As we’re getting down to the last few scraps of 2025, it’s probably a good time to do a little bit of reflecting on what this past year has been like.
Speaking from the perspective of my own emotional recovery – my own spiritual healing – the work’s been pretty difficult, and at times, it’s just been downright exhausting.
But there’s one thing I’ve learned these last many years, and that is, that when you plow deep, you’re going to hit some big stones. It takes a lot to dig them out, but when you do, buried beneath them, you can usually find some pretty good, rich, fertile soil. And that’s definitely been the case this year…
If you’d like to see more, please check out the latest episode of my podcast, “Putting it on the wind,” on YouTube:
I picked up a few requests over the holiday, so I’m out in the garage, cutting some Cherry and Butternut blanks, and getting to work on the initial steps of bringing an antique handaxe back to life.
The heater’s finally taken the edge off the chill, and the workshop’s warm and welcoming; it’s the perfect day to be out here with my tools, enjoying the space that inevitably opens up after the blissful chaos of the annual celebrations.
I’m reminded, in the silence of this space, of the feeling of sitting on the beach when the waves have withdrawn. There’s an openness to it; and a deep and palpable grace that only comes from the knowing and accepting of its impermanence…
There was always something that kept me just on the edge of it. I always felt like I never quite fit in…because the truth of the matter was, I didn’t. But I didn’t know that was because Something much larger than myself was looking out for me. In my own despair, I saw myself as always being just a little out of touch…
How many times in our lives are we handed something that’s perfect as it is – where all we have to do is simply step back and let it be?
I think of my own experiences in carving. Sometimes, I’ll have a spoon that I really love which I’ve worked out of Cherry, or Mulberry, or whatever. And as I stand there looking at it, I think, “Ah, man, I just need to make this one more cut.” And then I do… and it ends up being the one cut too many. Suddenly, I’m left holding something completely different than what it was intended to be.
The same thing happens with my writing. Often times I’ll edit the shit out of something, and what I’m really doing is stomping the life out of it. So, I end up going back to what I originally had, and that thing lives and breathes on its own.
I’ve talked to a lot of people about this process of spiritual healing – of deep emotional recovery work. So often we get bogged down in the fucking weeds with this, and we feel like it’s never going to end. We feel like we’re getting buried.
We have these arbitrary goals that we set for ourselves: the way things should be; the way things need to be. When they don’t line up, we start to blame ourselves. We start to feel as if something is wrong – as if we’re not doing something right.
And that’s really what this whole thing is about. It’s the idea that there’s a process unfolding, and all we can do is show up for it, do the work we’re called to do, not worry about the results, and just let the thing live and breathe on its own…
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.