December 21st is the winter solstice, the longest night of the year, after what might feel like the longest year in our life. It’s a profound night: astrologically, a new era is coming to light. A once every twenty-year Great Conjunction between Jupiter and Saturn will light our sky—some liken their bright, combined planet power to the Star of Bethlehem. This cosmic phenomenon collides with the solstice and her change of seasons—a season that welcomes more and more light.
Everywhere we look: more light. And with more light, comes greater ability to see. For those with eyes wide open.
When meeting with a client recently, she described this image that came to her during our guided meditation: radiant light pouring into an old, dark and dusty room. I asked, “What happens when we pull back the curtains and open a window to a room that has sat dormant and dark for so many years?” Dust kicks up. We start to see the stacks of whatever we’ve left behind, buried, forgotten. The greater the light, the greater the shadow.
Our wondering tapped into a deep truth of what she was experiencing on a personal level, and what we are experiencing on a collective scale. Light is pouring into our darkest corners and deepest crevices illuminating our losses and our longings. Long lost chambers of our hearts, minds and bodies are seeing the light of day, and starting to shine forth. In this emerging era, we can no longer hide from our woundedness or our worthiness—there is too much light.
As important as this illumination is, it can be hard to look at. It can be painful, even paralyzing. It’s tempting to tuck it away in that dark room; and instead return to the stories we want to believe and the images we want to project. But therein lies the source of our deepest pain: we are never fully seen.
Take me for example. When I’m feeling lonely, sometimes instead of reaching out for connection and risk being rejected or misunderstood, I find it safer to hide behind self-reliance (I'll do it myself, thank you), perfectionism (must stay in control cause my chaos ain't pretty), and righteousness (being right makes life simpler, besides being wrong means I'm imperfect). The thing is, being independent, perfect and right leads to even more loneliness (not to mention, exhaustion). It also means I'm never wholly seen because I never let you see me whole.
But what if we could see ourselves through sacred eyes?
Behind every wound there is our sacred self that sees us with grace and gentleness. Not shame or should’ves. But with understanding. She honors whatever experience we’re having, no matter how intense, ugly, or socially-incorrect it is. She knows this wound has been waiting, likely for years, to be felt. Not to be denied, disgraced, buried: but to come into the light and be held in love.
Seen, finally.
Deep breath.
From this sacred seeing, we gather our strength because how we see ourselves impacts how we see the world. And we need to see the world through these same sacred eyes right now.
How we see ourselves impacts how we see the world.
People are rising up. Waking up. Shaking up the status quo. We are seeing more clearly, more acutely the brokenness and mayhem within our institutions: our government, healthcare, corporations, religions, schools. We are seeing the devastating division and segregating worldviews within our country, our communities, our families.
We are living in a time when we can no longer hide: We are seeing and being seen. Our false and fanciful images are being shattered. An image of our country and churches shattered. An image of our structures, strangers, and selves shattered. Shattered by the light.
The greater the light, the greater the shadow.
Individually and collectively, what lies just beneath our perfection, our pretending, our people-pleasing, our pomposity, our proclamations of right and wrong, is our pain. Our country's original sins, and our ancestors’ untold stories and unfelt wounds, are aching for redemption, repair and reconciliation. Through us. Today. Together. It's perhaps what we hold most in common: we are hurting and looking for our way home.
This is hard, hard work. Our ego is designed to protect us and do whatever it can to stop pain. Instead of feeling pain, the mind wants to quickly create a story that makes the pain go away (to tuck it away in that dark room). A popular response is to project our pain onto something or someone else (thus, creating “the other”). Robert Burton, a neurologist says that our brains reward us with dopamine (feel good drug) when we quickly create a story that can make sense of the pain. The story doesn’t have to be true; it only has to feel true. It’s why dogmatic beliefs work so well. It’s why some can’t be convinced with science. It’s not about the rational, but the emotional. Instead of feeling the pain or discomfort or uncertainty, we can quickly retreat to a story (or scripture) that ties it up in a more bearable bow. Our mind then releases the dopamine drug, and we can feel good and “safe” again.
"Of all you see, only love is infinite." —Rumi ... Art by Michal Madison
It’s tender terrain we’re entering. So much is being revealed: personally, politically, spiritually. As these parts of ourselves and our world come out of hiding, it’s essential that we remember: how we see is as important as what we see. Do we see ourselves and one another through critical eyes, righteous eyes, shameful eyes, fearful eyes? Or sacred eyes? One of my favorite quotes is from novelist Anais Nin: “We don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are.”
What our wider world and inner worlds need more than ever is for us to learn to see our woundedness with sacred eyes. When we do, our worthiness can't help but shine and be seen. This sacred seeing can shift us from separateness and strangeness to deep connection and intimacy. It will lead us home. So how do we do that when our minds are hardwired to bury it? Here are three practices I use DAILY:
1. Slow Down. Moving at a fast pace is seriously at the root of so many problems. When we begin to slow down our lives, we slow down our minds. When we slow down our minds, we can create a gap between what we’re feeling internally and how we respond to it. When we slow down, we can stop instinctually reacting based on past wounds and old neuropathways, and start being in relationship with whatever is being illuminated. This is the practice of mindfulness, which leads to …
2. Turn your gaze toward curiosity and compassion. When we feel a feeling we don’t like (anger, sadness, anxiety, etc.), instead of letting the inner critic beat up on it and push it away, we can instead practice turning toward it with curiosity and compassion (courage too). Maybe place your hand on wherever that feeling is showing up on your body. Talk to the feeling—like you would a friend or child who is feeling a similar feeling. Turn the kindness you would give others toward yourself. Maybe the feeling starts talking back. So, then you can write about it, put it on paper, share it with a spiritual companion, and let it live somewhere other than inside you. It becomes an invitation to ask: What long-lost truth does it want to tell you? What woundedness and worthiness is it revealing?
3. Look for what is rather than what you think ought to be. Much of our pain comes from wanting things to be different than they are. When I look at someone who holds a clashing worldview and fight to make them agree with me, I miss who they are deep down—their woundedness and worthiness. The same holds true for ourselves. What are we missing when we expect ourselves to constantly be different than who we are right now (return to practice #2) Turn this phrase into a prayer or mantra. Go about your day and when you feel activated say: “I see this person as they are, not as I think they ought to be.” OR “I see myself as I am not as I think I ought to be.” This reframe is a practice of radical acceptance. Acceptance is not agreement. If you accept what is happening, then you stop fighting reality. When you stop fighting reality, you get out of your head and enter into the present moment—and tender terrain. From this sacred seeing, the most loving, efficient, fearless, and generous response can emerge within you.
We are entering a new era and this is the work we are called to do. This is the work we do together in spiritual coaching. After you go out and gaze at the Star of Bethlehem, please reach out or refer a friend, or share this message. I want to walk together in the light, and shadows, too.