come to you, regardless of whether they are produced from lead or not.

What You Bring is What You Get

Isn’t it nice to be given special treatment? Or to be treated like you’re very important?

This is the kind of thing we expect from the hospitality industry, like hotels or restaurants.

It’s also the kind of thing we desire for ourselves. It’s like the rest of our lives tell us we’re not special, like we’re not deserving of being treated kindly or generously. So, when we treat ourselves to fancy meal or to something else we wouldn’t normally have, we expect that people should bend over backward to make us feel good.

At least that’s the story we tell ourselves.

But there’s often another story that we aren’t always aware of. Here’s my version of it.

When I was younger, I was told by several people that I was special. They felt I had abilities other people did not. So, I, as my young self, thought that I deserved to be placed on a pedestal.

Much of my life at that point, then, was oriented around demonstrating my “specialness” to everyone I encountered.

And, in that sense, I was “special”.

In fact, I was so “special” that few people wanted to spend much time with me.

You can imagine how this made me feel.

On the one hand, I believed, quite strongly, that I was special. But, on the other hand, I couldn’t understand why other people didn’t see this in me. Talk about inner conflict!

It wasn’t until much later in life that I realized what was going on.

Here are some of the key lessons as I see them:

1. You’re never exactly the person you think you are

If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you’ll have probably guessed I like stories.

Well, guess what, we all like stories.

In fact, we’re telling ourselves stories all the time: stories about ourselves, stories about our families, our co-workers, our politicians, our countries, etc.

Our stories are what our lives are all about.

And, who doesn’t want their life to be a good story with a happy ending?

So, sometimes if we think our lives aren’t good stories, but we really want them to be, we work very hard to tell ourselves and others the stories we want our lives to be.

Now, technically, this isn’t lying because we all do it. But, it is selective gathering of facts.

And, if we really really want our lives to look a certain way, we work that much harder to make them fit into the stories we want to tell.

We can even become so convinced of our stories that when someone offers us a perspective that doesn’t fit our story, we deny it, sometimes violently.

When this happens, we then have to make a choice: am I myself, or am I my stories?

My stories will always be based on some facts, but not all.

So who am I if I’m not my stories?

2. My story is never just my story

If I spent most of my life in a dark box, then my story would by my story. But it wouldn’t be very interesting, would it?

Or maybe it would be . . . I’ve never lived most of my life in a dark box . . .

But that’s precisely the point!

Very few people live their lives in a dark box. Rather, we’re always interacting with other people. We have friends, families, co-workers, teammates, and many others we share our lives with.

And, guaranteed, anyone who knows you, even slightly, has an opinion about you.

Now, if you’re the least bit insecure, you’re probably wondering where you can get a clean pair of pants right now.

But that too is the point.

No matter how much we like to think of ourselves in certain ways, it is not always true that others think of us in the same way.

So, where does the truth lie?

It’s not entirely in my stories about myself. But neither is it entirely in the stories that other people tell about me.

How can you learn the truth about yourself?

3. The truth you seek can never be found in stories

If you’re always looking for a good story about yourself, one that captures all your hopes and dreams, making them all come true, you can stop looking now. You’ll never find it.

Ever thought about writing a great novel? Congratulations! You’ve probably done it a million times, every time you imagine a new life for yourself.

Any story that isn’t grounded in the realities of your life right now is . . . wait for it! . . . just a story.

So, the biggest piece of work any of us has to do is link the stories we tell ourselves with the deepest realities of who we are.

This means we need to strip away, eliminate, get rid of, discard, throw out (you get the picture) anything in our stories that does not truly belong to us.

I’ve written about this before.

Inevitably this means a lot of pain and heartache.

It’s so easy to get attached to our stories about ourselves–both the good and the not so good.

Once we start working to discover what’s really ours in our stories, it means we need to give up lots of things that aren’t really ours.

And this can really hurt, because we’ve become so attached to our stories that we can’t imagine ourselves without them.

But this is where the real mojo happens.

If you can learn to let go of your stories, you can also learn to be a different person.

Imagine that–you want a new life? All you have to do is let go of all the stories you’ve told yourself about yourself up to this point.

Sound too good to be true?

Well, here’s the real point:

4. Truth can only be found in your being

If you want to find the truth of yourself, give up trying to tell yourself who you are.

Instead, try simply being with yourself for at least five minutes.

If you start fidgeting, getting anxious, looking for distractions, start thinking about what you’ll watch on Netflix this evening–congratulations, you’re looking for ways to get away from yourself!

See, the true you, the real you, can only be found in inner silence.

“Hang on, wait a minute!” you’re probably saying, “I thought being really myself was showing off my uniqueness, my specialness!”

Yes . . . but also not yes . . .

When you enter silence, you begin to let your stories go. You begin to realize that all the stories you tell about yourself, all the stories others tell about you are nothing but . . . well . . . stories.

If you want to find the true story of who you are, you have to realize that, in many ways, you are not the best teller of your story.

So, if you’re not the best teller of your story, who is?

The answer?

Your life. Plain and simple.

How does the old saying go? “A person won’t be judged by their words; rather their actions will judge them.”

What does this mean?

If you have great stories about yourself–great, well done! You’re a wonderful storyteller.

If you work hard, deal honestly, seek to improve the lives of those around you in whatever way you can–great, well done! You’re a good person.

But where does true greatness lie?

If you become so comfortable with yourself that your simply being with another person helps them become more comfortable with themself–that is truly a great accomplishment.

What to do now?

It seems the world has too many storytellers at the moment. One person says one thing; another person says another.

There are so many stories out there that it’s hard to know where the truth can be found.

But what if we all started letting our stories go? What if we started being silent with ourselves? What if we started bringing ourselves to our interactions with others, rather than our stories?

Would this help others be who they are because we’ve worked so hard simply to be?

Now wouldn’t that make for a different story!

Practise for Purpose, or “Take Care of Your Stuff”

When I started exploring meditation about twenty years ago, I thought it would be a “cool” thing to do. I considered myself “spiritual,” and meditation was one of the things “spiritual” people did. So, I got some books from the library, did some reading, and tried to settle into stillness. Little did I know how much I misunderstood.

At that point I hadn’t had many significant life experiences. I had definitely had tough times in my teen years–like many I had been bullied at school. But, for the most part, I considered myself OK. Meditation was a way for me to build the image I wanted for myself: sophisticated, insightful, in tune, spiritual.

It wasn’t until a few years later when I had some really tough times that I realized there was stuff inside me I needed to take care of. I therefore began therapy, something I have done on and off in the decades since that time. I also began to understand that meditation is not something someone does. Rather, it is something someone lives.

Yet through all this, I also realized meditation has to be accompanied by good teaching. And, what I didn’t understand earlier was this: the teaching and its embodiment is central to the practice. Somehow I got it into my head that if I could meditate for 30 minutes a day, I would automatically become spiritual. Dumb. Really dumb.

Instead, as I now understand, spiritual practice has a much deeper purpose. Here’s how I see it at this point:

1. Take care of your “stuff”

Most of the spiritual teachers I’ve read (and I’ve read several) say that when you meditate, sooner or later you’re going to confront your “stuff”. Here “stuff” is not just the things you desire for yourself but have been unable to achieve. Instead, “stuff” is all the thoughts and memories you would rather have forgotten–everything you’ve experienced, both the positive and the negative.

Now, you might be thinking “Whoa, I really don’t want to go there! There are many reasons I would have liked to forget all that!”

To think that? I have some good news . . . you’re normal!

To engage those thoughts–well, that’s a bit more challenging.

When “stuff” comes up, as it always does in a spiritual practice, you are now given opportunities to deal with it.

This is why the teachings around spiritual practices are so important. No matter who you are, no matter your background or privilege, we’ve all got stuff. And, any spiritual practice worth its name is going to give you tools for dealing with it.

So, how does this work?

Whether you’re into meditation, prayer, yoga, or something else, spiritual practices are designed to bring to consciousness all the things we’ve buried–our joys, our hurts, our traumas, our griefs, our triumphs. And, part of what we discover when all this comes is we are not our stuff.

I’ll repeat that for emphasis: We–not me, not you, not anybody–we are not our “stuff”.

What the spiritual practice teaches us, then, is how to find a deeper and truer identity for ourselves, one that is not bound by anything not rooted in who we really are.

Does this mean that all of life is an illusion, like some popularly think?

No. But it does mean we all have our illusions about life. So part of what spiritual practices teach is how to distinguish between truth and illusion. And, perhaps not surprisingly, it turns out this work is a lifelong process.

Congratulations! You’ve just seen your career path into truth!

2. Discover you are never, ever alone

If you travel beyond the stage where your stuff keeps coming to you, all of a sudden you begin to realize we’ve all got stuff.

From the perspective of spirituality, this is great news!

(Okay, you may be at the stage of wanting to web surf to another page now. But don’t, there’s some good stuff coming–pun intended).

The reason why this is such great news is because this means you are never alone.

Yes, trauma or abuse or dysfunction might tell you you’re alone and you’ll never be lovable. But, guaranteed, there’s someone else out there that’s probably experienced something very similar to you.

And, if there’s someone out there that’s experienced something very similar to you, no doubt there’s someone out there that’s been able to flourish after experiencing pain and suffering.

This is an incredibly hopeful message!

And, if it’s possible to take care of your stuff, to no longer be defined by your pain and suffering, then who knows what you might accomplish?

Now, don’t get me wrong: I’m not arguing that a spiritual practice will eliminate all suffering. In fact, a spiritual practice might actually cause more suffering. This is because it will teach you how to hold all your experiences together at the same time–the good, the bad, the unpleasant, the triumphant.

In doing so, your spiritual practice will reveal, sometimes painfully, all the contradictions and paradoxes in your life.

But when you realize you are not your stuff, you also realize you are not your contradictions and paradoxes. This means you can begin to hold all these parts of yourself gently and compassionately.

You’ll furthermore realize that everyone else experiences exactly the same thing.

So, you’ll begin to ask how you can help others find some of the same compassion you’ve found within yourself.

3. Increase your responsibility

If we’ve all got stuff, and if that means we’re never alone, that must also mean we’re joined to everyone else in ways we can never imagine.

So, when I see myself as caught in my pain and suffering, I also see how I push my pain and suffering on to other people.

Unfortunately, this is true. When your spiritual practice deepens, you get to see all of yourself–even those parts of yourself you’d rather not acknowledge.

Yes, this is but a deeper engagement with your stuff.

Yet this also goes beyond just the stuff that’s happened to you in the past.

Rather, this is the stuff that you do that causes others pain.

In some cases you might do this stuff because you’ve been hurt in the past, and you haven’t completely dealt with it.

Or, it might be that your personality makes you irritable with others, especially when you’re tired, hungry, or stressed.

And, lucky you, your spiritual practice is making you especially aware of all this. And, even more so, your spiritual practice is also making you extremely aware of how your actions and attitudes are affecting others.

What a crazy uncomfortable place to be!

Again, there’s some good news: Even though you may feel trapped in your past, in your frailty, or in your personality, there is always part of you that is much bigger than all these things.

If only there was a way to consistently live out of that larger part of yourself. Wouldn’t that be incredible?

If only you could do that, you could spare yourself and others pain!

4. Explore your role in collective transformation

So, you’re not your stuff, you’re not alone, and you’re feeling invited to take greater responsibility for yourself. Now where do you go?

You’ve probably heard the saying: practise makes perfect?

Well there’s some truth to that, especially in the spiritual realm. But there’s actually something much more basic.

When you become serious about your spirituality, you become more aware that you practise with purpose.

What do I mean by that?

Really, the reason we practise is so we can take care of our stuff. It’s so we can move beneath the stuff that keeps us in places of shame or anger or guilt. It’s so we can break the habits that cause us to harm ourselves or others. It’s to experience compassion, forgiveness, and love, among other positive spiritual traits.

So, when we discover that deeper part of ourselves where we are not bound by our stuff–that’s the place we want to make our home!

The door into that home is discovered in our practice; our ongoing practise is the key that will unlock it.

If you want to be free, if you want to treat yourself and others more fairly and compassionately: the answer? Practise, practise practise.

Many have said transformation of the world begins with transformation of the self. A spiritual practice is one way to take such work seriously.

Some final thoughts

It’s hard to ignore all the conflicts and protests and feelings of crisis so evident in the world right now.

I’m not going to claim that spirituality or taking up meditation, prayer, or yoga is going to solve all the world’s problems.

But I will say any of these practices will change how you view the world. And, what we need right now is a changed view of the world.

What got us to this point simply isn’t working anymore.

Is it true that if you change your mind you can change the world?

Trying a spiritual practice might be one way to find out.

Embracing the Great Clarification

I consider myself lucky.

As COVID-19 was becoming a “thing” over a year ago, I had a number of pleasant surprises. I was offered a new job that could all be done remotely. A family friend agreed to move in with us to help with childcare. She also contributed generally to keeping the house running. My wife is an essential worker. No one in our house lost their job. Overall, our household fared quite well.

I recognize that many people did not have stories like this. There are many in my circle whose careers got put on hold by the pandemic. I’ve been part of work-related processes that have either greatly slowed or halted altogether. I’ve spoken with many who experienced ill mental health brought on by pandemic-related isolation. I’ve also worked with people whose tendencies toward addiction and abusive behaviours were exacerbated by everything produced by the pandemic.

Now, I too have experienced feelings of isolation–it’s been really hard not seeing friends and coworkers as often as I would previously. And, now our kids’ school and daycare have reopened, there are many days I don’t see another flesh and blood human being in person. Like many, Zoom has become a way of life for me. And, yes, Zoom fatigue is very, very, real. Yet I recognize that my family does come home every evening. Matters are very different for those who are single, widowed, or shut in.

As a result, I am acutely aware that all of this, all the “luck” I experienced, is an expression of my incredible privilege. There are many who have suffered deep losses due to the pandemic. I therefore make it a practice to remind myself of that reality every time I start feeling down, despondent, or especially hard done by.

There are many who have suffered deep losses due to the pandemic. I therefore make it a practice to remind myself of that every time I start feeling down, despondent, or especially hard done by.

Early on in the pandemic, I started wondering whether we could think of this time as “The Great Clarification.” I wondered this for a number of reasons. But as I thought more about it, the more it made sense.

When forced to isolate ourselves, to put our lives on hold for an unforeseen amount of time, this can bring out either the best or the worst in us. In other words, it can reveal who we really are, all our pain and suffering, hopes and dreams, despairs and triumphs, all at the same time. It can also reveal to us what really matters in life, how we can hope to make our lives count for something, or how we can allow ourselves to become buried in all our anger and frustrations.

I have therefore come to see the past eighteen months as a time that has laid bare the world’s true identity. And now, at a time when many places are considering what their “back to normal” might look like, we’re all having to figure out what this means for all of us, both individually and collectively.

Here are three lessons I believe we’ll need to consider as we move toward living through the emerging new realities:

1. We’re all connected

This may seem obvious, but viruses spread when we’re in close contact with others. At this point you could easily shrug and say, “Duh! I already knew that.” But there’s actually more to this picture.

When I think over the past year, not only was it dominated by the COVID-19 pandemic. But it was also characterized by incredible social and political instability. Protests, racially motivated violence, the ongoing climate crisis, conspiracy theories, and deep polarization were all consistent themes on various news feeds.

All this raises the question: is it possible to heal our deep divisions? Is it possible to look beyond individual concerns and meet some of the challenges we are encountering as a species, as a planet?

I’m not sure how to answer this question, but here’s what the pandemic has made obvious: we’re all connected in ways we’ll never be able to understand. Just as a virus spreads by close contact, so too do ideas, attitudes, and perceptions of others.

All this is best illustrated by observing how social media is now everywhere. Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Pinterest, and TikTok: all these are now commonplaces. A decade ago it was difficult to imagine the roles these platforms now play in public consciousness and government policies. But here we are, in a world where policy is made by tweet, and opinions, perspectives, and tastes are shaped by influencers who have little power outside their online presence. This world is very different than the one we all experienced even just ten years ago.

Due to this reality, it is now possible to see how whatever we put out, whatever we articulate, actually makes a difference. When we put a post onto social media, it essentially gives others permission to agree or disagree. Social media has thus become an incredible tool for building community and connection. Yet, as we are all becoming aware, social media also has great potential for inciting hatred and causing real harm.

So, while I’m not going to target specific views, I am going to ask: what kind of world do we want to build? And, what can each of us do to mobilize the tremendous influence each of us has, both on social media and off it, to build the world we want to see? Will our anger and frustration fuel the increasing polarization we’ve all been seeing? Or, can we envision a hope-filled future for ourselves, one that brings people together in pursuit of the good for everyone?

2. Our actions embody our values

A few years ago, when #MeToo was gaining momentum, we all saw how powerful men, who had accomplished a lot, also hurt many women through their sexually inappropriate behaviours.

While it was easy for many of us to condemn these men, calling them out as examples of “toxic masculinity” who perpetuated the dominant “rape culture,” few of us considered how many of us often cause significant harms on a daily basis. The difference is the harms most of us cause are often judged acceptable, mainly because they are outside the view of public attention.

In contrast, the pandemic has taught us that actions taken privately often have significant public consequences.

For example, attending private events without proper precautions can now result in dozens of COVID infections. Not only does this directly affect the health of those who have been infected. But it also affects health care systems and the people who work within them who now have to care for those who have fallen ill.

To see ourselves only as individuals, accountable only to ourselves, thus fails to consider the many people who are unavoidably affected by all the choices we make. And, while most of us act out of good intentions and strive to live with integrity, even the most principled of us cannot foresee all the ways our actions will affect others.

We might therefore ask: How best can we embody the values we say we endorse? To what extent are our actions consistent with our values? And, what truths about us do our actions reveal, especially if our actions contradict what we say we believe?

3. Our understandings of reality matter

The science is clear: viruses spread when people are in close contact with one another. It is also clear the coronavirus can be deadly–the death tolls worldwide have demonstrated how lethal COVID-19 can be.

One other thing is clear: infection rates have been higher in groups that have questioned the science. Those who discount the severity of this illness, who believe governments are trying to control us by enforcing infection prevention measures: these are the groups that have the higher rates of illness.

Similarly, jurisdictions that rushed to reopen after various lockdowns also experienced higher rates of infection. Those that waited now have been able to reopen almost fully, simply because their seemingly harsher restrictions were also more successful in controlling the spread of the virus.

All this demonstrates that how we understand reality makes a real difference in our lives and in the lives of others.

I therefore believe those who approach reality with a deeply entrenched us-or-them mentality are more likely to polarize in times of crisis. In contrast, those who strive to build a shared vision of reality have increased chances of achieving positive outcomes over the long term.

But in all this there are two crucial issues: trust and truth. How can you trust another person is telling you the truth if you don’t trust them as a person?

When striving to build a shared vision of reality, then, it is absolutely necessary that we trust one another. If we don’t trust one another, it will be impossible to build the shared vision we all need to move into the future successfully.

So, while we may trust the science and its perspectives on what is really going on with coronavirus, do we also need to take the time to learn from those who don’t share our perspectives? Can they teach us something about fear, or about disempowerment, or about anger and frustration? Is there a way I can receive such people as people, rather than demonizing them for holding views I disagree with?

Unfortunately, too often we understand reality as only being about facts, figures, metrics, or data. However, all these things and what they mean affect the lives of real people. And, these real people may or may not share our concerns when we interpret the data. We therefore ignore this human dimension to our peril.

Putting it all together

The bottom line?

While these lessons may not be particularly new, the COVID-19 pandemic has clarified precisely how urgent it is we take them on board. When faced with the possibility of causing another person to become seriously ill, or becoming seriously ill ourselves, we are all required to seriously re-examine how we understand and engage life.

So, in a time when all of us are anxiously wanting life to return to “normal,” this is also a time when we can honestly evaluate what we really want to get out of life.

For my part, I hope the past eighteen months have taught us how absolutely crucial it is that we practice kindness and compassion for the sake of building community. The millions of people who have been negatively affected by the pandemic demand this of us.

While all this may seem warm and fuzzy, and perhaps a bit airy-fairy, it’s actually not. My concrete decisions manifest the values I seek to embody, and these values are informed by how I understand the nature of reality. Because we are all connected, I therefore choose to make decisions that will improve the lives of others, rather than simply shore up my own needs for safety and security.

I therefore ask: What kind of world do you live in? What kind of world do you want to live in? And, how can you live your life in such a way that will help you actually get you there?

I wish you well on your journey.

Bring Your Welcome to the World

When my wife and I were expecting our firstborn, we took a trip to Europe. I was going to a conference, and my wife was along to see the sights. We stayed with friends in one city. Then we went to another city in another country for my conference. Then we went back to the first country to visit its world-famous capital.

I was really looking forward to visiting this capital. I had been to this country before, but never to its capital. This city had been at the centre of many world-shaping events over several centuries. So I was curious to get the feel of it, to see some of the sights that had been iconic for so many.

The city itself did not disappoint. There was beautiful architecture, incredible museums, and many scars from past conflicts. Yet not all these scars were physical.

At some points in its history, this city had been divided against itself. Opposing sides in different conflicts had pitted different parts of the city against one another. The governments involved had perpetuated these conflicts, at great cost to the ordinary people. While these conflicts were mostly resolved when my wife and I visited, many people we met still behaved as if they were occuring.

One evening, after a busy day of seeing the sights, my wife and I went for dinner at a restaurant not far from our hotel. We were offered a table by one of the staff members there, seated, then we waited for our server to come. When the server came, we asked if they had an English menu. The server grunted a response, returned with the appropriate menus, threw them on the table, then disappeared. That was the beginning of a meal during which our service was quite poor.

Unfortunately, we later found out, that was the reputation that city had: brusque, rude, and not at all friendly. This was in sharp contrast to the city from which we had just come. There, we felt, people bent over backward to extend kindness and welcome. The difference between the two was striking.

What was even more striking were the lessons my wife and I both learned from that experience.

When you can’t welcome yourself, it’s impossible to welcome others.

Put most directly: when you can’t welcome yourself, it’s impossible to welcome others.

I’ve seen this many times in my own life.

Readers of this blog will know that at times I’ve struggled with deep feelings of shame and guilt. There are many reasons for this I won’t discuss here. However, one thing I’ve learned is that when I’m feeling least at home with myself, that’s when I treat others poorly.

Sometimes when I’m feeling really down on myself for whatever reason, I respond with anger and frustration to people who always deserve my respect and kindness.

Now, I know why I do this. I do it because I believe I just need to be left alone. My mind and body tell me I have little tolerance for people during these times. So, I treat every simple request, every honest question, as an intrusion. It’s like I want to say:

“Don’t disturb me! I’m grumpy! Let me be hold on to my grump, because I don’t want to deal with the feelings of shame deep inside me. If I really attend to my shame, I fear that what I’m feeling right now might be true. And that’s something I don’t want to deal with right now!”

When in those moments, the last thing I want to do is deal with how horrible I feel. So I try to stuff those unpleasant feelings down within myself, burying them so deep that I’ll never experience them again. But then, everyone else around me has to pay the price.

I wonder if that’s part of what was happening with that server in that European capital so many years ago . . .

The spiritual path is all about integration.

The irony is the spiritual path is all about integration. If I ignore my feelings, trying to bury them deep within myself, that halts my growth. It shows there are parts of myself I cannot accept; there are parts of me I don’t want to deal with. However, this is completely the wrong way to deal with feelings about myself, past experienences, and my desire for healing.

Healing comes when we are able to view everything that’s happened to us through a lens of neutrality. What happened in the past remains in the past. My present experience does not have to be dominated by past events. Yes, these events have played significant roles in making me the person I am today. Yet, if I still feel trapped by feelings stemming from those past events, if somehow, those past events are telling me who I am, who I must be, then that’s the sign of a problem.

The spiritual path tells me I am much bigger than my past. There is so much more to me than my feelings and my memories. So, when I am operating out of that larger self, that’s when I can experience freedom from memories that might otherwise imprison me.

Yet this freedom does not come from trying to bury the memories, stuffing them so deep within me that no one will find them. Rather, this freedom comes from seeing the memories for what they are: only memories. Memories and feelings do not tell us who we are. Rather, what we do with those memories and feelings is a truer indication of who we are.

When walking the spiritual path, choices open up.

When walking the spiritual path, then, choices open up to us. Do I choose to indulge my memories from the past, sinking down into negative feelings about myself and my life? Or, do I work with those memories, telling myself different stories about them so I don’t get trapped by the emotional prisons I can easily build for myself?

If I choose to work with my memories, are there lessons I can learn from them so I don’t make the same mistakes I did previously? Can I choose to view these memories objectively so I can explore them and learn from them, as if they are guests within my awareness? Can I treat all my experiences and memories as potential teachers, deserving of welcome and embrace, even when they initially cause me pain? Challenging questions indeed . . .

These are the kinds of questions we need to ask ourselves if integration is our goal. By learning to welcome all our memories, all our experiences, we learn to welcome parts of ourselves we’ve previously buried. And this kind of welcome has consequences.

In our radical welcome of ourselves, we can also deeply welcome others.

When we learn to welcome parts of ourselves we’ve either buried or ignored, then we also learn increasingly to welcome other people, with all their quirks, warts, and dysfunctions. In our radical welcome of ourselves, we can also deeply welcome others.

This does not mean we do not invite other people to be better versions of themselves. But it does mean we can see those other people for who they are, engaging them gently but persistently, inviting them into a deeper welcome of themselves–warts and all.

When my wife and I were in that European city all those years ago, on the one hand we experienced a high level of admiration. We knew about the conflicts that had torn the city apart. And we admired that these conflicts were openly commemorated in museums and various historical sites. I knew from having studied this country that nationally there had been a very deliberate effort to learn from the mistakes of the past.

Yet, on the other hand, it was also clear there was a lot more healing needed in that city. Over dinner with acquaintances, we were told there were still disparities between the different parts of that city, decades after the overt conflicts ended. These disparities fuelled longstanding resentments, all of which contributed to the rudeness and unfriendliness my wife and I had experienced. For our acquaintances, it was clear decades, if not centuries, of healing work were still needed.

The welcome we extend to others is dierectly related to the welcome we offer ourselves.

If there’s a spiritual lesson to be learned in all this, it’s that the welcome we extend to others is directly related to the welcome we offer ourselves. If there are parts of ourselves we can’t bear, or if our lives are dominated by resentments, it will be nearly impossible to offer other people a truly hospitable welcome.

And yet, I think we’ve all experienced deeply transformative welcomes, welcomes that tell us that we’re valued, that we’re loved, that we’ve got something meaningful to offer others.

The take home lesson? Bring your welcome to the world. Extend welcome to yourself, especially those parts of yourself you don’t want others to know about. In doing so, you’ll expand your ability to welcome others with all their quirks, warts, and dysfunctions. Then, they too can bring their welcome to the world because they have first been welcomed by you.

So, bring your welcome to the world. In doing so the world might extend its own welcome to those who may not otherwise experience it.

Walking in the Company of Children

I have a confession to make. This is hard, but here it is, straight from the proverbial horse’s mouth: I am a fast walker.

I can’t help it. My natural walking cadence is somewhere between fast and faster. And this has caused me problems.

Early in our relationship, my wife and I would go out for walks. While I was deeply enjoying the time with my beloved, she would frequently pull my hand back and ask: “Are you walking with me?” I would then apologize and adjust my speed to match her more leisurely pace. But, inevitably, about a block later my wife would have to pull me back, repeat her question, and we’d start the cycle all over again.

Eventually I learned to match my pace to hers, and my wife learned to take my pulling ahead with good humour. My “problem” also gave rise to the sharing of many funny stories with our friends. Amid the usual laughter I would often try to justify my speed walking. Typically, more laughter and teasing would follow . . . all in good fun, of course!

When our eldest started walking, though, she would stop at every unusal speck in the sidewalk, every dandelion, every brown leaf, every ant colony, every . . . well, you get the picture.

With all the stops, my inner walking metronome felt its gears grinding. Walks became occasions for grumpiness. I wanted to move, but my young, beautiful, and blessed child only wanted to see the wondrous ants, brown leaves, dandelions, and specks on the sidewalk.

So, I would inevitably become more and more impatient and agitated when out with my daughter. My wife, seeing this, would therefore gently (and sometimes not so gently) remind me: “The walk’s about the journey.”

The walk’s about the journey . . .

The walk’s about the journey . . .

In certain Christian circles, it is often said a person needs to have “the faith of a child.” Often this saying is accompanied by great sentimentality–pictures of Jesus surrounded by cherubic youngsters with the quote “let the little children come unto me” underneath, etc.

Unfortunately this idea has caused a lot of harm in religious circles. Sometimes it is interpreted to mean naïveté is a Christian virtue. A person must simply accept so-called “truths” at face value. By extension this also means anything beyond simple answers to complex questions betrays the fundamental principles of the Christian faith.

You probably know how I don’t interpret this idea!

Thinking of my own children, the phrase “no filters” comes to mind. Typically when we say someone has no filters, we’re saying, “whatever comes into so-and-so’s head comes out their mouth!” That’s one way to understand this idea.

Another way to understand it is to say, “This person is so open to the world around them, there are no filters on how they experience reality!”

Now that’s a different way to understand this idea!

Not suprisingly, this second understanding has big consequences for how I might engage life. This is true for me as a parent. It is also true for me as a person who sees religion and spirituality as paths toward integration, rather than paths toward fragmentation. Here’s how I see all this working . . .

This person is so open to the world around them, there are no filters on how they experience reality!

In the therapeutic world, there is increasing attention being given to developmental trauma. While the word trauma might give the impression of something extraordinary, developmental trauma happens every day. Basically it is trauma that occurs due to normal processes of human development.

A typical example of this kind of trauma occurs when weaning a child. For breastfed children, there is comfort and enjoyment in receiving their mother’s milk. Breastfeeding is one significant way children build secure attachments with their mothers.

However, when children transition to solid food, mothers will often behave differently when their children ask for breast milk. No longer will the breast be readily available. Instead, a mother might encourage her child to have solid food first and then offer her breast afterward.

Depending on how the mother handles this transition, children can find it traumatizing: they can experience it as breaking trust; it can undermine their attachment with their mother.

But, this transition is also necessary. A child cannot have breast milk forever. At some point they need to transition exclusively to solid food–their healthy development demands it. Yet, depending on the temperament of the child, in addition to the child’s relationship with their mother, both mother and child can experience trauma in weaning.

Now, as an adult, a mother can often counterbalance her trauma. She understands the transition to solid food is a natural and healthy part of her child’s development.

But a child does not yet have the cognitive capacity to understand how this transition is necessary. Prior to weaning, children mainly experience life through the deep emotional and physical bond with their mother. This physical bond experiences an initial severing at birth. It experiences further severing as the child becomes mobile. Weaning is another one of these severings.

The goal of all these severings is for the child to gain a sense of individual selfhood. As a child’s physical bond with their mother changes, so too does their emotional bond. When these transitions occur without difficulty, it means the child forms a secure sense of self. When there are difficulties in these transitions, there can be other long-term consequences. If these transitions are particularly traumatic, the longer-term consequenses can be quite negative.

The goal of all these severings is for the child to gain a sense of individual selfhood.

Regardless of whether these transitions are healthy or unhealthy, children use them to create filters through which they engage reality. This is a natural consequence of their growing physical and emotional distance from their mother.

Without their mother to buffer it, reality can be very overwhelming to a young child. Therefore their distance increases gradually, giving them time to build the filters they need to function more and more independently.

But all this healthy development comes at a cost. Spontaneity is often seen as healthy development’s casualty; creativity is often seen this way too. As children learn to place filters upon reality, their field of view narrows. Inevitably they have to discover that some things are simply “impossible.”

When approaching these changes and transitions through the lens of “having the faith of a child,” then, some interesting dynamics emerge.

While development means narrowing our view of reality on the one hand, spiritual health also means broading our view to see reality as an integrated whole.

While development means establishing distinct concepts and ideas to describe reality, spiritual health sees all these concepts and ideas as interconnected.

While development means gaining a sense of individual selfhood, spiritual health sees us as interconnected and interdependent with all other beings.

In light of these statements, having the faith of a child does not mean we are naïve; it does not mean we settle for simple answers to very complex issues. Rather, it means we use the filters we’ve established through our healthy development as vehicles to reconnect with parts of reality we’ve come to ignore.

No longer are our filters tools for distinction and differentiation. Instead, they become the means for connection and integration!

No longer are our filters tools for distinction and differentiation. Instead they become the means for connection and integration!

Philosophers, theologians, and spiritual writers describe this movement in various ways.

Some say this work of integration occurs in the second half of life, after we’ve spent the first half of life establishing our separate-self identity.

Some say this work of integration entails entering a “second naïveté” wherein we regain some of the wonder and innocence of childhood.

Some also say this is a return to Eden where we encounter again the paradise of an enchanted universe.

In my experience, all these things are true. But here’s the crucial piece:

It would not be possible for me to experience a second naïveté had I not lost the first one. It would not be possible for me to return to Eden had I not left and encountered the world in the first place.

Emotional and psychological development are crucial for any person’s healthy functioning in life. Therefore, my responsibility when encountering any person is to not limit, criticize, halt, or change wherever they’re at in their developmental journey.

As a parent, I cannot rush or accelerate my children’s development simply because I’m impatient and want to move. Rather, I can support and facilitate their development by nurturing healthy attachments with them, allowing the character of those attachments to grow and change as my children grow and change.

The same is true when I encounter other people at different stages of their spiritual journeys. I can accompany them for however long they need me, supporting and facilitating their need to grow and change by allowing myself to grow and change alongside them.

In this sense, then, we are all, always, walking in the company of children. All of us have our own cadence of development. All of us are at different stages of our developmental journeys.

As a result, out of a genuine desire to nurture and support, we can lovingly match our pace to those around us, gently and consistently reminding ourselves: “The walk’s about the journey.”

The walk’s about the journey.

None of this means we all need to be at the same stage of development. Yet it does mean we can recognize the childlikeness we all possess, treating one another gently and compassionately so we can all change and grow in ways most in keeping with our childlike nature.

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What curious creatures we are, leaving childhood only to return to it, changing and growing only to become what we were in the first place.

And so the journey continues.

Here’s to finding childhood late in life; here’s also to always ending in the place of all beginnings.

May your company be children of all ages. And may this company bring joy as you walk together for the sake of the journey.

Signs, Signals, and Choice

Not so long ago, I was having a lot of conflict with my daughter. We weren’t fighting about anything in particular. I would just get annoyed with her, and then she would get annoyed with me. Pretty soon, conflict seemed unavoidable. And, it was affecting other members of the family.

After discussing the situation with my wife, I decided I needed to do something special with my daughter. So, as we were going through her bedtime routine together, she and I talked about how we were fighting so much. That was good. We both apologized to each other. We also agreed to make things better between us.

Now, I don’t know about your family, but in our family, food is one way we show love to one another. We like good food, and we like preparing food together. I’m usually the one doing the cooking, so when my kids are involved, that makes them feel included. It also helps them feel they’re contributing to something we all enjoy.

So, after our apologies, I said to my daughter, “How would you like to make pancakes, sausage, and bacon with me for breakfast tomorrow?” My daughter got a big smile on her face and said, “That sounds really good!”

So, then I needed to go to the grocery store. In our area, there are several grocery stores closeby, but there’s one in particular we tend use for quick errands. It’s not a big store. But, for the most part, we can get whatever we need there.

Yet, for whatever reason, I felt I didn’t want to go to that grocery store. Instead, I decided I would go to one that was a bit farther away that we also often use.

As I drove to this grocery store, I was feeling pretty good about how I handled the situation with my daughter. I was also really looking forward to cooking with her the following morning.

So, perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised as I walked into the grocery store and saw the display just inside the main entrance. But I was.

There, in clear view for all to see, right in inside the door, were pancake mix, syrup, bacon, and sausage! They were the featured sale items at that store that week.

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As someone interested in spirituality, I pay attention to seemingly random coincidences like these. Typically, these kinds of events are called synchronicities, using the term coined by the great Swiss psychiatrist, Carl Jung.

According to Jung, synchronicities typically occur when a person undertakes significant work in psychological healing. For him, psychological patients were “primed” to take notice of events and coincidences others might consider random. Due to their psychological “priming,” patients could experience these events as highly meaningful. Patients would often understand them as affirmations of their psychological work.

Since Jung’s time, synchronicities have been understood various ways. In some New Age circles, they are sometimes understood as guidance from spirit entities. For some more scientifically minded, synchronicites can be seen as non-local quantum entanglements.

Regardless, each view has this idea at its core: a person can become so in tune with reality that circumstances seem to combine in unexpected and surprising ways. A person can always seem to be in the right place at the right time. Such people can even seem to show up in anticipation of needs that people aren’t even aware of yet.

I’ve experienced this several times in my life. I’ve also sometimes been the person showing up to meet others’ needs. But what does all this mean?

A person can become so in tune with reality that circumstances seem to combine in unexpected and surprising ways.

Without getting bogged down in detailed discussions about why and how sychronicities happen, there is one thing that bears reflection: our response.

There are several views concerning synchronicities. One writes them off as nothing more than coincidences. Another places a huge amount of weight on them, seeking interpretation after interpretation after interpretation regarding their meaning. A third approach is to see synchronicities as signposts for a person as they move through life.

From my perspective, this last option seems the most reasonable. Here’s why:

Any genuine religious or spiritual tradition has its followers’ transformation as its primary goal. Therefore, as a person goes farther down their tradition’s path, they will become increasingly in tune with the very fabric of reality.

As this movement progressess, people begin to notice more and more synchronicities. This is because the psychological filters through which they encounter reality are gradually being abandoned. This is one significant aspect of a person’s spiritual developent. As a result, there is less and less within them that limits their clear perception of the realities in and through which they live.

At first, this can seem very unsettling. All of us put psychological filters in place to protect us from perceived threats to our safety. Letting these go can therefore feel like we’re losing parts of ourselves and potentially exposing ourselves to danger.

Yet, as we slowly work with our fears and learn to trust reality with increasing depth, reality seems to respond by giving us signs to indicate it’s worthy of our trust. These often manifest as synchronicities.

Then we are faced with a choice: do we go back to our former way of being, protecting ourselves from reality? Or, do we deepen our trust in reality, treating the signs and synchronicities as indications that reality really is trustworthy?

Whatever our choice, there are consequences. Yet, if we choose to deepen our trust in reality, our experience of it is transformed, fundamentally.

No longer are we living in a state of alienation. Rather, we begin to live in a state of deep communion with all, and I mean all, that is in us and around us.

If we choose to encounter reality with deeper trust, our experience of reality is transformed, fundamentally.

In light of all this, it is worth remembering that signs are merely pointers to realities other than themselves. The same is true of synchronicities.

It may be very exciting to experience a synchronicity, especially if you start to experience them with increasing frequency. But, synchronicities are not goals in and of themselves. Rather, they signal we are on the right path. Whatever we are doing to widen our experience of reality is moving us in the right direction.

If nothing else, a synchronicity is a sign to pay attention. The universe is starting to reveal itself to you in new and different ways. Take time, reflect, consider: where might I go if I choose to follow the sign in front of me? What might happen if I choose to ignore it?

Reality is full of possibilities. When you open yourself to it, reality seems to bring the possibilities directly to you.