Yes, there is a spiritual part in all of this, but we’re here in a physical world. And there are certain aspects of moving through this world that we simply can’t afford to ignore.
I like to think of it as an electrical circuit; more specifically, as a circuit powered by a battery. If you connect both ends of the wire to one terminal on the battery, in this case the spiritual or the physical, the circuit doesn’t work; the energy doesn’t flow.
When you stand rooted in both worlds, and you connect one end of the wire to each of the terminals of the battery, then the energy can flow. The energy of the spiritual can enter the world through us and flow out into the world for the service of all.
It’s no lie that we’re living in difficult times right now. Regardless of what side of the political fence you fall on or where your own personal beliefs put you, it’s turbulent. And if you buy into the whole “if it bleeds, it leads” mentality that so much of the Mass Media seems to hold with these days, it’s hard – and it can be a little frightening. Especially if you’re empathic on any level or if you’re in the middle of your own recovery or healing work.
The last couple of weeks have been a real shit show for me. The healing work’s been hard. I’ve been dealing with a lot of old trauma – a lot of old fear, shame, guilt – coming up. Having grown up the way I did, that stuff runs pretty deep. And to be honest, I’ve been exhausted quite a bit.
In the midst of it though, I’ve been thinking a lot about this guy I used to work with, probably thirty years ago. He was one of those guys who was constantly at the gym, and he always had to talk about his progress. I started asking him about lifting one day. I was thinking about working out because I was a trainer and my job was pretty sedentary. I started asking him about what he was benching and so on, and he said to me, “Y’know, man, it doesn’t matter what I can lift. What matters is what you can lift.”
And I’ve hung onto that.
You take your wisdom where you can get it. And so much of that applies to that whole path of spiritual healing and spiritual recovery work.
It’s important to remember that if this work were easy, it would already be done…
When we gather together in our circles, it’s quite common that people will begin to talk about initiation and the transformations that take place in our lives. And inevitably, one of the metaphors that comes up again and again is that of the butterfly or the moth; creatures that start their lives as one form, go through a huge transformation, and emerge on the other side as something completely different – almost unrelated to the thing that they were before…
I don’t know if the caterpillar envisions the butterfly when it crawls into the cocoon, but it does seem that there is some intangible force that drives the whole thing – that guides the process…
When you intentionally enter into space, into silence; and you sit with it, one of the things that begins to happen is that all those things that we keep buried down beneath the crushing weight – the purposely assumed crushing weight – of all the noise and activity in our lives, without any of that there, those things begin to stir. And if we really sit with the silence, they can come up.
Even the mind is going to turn against us. The Monkey Mind starts to chatter, to jam as much stuff, disconnected thoughts, whatever, between us and that silence. But eventually, if you can get beyond it, and you can really begin to work at it – to slip into the silence, those things move. We can find ourselves experiencing old body memories, somatic releases, emotional memories.
And that’s the other thing silence will do for us. It can act as a container. It can act as a vessel. And so those things that now have room to move, and to come up, now, because we’ve eliminated all the external noise – all of the external static – they have room to come out.
So many of us have this idea that we need to go out and save the world. That we need to stop war; we need to stop killing; we need to stop hatred. But honestly, if we just put an end to war, does anybody really believe that it wouldn’t start again? Does anybody believe that if we stopped all the killing, it wouldn’t start again?
I have a Mulberry tree in my back yard that’s one of the most tenacious plants I’ve ever had to deal with, and I respect its tenacity a lot; but unfortunately, it’s threatening a fence, so it’s gonna have to come down. And I have clipped this thing; I have dug away at it; I have used the most environmentally-friendly chemicals on it that I could, and the thing is still there. And the reason it’s still there is because I haven’t dug it out by the root yet.
And so, that’s the thing…
When we gather in our monthly circles and we hold ceremony, sometimes there’s a lot of deep, cathartic release. And one of the things that we’ve learned in working this way – and from teachers who’ve shown us how to work this way – is that when someone is in the midst of something; when they’re in the midst of doing their deep work, if they’re crying, if they’re shaking, you don’t comfort them. You don’t put your arm around them. You don’t tell them they’ll be alright. You sit quietly. You hold space for them. And you let them do their work.
Because so often, we comfort others in their misery, in their sorrow, because we don’t like the way we feel in the presence of that. And so, what we’re really doing is projecting our own pain onto them and trying to heal it vicariously; which is about one of the most selfish things that another human being can do…
I’ve been thinking a lot about community lately. Standing in the workshop, sharpening my knives, and watching a swarm of bumblebees patrolling the Russian Sage, it isn’t hard to stay connected with this.
There’s a recognition in ceremony of those who’ve come before – of objects carried by other hands, and words by other voices. Every time I pick up a blank or a billet, and set to work roughing out a spoon, I’m aware of just how many hands besides my own are touching it.
Almost every tool I used today was a Christmas present from my wife or another member of my family. The Butternut was donated. My Carolinas were also a Christmas present. And even my apron came from a box that showed up when my brother in-law dropped off his Shopsmith.
It’s good to be aware of these things. To let them into the work; let them help in the shaping of it. Let them carry it – and be carried by it – from this set of hands to the next…
I’m sitting out here in a back yard that over the last couple of weeks has really begun to feel almost like my best friend. It’s a beautiful night in September. I’ve got a fire going and I’m sitting out here listening to the crickets.
I’m aware of an abundance of love in my life – in my relationship with my wife, in our community. I have the opportunity to go deep into my healing and my recovery work. And I’m blessed to be able to walk alongside others as they do the same.
And for the first time, maybe the first time in my life, I’m actually aware that I’m worthy of it.
And that might sound like a pretty arrogant thing to say, but the truth of the matter is: when you grow up in a household that’s riven by dysfunctionality, you don’t really get to see a lot of sunshine – when there’s a constant storm of emotional abuse, maybe physical abuse, or sexual abuse, broken up only by these brief moments where the love actually seems unconditional – but that’s nothing more than the eye of the hurricane passing over.
But you latch onto these things. You learn to take them inside. Let them feed you. Let them hold you through the next storm – ‘til the next moment of clarity, the next moment of sanity…
In certain circles, people will talk about “doing the work.” And we throw that phrase around, and we make the assumption that everybody knows what we’re talking about, but the truth is not everybody does…If I had to define it, I’d say it’s actually got three parts to it, at least as far as I see it: listening, feeling, and reclaiming…
Some people will tell you that empathy’s a gift; that it’s a blessing – you were born with it, and that your job is to walk through this world feeling everybody’s pain and being a healer. Other people like Carl Jung will tell you that it’s a defense mechanism; that’s a skill you learned in order to survive the demands of a dysfunctional household, where knowing the right things to say – or the right things NOT to say – was a skill you picked up in order to avoid pain – maybe even emotional or physical abuse…
Maybe it was ten years ago; maybe it was a little bit longer. I was starting to get the call to step away from the 9-5 world, and into all of this…
I have a teacher who’s fond of saying, “I have a gift, but the power is not mine,” and I make no claims to anything.
All I know is this: If you can find what it is you’re truly here to do, and walk that out into the world; let it shape you, and let it carry you, then that’s just not a gift for you…
Bonja the Bodger 