I am out with lanterns looking for myself.
Emily Dickinson, from letter written to Elizabeth Holland, 1856
But here’s the thing about carrying light with you: no matter where you go, and no matter what you find – or don’t find – you change the darkness just by entering it. You clear a path through it.
Maggie Smith, You Could Make This Place Beautiful: A Memoir
As my 63rd birthday rapidly approaches, I find myself well into the second half of life, tending to the many practical matters associated with aging. Understanding the ins and outs of Medicare and Social Security, making sure end-of-life issues are addressed adequately, cleaning out drawers and closets and letting go of things no longer needed. My brain can approach these tasks in a matter-of-fact way without too much anxiety arising. But my heart and soul are a bit more uncertain. Things are stirred up in my psyche and that stirring is reflected in my dreams, moods, and energy. It affects how I want to spend my time. And, with the recent death of a dear friend, there is a new sense of urgency. I have a sense, like Emily Dickinson, of being “out looking for myself.”
The truth is, I have been out looking for myself for many decades. After forty plus years of doing inner work that has taken the form of therapy, spiritual direction, dream work, reading and study, and hours of contemplative practices, there is still so much unexplored territory and a new depth of understanding to be found.
I am grateful for the soul friends, teachers, and guides who accompany me on this journey. They help to sustain the light of the lanterns I carry with me – these lanterns that illuminate undiscovered and unrealized parts of myself. This work feels different than it did in my younger years. It is deeper, darker, messier, and in many ways harder. In her book Learning to Walk in the Dark, Barbara Brown Taylor writes about the difference between needing a guide to help you find your way out of a cave, and needing someone to walk with you as you go further in. It seems to me that soul work is much like cave exploration – you have to be willing to go into unlit passages deep in your psyche to know those parts of yourself. And as in all mythological stories about journeys of self-discovery, a wise and compassionate guide can support, challenge, offer solace, and help to light the way.
Huntsville, Alabama, where I live, is in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. Between Madison County and our neighboring Jackson County there are around 2000 caves. It’s a caving paradise, if you will, and even serves as home to the National Speleological Society. When my husband and I were first dating, he tried multiple times to convince me to go caving with him. He and a group of friends had been coming to Huntsville and exploring the wild cave system here since their days at Mississippi State University.
Once, in an effort to convince me I would love it, he showed me a photo album of pictures he had taken on various caving trips. There were some beautiful images of cave formations, tiny cave-dwelling creatures, and the vastness of the interiors of some of these caves. I asked about one of the photos, a picture of the entrance to a cave. In my mind, I pictured cave openings as places you walked into upright. But, no, this was a hole in the ground and to enter the cave they lowered themselves in on a rope.
This more accurate picture of what wild caves were like, along with a description of what’s known as a “squeeze” in caving lingo - a passage so narrow, you must take your backpack off and push it ahead of you - put an end to any prospect of me going caving. Not even to impress a boyfriend.
I still don’t want to explore a wild cave, but I’m on board for going deeper into the metaphorical cave that is my deepest self. Provided I have a source of light, the right equipment, and trusted guides along the way. I also truly love serving as a guide for others making these cave explorations. So I’d like to share a few of the things I am learning as a sort of map for this work.
I am learning that while differentiating myself from others is a vital part of being a healthy human, I must also remember that we are all made of the same substance – from the DNA in our cells to the Divine spark in our souls. In bright sunlight, I can see distinct lines and separations between things. In the pure darkness of the cave, I can’t detect these distinctions. I can’t see where I stop and you begin. I have to learn to hold this paradoxical truth: we are all uniquely different and we are all ultimately the same. It is helpful when I can remember this, especially now when there is so much divisiveness and othering happening in this world.
Differentiating myself means that, as best I can, I need to know who I am, what I believe to be true for me, and how I am going to interact with others and move through the world. I must find and use my truest voice and my deepest listening. I have to experience and engage in the journey myself. It is not enough to read a text or watch a documentary about it. Hildegard of Bingen, 12th century German saint and mystic said:
We cannot live in a world that is interpreted for us by others. An interpreted world is not a hope. Part of the terror is to take back our own listening. To use our own voice. To see our own light.
I can trust that I carry a light within me and I know it is helpful also to carry light from other sources. Friends, teachers, companions, guides. Although I never went into a wild cave with my husband, I did have a good friend who went caving with Tim and his band of fellow cavers. Unlike me, Connie had no concern about being in small spaces underground. She did, however, have a fear of heights. She enjoyed the first part of the cave that was mostly level or required moderate climbing over boulders or up inclines. But eventually they came to an area that involved a significant climb up a “mountain” of rocks and earth with a steep drop off on either side. At this point Connie’s fear of heights came on her in a paralyzing panic. While the others forged ahead, Tim stayed with her, speaking to her calmly until the others returned and they could all make their way back above ground. Connie often talked about how caring Tim was in that moment, not judging her fear or making light of it. He met her where she was and did not push her to go past that point if she wasn’t ready. This is the kind of guide we want to have.
Caves in the inner and outer worlds are muddy, damp, quiet, and dark. But if we can go there and be in that dark, silent place, if we can turn towards the dark, unknown parts of ourselves, we can move toward acknowledging and integrating them into a whole Self. It is in the silent heart of my Self that I find peace and a sense of wholeness. Silence is the ultimate peaceful place for me. There are times when nothing needs to be said.
And…there are times when words, spoken or written, are desperately needed. Poems, myths, stories of all kinds, sacred texts, songs, conversations, and dialogues. The wisdom we receive from teachers of all kinds is another lantern to help illuminate the path and serves to connect us like a thread to other seekers, past and present.
While being guided through a wild cave by friends who are experienced cavers, Barbara Brown Taylor reflects on her years in therapy and how therapy compares to her experience of exploring the cave. She says:
The difference between the therapy and the cave is that the therapy wants me to look back so I can find another way out, not so I can return by the same way I came. Maybe that makes the cave more like a labyrinth. As long as you stay on the path, you cannot get lost – in time, maybe, but not in space. The path is circular. The way out is the way in. The path, like the cave, never changes. It is literally set in stone. Only the walker changes, not by looking back but by moving ahead, trusting the path to teach her what she needs to know.
As Maggie Smith says in her gorgeous memoir about finding her own path after a painful divorce, “you change the darkness just by entering it. You clear a path through it.”
I’ll close with one of my favorite poems by William Stafford called The Way It Is.
ความคิดเห็น