Rising Up To What Matters
For anyone following these entries of mine, you know I’ve been unpacking the theme of belonging, perhaps overdrawing it to some extent. I think it’s right not to give something undue weight, but I’ve probably been the first to violate my own rule. But this is what is most alive for me right now, and a lot of juicy stuff is coming out. To this, I’m exposing some of the most vulnerable parts of myself publically, perhaps to complete strangers. For me, this is partly a charade of public performance, as an attempt to break down my exterior while coming out as radically honest about myself as possible. I think this is an expression of coming to terms with my sense of embarrassment I banter about within myself. The other reason is that I am also inspired to exercise my insights into writing, as a process of self-discovery.
One of Steven Hayes’ mantras is “you hurt where you care”. Yeah. Commoning. Belonging. Communitas. Relating. I think the noosphere is pregnant with these ideas lately because of a collective longing for this kind of relating. The year 2020 has exacerbated this longing in lieu of gathering together, defying humans' need for human-ing. We are all familiar with the kind of social unrest this brings. We won’t take it for granted a little while longer.
For myself, I am beginning to awaken to it fully and consciously make choices from that place of awareness. It sounds trite, but my major breakthrough-breakdown came after the slow burn of 2020 after I let someone into my heart before establishing trust. I recorded how this was a pivotal event in my life, opening a portal of suffering, longing, soul-searching and unrest. All melodrama aside, I’ll indulge my inner mystic and declare that I have full and honest faith that life provides us with nothing we can’t handle. Perhaps the extent our conscious awareness allows pain in is the extent of our ability to transmute it into spirit, back into the slipstream of ether. From an evolutionary lens, this rings true to me.
Lately, when I revisit this pivot-point in my life, I circle back to what Hayes says. Instead of fostering internalized resentment for the person who broke my trust (which I take responsibility for, ultimately), maybe it’s right to thank them profusely. Because by tapping the part of me that struggles most, the part that longs for be-longing, I now know what is most worth caring for. We hurt where we care. This gives me an opportunity to orient my compass towards the direction of my dharma. And this is why what comes to haunt us is an opportunity at revelation. It’s an opportunity to grow in love. To spiritualize pain.
Nikos Kazantzakis wrote the most beautiful novel of the life of Jesus that I have ever encountered. It’s fucked up, heartbreaking, heart-mending, and ultimately imbued with the spirit that moves and guides us through the dark night. In it, he paints Jesus as an exemplar who has struggled to give up attachment for the love of the very ground of being itself. But, in a grand stroke of paradox, in order to give up, he must give fully in. Jesus, the ultimate sinner. Who was a cross-maker. Who took the Earth as his mistress. Who refused petty pleasures for his heart’s bliss. Who had to live a whole lifetime in the afterlife acting out his earthly desires, because he spent his life on earth refuting desire. And then by finally giving that up with the ultimate struggle, was he able to identify fully with the ground of all being and return Home.
Perhaps we don’t all have to suffer as much to spiritualize our pain. But there is a principle in the struggle of Jesus that the novel enunciates beautifully, which is intrinsically connected to everything I’ve been clumsily groping at. In giving up, we gain. Giving up the gift of suffering or giving up the gift of our bliss. It’s the act of emptying our filling that counts. To fill and to empty again, but consciously. This is the dance of attachment and detachment that is the necessary tension for living a full life.
