We began as a mineral. We emerged into plant life and into the animal state, and then into being human, and always we have forgotten our former states, except in early spring when we slightly recall being green again. That’s how a young person turns toward a teacher. That’s how a baby leans toward the breast, without knowing the secret of its desire, yet turning instinctively.
Humankind is being led along an evolving course, through this migration of intelligences, and though we seem to be sleeping, there is an inner wakefulness that directs the dream,
and that will eventually startle us back to the truth of who we are.
~Rumi, from The Dream that Must be Interpreted
Two years ago I lay in a hospital bed, my head cracked open from an unexpected encounter with a concrete floor. The hospital Chaplin came to my room and asked me if she could help. With eyes full of tears I looked at her and begged her to tell me why this was happening? I wanted answers, I wanted to know what had I done to deserve the mountain of sadness that was crushing me. I felt like God had deserted me, left me in this desolate place, in a broken hospital bed with a broken head. I felt lost, from myself, from my family, from the Earth and God’s love. The only thing that felt real was the throbbing migraine that I had brought upon myself when I asked for something other than oxycodone for the pain. Apparently not wanting an opiate addiction to add to my miseries was a red flag, I only got a few Tylenols after that. For a moment I regretted it, the soft hug of heroin singing to me like a seductive Siren. I had never felt so alone.
What I came to realize was that God hadn’t deserted me. He was with me in those moments, holding my hand and opening my heart. I had fallen into a deep sleep, dreaming in a state of disconnection that had created within me a canyon of separation. I didn’t realize I was sleeping. I thought I was awake, I was doing all the things I thought I was supposed to do - working hard, buying a home, making it warm and cozy, saving money, paying off debt. Then the cracks began to appear - a child’s struggle with mental health, difficulty understanding emotions (my own and others), a dark void when I tried to dream or imagine who I was. I didn’t know how to fix these things because I didn’t know what caused them.
Years of struggling with the effects of complex trauma had caused me to encase my heart in a prison of steel. I had repressed my emotions, glossed over fears, become numb to panic and anxiety. Over the years it had manifested in different ways. There was the year I couldn’t eat, when my body refused to produce saliva. But I had adapted, putting all my food into a blender and sucking it down with a straw. My hair fell out in clumps and I weighted barely 100 pounds but I survived. I cringed whenever someone would mention my weight, especially when it was in the form of a compliment tinged with an edge of jealousy “You’re so skinny, I wish I could be that thin.” I wanted to scream “I’M LITERALLY DYING PLEASE HELP ME!” but instead I would smile and avert my eyes, embarrassed and not wanting anyone to see the pain I was in.
When the accident happened I was seeing a therapist, I was trying to crack that veneer of dissociation, to get back into my heart, back to myself, to escape the hole I found myself in. After the accident I laid in bed for a week, barely able to think, unable to read or watch TV without feeling nauseous. I knew something needed to change and I was determined to figure it out.
For the past two years I have advanced slowly along the road of remembrance. I have always felt God’s presence, my higher self, guiding me towards understanding and healing. Listening to that inner voice, I began waking up before dawn, cultivating a routine of breath work, movement and meditation. One morning a few months after my accident I captured this on my Ring camera during one of my early morning kundalini sessions. I felt held and I knew it was a sign to keep going.
I understand now that by cracking open my head I was able to crack open my heart. Over the past two years I have learned to feel safe in my body, ease its anxiety with presence, empathy and compassion. I am still learning, and though my life is far from perfect, I am, like Rumi insists, determined to interpret this dream that we are individually and collectively living through. When suffering happens, when there is tragedy and pain that we are witness to but unable to do anything about, it can be overwhelming. It is understandable to want to close the heart, to protect it from grief. This closing feels safe, like self preservation. But in closing our hearts from pain we also close it from love. That is the paradox I found myself in two years ago. Numb to pain, I was also numb to intimate love and connection.
This morning I spent 30 minutes scrolling through news from Gaza, tears spilling from my eyes and my throat choked with rage, empathy and compassion. I watched a speech by Angie Nixon, a state rep from Florida that filled me with hope, a reminder that there are good people, leaders out there showing up and willing risk their security and safety to take a stand for collective humanity.
I allowed myself this time to witness all of this while sitting at my job earning a paycheck from which tax funds are used to further the pain and suffering of people living half a world away. I do this all to keep my heart open, to allow empathy to expand beyond the boundaries of my skin and ripple out in waves of love and compassion to a world beset by fear and anger.
Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark.
~Rabindranath Tagore
Collectively we are being cracked open. The maya of this world is being revealed and it is not pretty. It cannot be healed through a purchase, self care or distraction. But by coming together in love and peace we can support each other and envision the world we want. One in which there is dignity, safety, food and shelter for all.
For more guidance and perspective on the situation happening in Gaza I recommend following the words of Ayesha Khan and Fariha Roisin. Links to reporters on the ground in Gaza listed in the post below.
Also I will be attending a virtual prayer vigil on Monday for Israel and Palestine hosted by Ancestral Medicine. This is a free event and open to everyone seeking resource in supportive community.
Fear thrives in the absence of mutual understanding and diversity, and it is a poisonous weapon. But there is an antidote: compassion. Compassion combats fear.
~Gyalwang Drukpa, How to Combat Fear
