Spiritual Journaling

“Be at peace with your own soul, then heaven and earth will be at peace with you. Enter eagerly into the treasure house that is within you, and you will see the things that are in heaven; for there is but one single entry to them both. The Ladder that leads to the Kingdom is hidden within your soul… . Dive into yourself, and in your soul you will discover the stairs by which to ascend.”

A lot of people try to tell us what to believe about the afterlife, about God, about who to listen to and who not to listen to; and about how to interpret such holy texts as the Bible or Koran. There have been times I was afraid to ask the Big Questions, mostly afraid of what “the” answer might be. In reality, looking back I see that asking and living these questions (even though it was painful at times) is what made me strong. These questions nourished a life of curiosity and inner independence, as well as a deep connection to Spirit.

Some people don’t want you to question their version of the truth; their interpretation of holy text. Why is that? Some people don’t want you to consider anything but what they say is right. There are thousands of interpretations of the Christian Bible. How is this so? Which one is the correct one? Treck, an eighteen-year-old from Sweden, says it best: “How is it the Creator gave us a mind to consider all the possibilities and would not want us to figure these things out for ourselves?”

Wouldn’t it be more gracious, and even more sacred, for the clergy of all faiths to allow each one of us to consider the big questions of life for ourselves? Why am I here? Where is God? Is there a God? What do I think of Jesus’ teachings? What is karma? Do I believe in sin? Why would God send anyone that he loved to hell? What happens when we die? Do I believe in reincarnation?

You have heard it is not the destination but the journey that truly matters. This is so of life and applies to all the big questions as well. Perhaps God (the Creator, Yaweh, Spirit, etc.) just wants you to keep asking the big questions—to go into each moment wondering what it might all be about. And from this open heart and mind, you will find answers. Something will come into your open, questioning heart that will make sense to you. Give it time. And never give up. Continue to ask the questions, and the answers will come to you naturally and certainly. In those moments of clarity, leave room for the mystery and for the next question… .

I was sixteen and my aunt invited me to go to Florida with her, my uncle, and my six-year-old cousin. I was to babysit my cousin. I left my boyfriend and my family back home. At the time, I was struggling—with high school, a father who was gone a lot, a brother with schizophrenia, and a boyfriend who was addicted to pot. Since the age of seven I had been actively in search of God—of the meaning of life, of where I belonged in the Big Picture … and my need for answers was very intense that spring as I headed to Florida with my relatives.

I usually found myself in church on Easter Sunday, which fell during spring break that year. This time, wearing short shorts and a sleeveless tee shirt, I sat in the back of a Southern Baptist church. My heart beat hard and fast when I heard the sermon. The minister wailed on about the blood of Christ and about sinners and eternity… . Then he asked if anyone was ready to “accept Jesus into their heart.” Oh yes, I was—but every time I had said yes to this I never felt anything happen in my heart. So I sat quietly, heart pounding hard because a lot of what he was saying was upsetting me.

At the end of the sermon he greeted everyone as they walked out. I shook his hand and boldly said that I didn’t agree that Jesus’ main message was about blood and sin; he meant for us to love one another, he taught us about tolerance and forgiveness (I had studied the Bible myself by then). He looked at me sternly and said, “You, my girl, are going to hell.” He then turned his back to me.

Very upset, I walked past the others he was greeting and tried not to cry. An older woman, an elder of the church, approached me. “Don’t worry dear. It will be okay. He’s this way because he talks to God every day.” I went back to the hotel, head pounding with questions. Was I going to hell? Does this man really have conversations with God? Am I on the wrong path? Why don’t I actually feel Jesus in my heart? I journaled all this into my small travel diary. The next day, I set out for the church. The door was open so I just walked in. I stayed in there for hours, praying for help. Praying to feel Jesus in my heart. Then the elder who had spoken to me the previous day came in and I asked her if I could see the minister—I had some questions for him. She told me his house was next door on the same lot as the church, and that he had some time for me after lunch.

I spent a few hours with him. He mostly answered my questions by telling me what was right and what was wrong. Like why people shouldn’t dance together before they marry. I left, heart and head still pounding. The elder and I exchanged addresses and on my return home we began a yearlong correspondence. I would write to her about my concerns, my life, and my spiritual questions. She would recommend books to read, and Bible verses to study.

I was in a lot of pain. I was ending my two-year relationship with my boyfriend, my brother was getting sicker, and my father was even more absent. I kept reading and writing. Then one day the following spring, when my brother was having a particularly hard time, I decided to write to the minister for help. After all, with his direct contact with God he could surely help me. I wrote him a letter and put it into the letter to the elder. I asked, since he holds council with God every day, could he please ask Him to help my brother and my father. I was entirely sincere and hopeful. It felt like a last chance. I poured my heart out.

A week later an envelope stuffed with a large letter came to me. I opened it up, to find another letter from the elder. Not one word from the minister. She answered my letter to him with more biblical quotes and suggested verses. I took the letter out to the backyard, which was at one time an apple orchard. I looked up into the big blue sky and held my own conversation with God. I said, “If this is his response, then he is not my link to you, or to the truth. There is something wrong here, God, if he can’t respond honestly to me. I trust you are up there somewhere, and I guess I will have to go it alone with you for now.” I never wrote again, and the elder never sent me another letter either.

I grew up with the general knowledge of God and Christianity, but my mother, being a single lesbian mother, never attended church. I had my questions, so when I was seven or eight my mom gave me a copy of the Bible. I read the whole thing through but found myself asking more questions having not found any answers. I guess I should say that I never felt belief for anything I read; to me it didn’t make any sense. For several years after this I hovered in a cloud of wanting to believe something, but unable to find what it was that I truly believed in.

When I went into junior high I discovered witchcraft, or rather Hollywood’s version of witchcraft. As I began to look deeper and read the true history of the witch trials I found myself becoming more and more fascinated with real life witchcraft—Wicca. The more books I read, the more I felt a connection, finally, to something that made much more sense in my mind. Karma, spirit, whatever you want to call it, made sense to me and left me with no unanswered questions.

The only religious figures I’d ever known in my life were the ones on TV. That is, I guess I had to be my own spiritual advisor. I told myself to remain open-minded, that my beliefs weren’t everyone else’s. Conflicting beliefs and religious viewpoints ruined several friendships throughout my years in school. I know now, having been a solitary practitioner for over seven years, that I have found my niche in the religious world.

To me, death is the passing on of our personalities from the physical form to the boundary-free pure energy form. I don’t believe in the golden gates welcoming you into heaven if you’ve lived your life according to God’s rules, or being cast into a pit of fire if you’ve failed those rules in any way. Moreover, I also believe in reincarnation—I believe it was Albert Einstein who proved that energy is neither created nor destroyed, but continuous. You can feel a person’s energy when they enter a room, when they shake your hand, when you look a person straight in the eyes … you can feel your lover’s presence. This is the energy I speak of that passes along when we die. So in a sense we never really die, just pass on. That’s my belief.

In the middle of my freshman year of high school my mom decided we were going to move with her fiancé across the river to Iowa. My mom got married the next fall.

This was a strange thing to me because I had been told all through my life that religion had no point and that going to church was a waste of time. I became confused as to what to believe.

I didn’t want to go to church at first but eventually I did start to go more often. I started to question a lot of things in life—especially about religion/faith/spirituality.

I met some friendly people at church, which made the whole thing seem welcoming. But I still had questions nagging in the back of my head, and still do. I’ve tried for a couple of years now to get some of those questions answered by taking classes and participating in church youth groups. I feel like the girl in the story—I keep wanting to accept God, but I never quite feel connected.

This frustrates me so much. I feel like I need some sort of spiritual connection, but I can’t seem to grasp it. Why?

Sometimes I feel like learning about God has been worse for me than not being connected. Before, I was happy with my life. Now I feel that the Christian religion almost makes me feel worse at times because I sin or do things wrong, but I don’t know how to feel forgiven. Other times I feel good about the religion, when I know how much that community of people cares. I just feel like my mind bounces back and forth all the time and I can’t settle on something.

It’s hard for me to think that there is some sort of god out there. I think of it more as a spirit of our whole universe that we are all connected to in some way. In the back of my mind I think I know that all the questions I have can never be answered for certain. But I hate not understanding something, it irritates me. Maybe I have been struggling with this more than I think I have, and maybe I haven’t tried hard enough either.

One thing I question especially is: How do I know which religion is the “right” one? I know Christians often believe that they are on the right path and they want to save all others. But what about all the other religions out there? Do they not count? How do I ever truly believe in one religion when there are so many out there? I just can’t say that one is right over another.

“A fish said to another fish, ‘Above this sea of ours there is another sea, with creatures swimming in it—and they live there even as we live here.’

“The fish replied, ‘Pure fancy! Pure fancy! When you know that everything that leaves our sea by even an inch, and stays out of it, dies. What proof have you of other lives in other seas?‘ “

My idea of the afterlife has changed, and may continue to change. Buddhists believe that in the afterlife you go through a series of “bardo” states (states of consciousness), and then you may be reincarnated. Many Christians believe in a Judgment Day when you appear before God and he decides whether you enter heaven or hell. Taoists believe you become part of the great Tao, part of everything. Many Native Americans believe you become part of the spirit world.

A Lutheran pastor asked Jessica’s confirmation group, “Where do you think you go when you die?” Jessica, who is thirteen, responded: “It is our own little sanctuary, a place of importance to us. I hope it will be a place near the ocean, with a beautiful cottage… .”

In Alice Sebold’s novel The Lovely Bones, a young woman who is murdered experiences the afterlife as a movement from one stage of heaven to another, where she is able to watch some of the goings-on in the world below. Another bestseller, The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom, tells about one man’s encounters in heaven with five significant people he knew in his lifetime. In both books the main characters get to work through some unresolved issues before moving on to the final place—which of course remains a mystery. These books give the reader the idea that maybe we create our own version of heaven through what we believe and imagine heaven to be. This mirrors the viewpoint of the recent movie What Dreams May Come, in which everyone ends up in their version of the afterlife, with options to return to Earth or remain in heaven. The possibility that we may be partly responsible for what kind of afterlife we experience fascinates me. We certainly are responsible for what kind of life we experience.

“This is a story about a man named Eddie and it begins at the end, with Eddie dying in the sun. It might seem strange to start a story with an ending. But all endings are also beginnings. We just don’t know it at the time.”

Today four local teen boys died in a car accident. Two were brothers and all were from the same rural town. Grief counselors went to the school to help those who knew the boys. What to do in the face of such loss? When such a tragedy occurs, something so painful happens close to home (not overseas or to some stranger mentioned on the late news), then we know. We know that we are all fragile. We realize that death can come at any moment.

I think of death as a trip we are all going on but few are packing for. We need to allow the reality of loss and death to enter our consciousness. I don’t mean to make death what we live for, or to be constantly thinking of death, but to not be avoiding it either. Since it is a trip we are all going on, it would be good to have a suitcase ready for when the time comes. By this I mean a spiritual suitcase, a metaphorical suitcase. In it is what we need to have a good passing from this life to the next. Again it is very important not to carry this suitcase around with you all the time—but to have it safely packed at home. Death is inevitable but LIFE is what calls to you now.

So what would be in your spiritual suitcase? In my suitcase is my Guru Padmasambhava, and his mantra (om ah hung benza guru pema sidhi hum) that I intend to recite as I pass from this life into the next. All those I love are there in my suitcase, smiling at me, wishing me a great journey. The silence and the ability to sit in silence are there in my suitcase. I’ve also included some letters and reminders from loved ones and others telling me of the good impact I had on them in this lifetime. There are no regrets in my suitcase. And there is the knowledge that everything is connected to everything else, which makes me unafraid. All this is in my imaginary (yet very real) spiritual suitcase.

Jesus is in my suitcase and his teachings on love and forgiveness. The LIGHT that I can connect with in my heart, and the hope. I see beauty even when all is bleak and black. All the people I love; those who have held me through difficult times, warming me with their love and possibilities. The Creator is in there—connecting me to everything and everyone. All these things help me remember about eternal love. The light and love that connects us all holds my hand.

—from The Wisdom of the Crows and Other Buddhist Tales, retold by Sherab Choddzin and Alexandra Kohn

There once was a great teacher of Zen, a school of the Buddha’s teachings that is very down to earth about how things in life really are. This great teacher’s name was Ikkyu. Even as a young boy he was very clever and always found a way of getting himself out of trouble.

One day as he was playing, Ikkyu knocked over a teacup, which fell to the floor and shattered into pieces. Now the teacup belonged to his teacher, and it was very old and precious, and his teacher valued it greatly. As Ikkyu was worrying about this accident, he heard his teacher coming and quickly hid the pieces of the cup behind his back. When his teacher appeared, Ikkyu asked him, “Why do people die?”

“That is just natural,” his teacher replied. “Everything only has so long to live, and then it must die.”

I am asked all the time if I believe in reincarnation, or if I can do past-life readings on people. Mostly my answer is—it depends on the day you ask me. I find it is always fun to be open to the possibility of past lives, and future stories.

I have these repetitive dreams of an Atlantis-like place. I know this place very well and have relationships and adventures there. I have a clear picture of it in my mind and I often miss it when I awake. A lot happens there. So, for me it doesn’t really matter whether or not it is real in a way that can be proven. It is real to me in the same way that stories are real, or that any memory is real. Once something is over, done, it becomes a memory, a dream, a story. Real in one’s memory, but not real (actual) in the moment.

You are going to take a journey to your past, to one of your past lives. Again, it does not matter if you are certain about past lives or not—trust what comes, and write about it in your journal. Have this read out loud to you by a friend, counselor, or spiritual teacher. Give yourself five minutes for this meditation and then five more to write down your experiences and response to the journey.

Lie down on the floor or sit comfortably in a chair. Find your breath… . Now take ten deep breaths, and on the exhales try to expel all the air. Let your body fill up with the breath, and then empty out the breath completely. Then relax on the floor. Feel your body relax, every muscle loosening, the mind relaxing and letting go. Feel the rise and fall of the breath and relax into it… . Now imagine yourself in a place in nature that you enjoy.

There is a cave entrance nearby, or some opening into the earth. This opening can be a place you have actually visited if one comes to mind. Bring this place into focus and rest your full attention on this image of the cave entrance. The opening goes down deep into the earth, where there are many caverns and rooms. The opening should feel both familiar and comfortable to you.

Slowly approach the entrance to the cave and enter the opening. Notice the smells of the rich earth, the stillness of the tunnel, the feel of your body as it enters this place. Just inside the entrance of the cave, you will meet a spirit guardian that will help you on your journey. It may come in the form of an animal, a guardian angel, an ancestor, a ball of energy, a person, or a voice. This being will be your spirit guide on your shamanic journey.

Ask your guide to show you a past life. Your guide will then lead you down a tunnel into the underworld. This passage is usually short, ending in a room or a place in nature. Your guide has taken you to a place where you will find the answer to your question. Trust whatever comes. Just go with the experience and keep focused on the journey. You want to be present for whatever happens on the journey.

When you feel that the journey is done, bring yourself back to the place where you entered the underworld. Thank your guide and come back through the tunnel and out of the cave opening. Don’t bring anything back with you from your journey that you didn’t take in with you.

Then feel yourself in your body and back in the room, on the floor, breathing. Take some time to reacquaint yourself with the room.

Stoney, our twenty-eight-year-old quarter horse was a deep red chestnut with a wide white blaze running the whole length of his face. We called him “Grampa.” He had arthritis and moved slowly and stiffly. He was the kind of horse we could just let loose on our front lawn for hours to graze. We’d look out the window every now and then to see that he’d only moved about ten feet, eating every blade of grass around him. He was the kind of horse always to be trusted. He loved children and cats.

He developed a serious disease called Cushing’s Disease. It had many symptoms, one of which was laminitis in his feet (a very painful and sometimes irreversible problem). In the space of a few days he could barely walk. The vet pretty much told us to say our good-byes one Saturday. There was nothing left to do to help him. How does one do that … say good-bye to a beloved horse, a trusted friend? We made plans with the vet to come back Monday morning to put “Grampa” down.

Sunday morning Stoney was a bit brighter. He carefully ambled his way over to the grassy paddock to eat. I spent the day with him, loving him, catering to his every need. It was a gorgeous fall day. By early evening though, things changed dramatically. I sat on the ground next to him as he stood there shuffling his weight back and forth on all feet trying to relieve the pressure and pain. I believe he chose not to lie down because he knew he couldn’t get back up. I sobbed into his furry neck for more than an hour. His breathing was shallow and labored. The light in his huge brown eyes had gone out. We were in his stall and I told him that I would call the vet to come now to set him free instead of waiting until tomorrow as planned. I went in the house to make the call.

I came back outside twenty minutes later to find Stoney not only out of his stall, but standing at the other end of the paddock in the exact spot that I wanted him to be in for his transition! I was shocked! For a horse who couldn’t walk, he’d managed to get to that spot all on his own! He knew he was moments away from freedom. I waited with him for the vet to arrive with the euthanasia solution. I told Stoney how much I loved him, and he willingly took one more carrot from me and ate the whole thing! The vet lovingly administered the shot, and Stoney, our dear Grampa, fell to the earth where we had him buried. After it was done, my crying, anxiety, and hysterics simply stopped. I was so relieved to have helped set his spirit free from his pain-filled body. It was the last act of real love I could give him … letting him go. We now call his burial spot “Stoney’s paddock.” The grass grows lushly there.

When my father died I put together a special journal and picture album. It included poetry I wrote about my father, pictures of my father and me, some journal entries, and a prayer. Here is a poem I wrote into the album after he died.

On Father’s Day I write in the blank pages that are left in the back of the photo journal. It is a way for me to visit my father and to remember him. (He was cremated, so there is no grave to visit.)

If a best friend is moving away, together you can take some time to put together an album. Make sure to leave some blank pages in the back of the journal to write in on his or her birthday.

Off the Page

When someone you love dies, put together a photo journal to remember them. Or you may want to begin a photo album of your parents or other loved ones now.

What you will need:

a blank photo journal or a journal with unlined pages

photos of your loved one

your journals

Allow a few hours to gather pictures, poems, letters, and journal entries. Arrange them in the journal, leaving as much as half of the pages blank to add more photos, poetry, or prose later.

Our culture teaches us to suppress our grief (and even our joy). In order to grieve properly, you must grieve with others. It is not enough to cry alone in your room. It is definitely not enough to go on as if nothing has happened.

Communal expression of grief releases immeasurable pain that the individuals present have never truly released. I have gone through grief rituals with Sobonfu and Malidoma Somé of the Dagara tribe of Africa and have found great relief and healing in communal grieving. It will open you up in a way that no other process can. It has the power to heal physical, mental, spiritual, and social wounds. Grieving frees the past, the ancestors, the sufferings—and each of us, as well. Without the release of grief, our community and our individual psyches remain stuck.

In the story The Secret Garden it is through a small ritual that a child learns to release her pent-up sorrow. She had lost both her parents yet she did not cry until the ritual was complete. Many of us carry around with us hurts, losses, and disappointments that can be freed only through the expression of our grief. In the Dagara tradition they believe that we also carry in us the unexpressed pain of our ancestors. So, you not only grieve to heal yourself, you grieve to heal everyone.

You can get together with your friends, your family and others who cared about someone who died and practice your own grief ritual. First take the time to write out how you would like the ritual to look. Use your journal to record all your ideas.

Below are some ideas about what to include in your grief ritual. The rest is up to you. Give yourself at least half an hour to write down your ritual.

How can your ritual create a safe space for everyone to have their feelings expressed?

Dagara Grief Ritual

This ritual should be led by someone who is experienced with such processes. This can be a transpersonal psychotherapist, a ritual facilitator, or a skillful shaman like Sobonfu Somé.

As in all rituals, this one has a beginning, which is the invoking of spiritual sources; a middle, acting out the intent of the ritual; and an ending, giving thanks to those spiritual sources that helped in the ritual. There is a designated place to weep, to wail, to grieve out loud. This is called a grieving or wailing circle. At least twenty feet away is a grieving altar. On this altar photos of the deceased and spiritually significant objects are placed. Some people will bring an item that represents the deceased. At one ceremony a woman brought a note her father wrote to her; at another a woman brought a bag of M&Ms, her friend’s favorite treat.

To begin, the area is smudged with sage and everyone gathers in the grieving circle. They take time to invoke the help of everyone’s spiritual sources (out loud) and invite in those they will be grieving, calling their names out loud. (I always face each compass direction and call in the guardians and energies of each direction.) Then the facilitator/shaman begins to read poems and stories aloud that invoke the emotions of sadness, loss, and grief. Music is often played as well.

When the readings are finished, everyone grieves aloud, crying, breathing, weeping in a circle together for as long as they need to. Then when each person feels it is his or her time, one by one they will make the journey from the wailing circle to the grieving altar, voicing their grief and weeping all the way. Each mourner then makes an offering of their grief at the altar, just as a sacred object may be placed on an altar as an offering. The grief is offered for the loved one who has died, and for anyone who has not been grieved.

In the Dagara tradition, it is understood that many, many deaths and losses have not been grieved, so as a community we carry this pain in our psyches. This pain needs to be released, and the many departed who have not been grieved need our tears and acknowledgment so they can heal and move on. This is core to the Dagara ritual and philosophy. They are the ones who say, “When someone has died it is NOT business as usual.” Think of all the people throughout time who have not been wept over. The earth and our souls carry this—and with our tears and acknowledgment we release it from ourselves and from the earth.

Once people finish offering their grief at the altar, they step to the side and wait for the rest to take their turns until everyone has made the journey from the grieving circle to the altar. The group then sings songs or chants of gratitude, of peace, and of love. The ceremony ends with everyone thanking the spirits who have come to the ritual, releasing them from this place.

Consider having an altar where you can put the loved one’s photo and other objects that represent this person. You may want to include other spiritual objects, offerings to the ancestors—any objects that represent what you are grieving.

You can use birdseed in your ceremony. In many traditions birds are believed to carry our dead, our grief, and our songs to the spirit world.

Many traditions feast, and even celebrate the person’s life, once the grieving period is done. What would you like included in your feast (perhaps the deceased’s favorite food)?

“People who do not know how to weep together are people who cannot laugh together. People who know not the power of shedding their tears together are like a time bomb, dangerous to themselves and to the world around them. The Dagara understand the expression of emotion as a process of self-kindling or calming, which not only helps in handling death but also resets or repairs the feelings within the person.”