We humans are a conflicted lot, with seemingly unlimited capacity for savagery and nobility. I try not to let the news overwhelm me, but it’s hard to ignore the growing chaos in the world. War, genocide, climate migration, ethnic violence, authoritarian police action, and a host of other human factors are causing massive trauma.
At the same time, I’m inspired by the many people, journalists, governments, and organizations who share my horror and are working heroically to stop the insanity. They want to ease the suffering and guide us toward a future where cooperation and mutual well-being prevail over brute power and greed.
We wound and we heal – a human history of ruin and repair.
I feel a desperate impulse to make sense of the turmoil and help dampen the senseless cycles we are addicted to. This impulse pulses outward, reaching for a handhold, yearning for remedies that are waiting to be touched and shaped but not yet ready to be born. I want to use my gifts in service of this impulse, to be the person who can meet the needs of the times.
But I am confused. The impulse has a fragile, driven quality, at times frothy, at times fatigued, easily knocked off center, like a garden hose that slips my grip and splashes across the lawn, leaving me empty-handed, grasping.
I recognize that the fears of my ego self are activated daily, but I refuse to be ruled by fear. To keep from falling into despair, I search for the calm of my higher self. I breathe, I work to regulate my emotions, I try to remember that history is littered with periods of turmoil, and this one will end and change into something else.
When the fears and angst recede, I can sense something solid and fluid emerge that quiets my restlessness. It is not a retreat; I do not care less or feel less. It is an expansion. I become large enough to contain whatever comes and let it pass through. I am fully me, but I am not only me. My boundaries soften and fill out, porous, flowing. The impulse no longer feels fragile. It sees the truth of what is here, with all its pain, but less anguish.
From the vantage of my higher self, I can sense a parallel impulse drawing me out, calling me forth. This impulse, pulling from without, seeks to join the impulse pushing from within, reciprocal forces searching for each other, like the ancient attraction of electron and nucleus. When the union of nuclear forces succeeds, I enter a state of presence, and my sight alters, as if aware of new and different colors.
Two words pop into my mind: acceptance and trust.
My small self does not like the word acceptance, which sounds like giving up. But from here, I see that my inner struggles are aggravated by not accepting what is. In these crystal moments, I realize the power of acceptance is the ability to encounter reality with clear insight, uninhibited by the wasted energy of wishing things were different.
Trust. That one is harder. The second, outer impulse does not work at the scale of human expectations. The spectrums of time and possibility are larger. The call I hear is asking me to trust in the direction we are going and the work we are doing, that there is something worthwhile ahead.
I ask aloud, “How can I trust where we are going when the world is catching fire? How can I know our effort won’t be wasted?”
The only answer is a quiet tap, felt more than heard, “Keep going. It’s okay, keep going.” I’m not satisfied by this.
“I’m unsure. I don’t know if I can trust.” My plea for certainty is met with silence, of course, because it’s a quandary only I can answer.
Little is certain in the time ahead, but I know I am stronger and my decisions wiser from within the state of presence. If we are to shepherd Earth and her inhabitants through these troubles, we are better served by our higher selves than the fears of ego. I’m willing to suffer through the ruin and help with the repair. For now, I can trust in that.
Video created with RunwayML