May those who love us, love us …
And those that do not love us, may God turn their hearts;
And if he doesn’t turn their hearts, may he turn their ankles
So we will know them by their limping.
The quiet isolation of growing up in an alcoholic home accustomed me to silence, sent me into nature for my solace and companionship, and gave me the recognition of stillness and knowledge of the implicit order of that which is God. An emotionally abusive boyfriend taught me, finally, to channel my abilities toward my own support. My legal problems and the loss of my business caused me to rethink my entire dream, building a new one based only on my own values, my soul’s agenda for my life, and connection to my Source. Failure of health brought back my remembrance of the divine physician within me and forced me to activate that infinite wisdom to become whole.
Each of these periods of growth was sparked by difficulty. The intensity of the difficulty was of my own making. The soul will knock gently at first, and we often do not hear, then insistently, but we may not answer, then very loudly. Most of the situations I cited were harsh because I ignored the quiet voice of my soul. I lingered in fearful inertia until the drama fully captured my attention and gave me few choices but to grow. I do not believe we grow only through difficulties, but the soul does not hesitate. It uses the means necessary to move us out of stasis. As I have grown in my ability to hear the soul, the curriculum has become a gentle and joyous one.
It is the soul’s agenda that forms the infrastructure of everything that occurs in our lives. Its intention is for us to grow, moving inexorably toward a higher and higher potential. It has this curriculum always: consciousness, self-knowledge, and growth.
When you have been fired from your job, or are trying to recover from your sixth painful relationship, ask yourself what your soul’s agenda is for you. It may be to resolve an ancient fear or to take responsibility and embrace power. Perhaps it is to understand illusion, gain the freedom of surrender, or grow more peaceful. Whatever it is, you may be certain that it will serve the highest in you if you rise to meet it. If you do not, you may be sure the soul will call again.
We may believe our lives are dictated by our relationships, that we are subject to spousal demands, or that we do not have freedom at work to express our values and more authentic selves. For instance, I sometimes feel controlled by my obligations to my business; the jobs and opportunities I provide my team members seem a responsibility that restricts my freedom of choice. We may feel this way about our children, that we cannot pursue our own passions until they are grown because we are locked in service to them, which consumes all of our focus and energy. We may feel an abusive parent controlled our life, that they are controlling it still. We feel controlled by time and by lack of money.
Insecurity comes in many guises: financial difficulties, a troubled child, an unfaithful spouse. Having a tyrannical employer can make each day one in hell. But imagine that you realize you have a choice about your work, that your soul is actually offering you a chance to change, that everything you need for that change is available to you. In that case, you do not feel the same entrapment and fear. You are still afraid, certainly, but you have a sense of there being choices that can be made, action that can be understood and taken with courage.
Brian is one of the most loving and unusual men I know. Yet his history is a truly heartbreaking story of childhood abuse. His is the kind of story that horrifies, that seems impossible to comprehend. It relates physical and emotional torture, mental cruelty, sexual abuse, shocking neglect. But Brian’s life now is full of love. He has a large family of loving friendships and a vast global network of people who support his creativity and work.
When I asked Brian how he survived his horrible childhood, how he healed, his reply was startling. “Lenedra, my childhood made me who I am. I absolutely believe it was my own choice, before I came into this life, to have that experience. I know what it is to be oppressed and for reasons I can’t fully articulate, I know it was important to my soul that I experience this.
“Beyond that,” he related, “I learned that the body doesn’t have to feel pain, that there is a ‘self’ which nothing can efface. I spent days tied up in closets, and that gave me my unique creativity as I plumbed the wonders of my mind to keep from losing myself to the fear and pain. Many, many insights came to me in the darkness and despair. Something beyond myself comforted me and loved me even there in that closet, and I became familiar with that loving presence. Something deep within taught me. Entire worlds of meaning and possibility opened to me.”
I struggled to comprehend Brian’s perspective in the face of such damaging experiences. “I am not damaged,” he continued. “As I moved into adulthood, I learned that, ultimately, I control my well-being. I found I could call to myself the healing I needed, the nurturing and family. It is all here for me. It was up to me, really, to love myself; no one could do that for me, and as I offered the gift of love to me, my life became full of love. I do not regret my childhood in any way. My parents played the role of tyrant so I could learn to become utterly free of tyranny.”
Why would the soul place a being in such a situation? Brian would answer, “to grow.”
Jack Swartz, a Dutch-born author and lecturer, might say the same. In studies conducted at the Menninger Foundation, the University of California’s Langley Porter Neuropsychiatric Institute, and at other institutions, Jack astounded doctors by his ability to be pierced with six-inch needles without bleeding, be burned with cigarettes without pain or harm, and to heal immediately. He held hot coals in his hands for extended periods without damage. Throughout all these events, he produced none of the beta brain waves that are normally present when a person is in pain. He explained that he acquired the ability to be able to control the pain of severe beatings he received while in a Nazi concentration camp. He believes anyone is able to learn such control and thus gain responsibility for their own health. He lectured and taught tirelessly to help others learn, feeling it was his life purpose.1
Why would the soul place anyone in a Nazi concentration camp? Or give them an abusive childhood? Brian and Jack have their own answers. Brian feels it was vital for him to become utterly free of his fear of tyranny. Jack felt he learned the secrets of freedom from physical pain and an awareness of consciousness beyond the body. He felt it was well worth his experience to gain them for himself and to demonstrate them to others. Both Brian and Jack felt not only undamaged by their experiences but also a sense of purpose in them.
This is not an idea we can easily embrace. It is a discussion we cannot fully bring ourselves to because we are so deeply terrified by the heinous acts in our world, confused by and afraid of the pain and injustice and danger. Yet in a larger context, we must at least ask, “Could there be meaning and purpose in them?”
We fear that if we allow that there is purpose, it means we must accept the gross inequities and exonerate the people who perpetuate them. But this idea defies reason. It is a “victim” mentality. Feeling, on the other hand, the situation is unredeemable and beyond our control leaves us without options. But recognizing the purpose or opportunity in such chaotic events, we can then utilize them to bring change. When we see the larger purpose underlying an event, our understanding aids us in healing the pain and bringing about growth. When we act on that understanding, we learn to trust ourselves.
We waste a lot of energy wondering who we can trust, what we can trust them with, and recovering from being betrayed. But you are the person you really need to trust. You can trust everyone if you can trust yourself.
We lack self-trust because of the countless times we sold ourselves out, abandoned ourselves, ignored our intuition, refused to take appropriate action, forfeited our power. So, lacking self-trust, we are left to the hopeless device of trying to make everyone and everything conform to our need to feel safe.
What are the things we need to be able to trust ourselves? We must each know that we will courageously and creatively understand and take the action required for our growth and wholeness. We must feel that we can be trusted to truthfully see our underlying agendas. We need to know we can count on ourselves to intuit whether or not a situation is healthy for us. Having perhaps chosen poorly, can we trust ourselves to change a situation? Can we trust ourselves to give up limiting patterns or addictions? To delve for the truth about our participation in recurrent negative scenarios? To live by values that bring growth and joy?
During my time in the remote cabin in Alaska, I realized that if I could trust myself, then trusting others would be easy; I would be free to see who people really are, instead of what I needed them to be. At the time, there was one person I was very mistrustful of. He had betrayed me in a horrible fashion. But when I examined the matter honestly, I saw that I had been given many warnings about how he was; I just didn’t want to believe them. In truth, I could trust him to continue being how he was. But I could not trust myself to see the truth of a situation and take the right action for myself.
I stopped fearing and obsessing about what he had done to me and began to seek what I needed to know and do to change my situation. This is the crux of the matter. People will be who they are. We can count on it. They will always be acting out their fears, limitations, hopes, and dreams. If we trust our own judgment, choices, healing ability, and self-honesty, we become free of the need to make others “behave” so we can feel safe.
In the silence of the cabin, I came to know something even more valuable about trust. I was asking the question “What can I trust?” when I heard, in reply, this from my soul: “You can trust that your life is on course, that you are exactly where you should be, in every moment and situation.” I realized then my life was not a series of accidents; it was managed by my soul with great purpose. Coming to know that deeply, I understood that I could trust the Source of my life, in all things.
The man had been hounding me for weeks. After my heart attack, I was forced to change my diet. Now, at restaurants, at parties, at the movies, there are many things I can no longer eat. There are many times I have to make special requests for the dressing oil to be put on the side, not on the salad, for the butter to be left out of a recipe. I have to inquire about ingredients and take great care. By some quirky coincidence, this man was often there, listening. He is behind me at the movie concession, at the next table in the restaurant, or at the community potluck. Each time he rolls his eyes and makes a rude comment. He grows more and more bold in this, until it becomes quite annoying. Naturally, I wonder what difference it makes to him if I eat butter or not. Is it any of his business?
One evening at a party, the dessert tray goes around the room, and I pass it on without sampling. Who do I turn to as I pass the tray? My constant critic! He speaks in his booming voice, filling the room. “Yeah! She won’t have any. She won’t have this, she won’t have that,” he says in a punitive singsong. “She might as well not eat at all.” It was one of those moments when all conversation stops in a room and everyone turns to see what is going on.
I have a look on my face that my friends recognize: an eyebrow raised, my eyes narrowed somewhat, my mouth forming a slight smile. It is a look that says, “Enough! Now I’m going to put an end to this.”
My friends are thinking, “What fun! She’s going to put him in his place; she’ll cut him off at the knees.”
And in fact I lean in with just the little turn of phrase to do the trick, to shut him up for good. After all, I’ve known him for years, we all have, and he is no favorite in the little town.
I take a half step forward and draw a breath to deliver my well-timed, clever little remark, when something rather unusual happens. Time suspends, the moment extends, no words come out of my mouth; his face swims in front of me. And there, from his face, is the depth of his soul shining out at me. It is a wondrous soul, breathtaking in its beauty. And that lovely soul reveals this man to me. I seem to have stepped inside of him. I know his life, the weight of his pain, the extent of his despair, his unrelenting loneliness and unworthiness. I feel his tired, beaten-down body, heavy and numb with its pointless posture. And I feel the grandeur of the soul that loves and guides him. I see my own blessed life; I see my harsh judgment of him and its effects on us both. It is a long moment as I stare, transfixed, at his face, with everyone in the room staring at me. No one breathes, it seems.
Then a gush of wind fills my lungs and I speak: “I have wondered why it matters to you what I eat. I don’t know the answer. But standing here in confrontation with you, what I am really struck with is my own deep despair that we cannot, as humans, see eye to eye about such a small matter. In my heart I ache to have a greater peace. But I don’t know how. How can we ever end the continual wars on our planet if such inconsequential things keep us from it every day? That’s what I am feeling,” I say.
The platter passes along, people shift positions, small talk begins to fill the space, and the party goes on. But a week later the man makes a beeline for me at the drugstore; I feel uneasy as he approaches, but he surprises me when he speaks.
“I want to apologize for what I said the other night.” He shuffles self-consciously in the aisle. The words are foreign to his rough voice. “I had to wonder, too, why I cared what you ate. And I remembered that mealtimes when I was a kid … well, they were hell. Pure hell. The ol’ man came down on us for everything. One wrong move then — watch out! Funny, it’s the first time I’ve thought about any of that in many years.”
And this man begins to reveal his story to me. It is the story you might imagine, a story of abuse and fear and pain. The pain still fills every pore of his body, which is worn with carrying it. As I listen, I hear also his hopes and dreams, some of them still alive. I find there, too, his passion for his work and the love he feels for his son. He talks; I hear the soul “talking story.” I hear a human story and I know what it is to be a human being.
Each time we hear a human story, we learn more about what it is to be a human being, having a human life here on this planet. This is one of the ways in which we discover our humanity. It is important to honor one another’s stories when possible, for we each inhabit an individual universe. And within that universe we are always in relationship with ourselves. Even when apparently interacting with others, we are really in relationship to ourselves. Because of this, when we hear or observe another person, we will misunderstand much of what we see and hear: Because the experience is filtered through our own perspectives, beliefs, experiences, and needs. Some studies suggest that less than half of what we “see” is based on information entering our eyes. The remainder — the majority — of our sight perception is the piecework of our expectations and context.2
That is why, when a friend gets new glasses or shaves his beard, we often do not notice. We are so accustomed to relating to them within the frame of our usual context, that we don’t see what is actually there. We filter it out so that our context remains unaltered. There is evidence that suggests that the percentages regarding what we hear are even lower. As you are listening to others at work, home, or at the grocery store, remind yourself that the chance that you will actually grasp their full meaning, let alone their reality, is quite small.
To most accurately and fully relate to another, we must relate to their soul or we will only be in relationship to our own context. Gracie taught me this fifteen years ago. Gracie was in her seventies when I first knew her. She lived in a charming old log cabin next to my art gallery. In fact, my gallery occupied property that was once part of the “stake” she and her husband Niles had settled in their early days in Alaska. Over the years, the city grew up around them, until Gracie’s log cabin was the odd note in a jumble of bustling commercial properties. Niles had died a few years earlier, and I used to keep company with Gracie from time to time and share stories.
She told me that one of Niles’s dreams as a young man was to travel around the world for a year. When he married and children began to arrive, that dream got tabled, but the longing stayed. Gracie told me she was acutely aware of this and finally told Niles he had to “go off on that trip, children or no.” And she sent him packing for a year. She said she didn’t want him having that kind of regret when he was old; she knew “it was something very important to his soul.”
Gracie tells it that she was unhappy about being left behind with four children but soon stopped moping about and feeling sorry and wondered what the change allowed her to do. She discovered a dream of her own. She had always wanted to spend time in Hawaii, so she “up and left with those four kids to bide my time in paradise. There wasn’t much money,” she said, “but you don’t need much if you’re in paradise.”
Nine months into his trip, Niles called from someplace foreign and said he was satisfied that he’d seen what he wanted to of the world. He was coming home — which was good because Gracie was tired of paradise by then.
It delighted me to hear that Gracie listened to the soul longing of Niles instead of imposing her fears and needs on him by tying him to his obvious responsibilities. She didn’t ignore his deep desire in favor of her own security. And she listened to the voice of her own dream and created the perfect situation for herself as well.
The urge toward union, the longing for love, is innate in us. But what is the longing really for? What do we want union with? Why? Is there a hole we are trying to fill? Is the longing for union based on a need for security? Can anything truly make us secure? The ultimate answer is that the underlying cause of our great insecurity is the absolute, inculcated belief that we are our body. We are not our body; we are the indwelling soul. As long as our context is primarily the physical side of ourselves, we will feel fear and anxiety about our well-being. Ego, disconnection from source, and abandonment of self derail most of our relationships. The root of peace and security is in the blueprint of our soul. Accessing that understanding opens us to myriad realms of possibility and stability.
Instead of looking to others for love, become love. Inhabit it. Love your divine soul, love who you are, love the dream you have manifested. When you do, what manifests in your dream? Love. It comes in on the incoming wave and engulfs you.
Moving into a life in which the experience of loving is the only thing you will accept, there are many feelings of vulnerability; and there may be awkward stages. There are many graceless moments in which you struggle to involve yourself in a new economy, the economy of love, yet you are still struggling to use all of the old tools of intimidation, humiliation, withdrawal, and others. This is a natural part of the process. By listening to the voice of our soul, we are guided to new tools and experiences and new relationships with others.
To develop access to that voice of the soul, I have found it necessary to return repeatedly to the silence, refining my ability, honing it with discipline and patience. I have learned that, while failing and succeeding to varying degrees but insisting and persisting over time, we can achieve communion with that great I Am, the animating principle of this world.
1. Michael Talbot, The Holographic Universe (New York: HarperCollins, 1991).
2. Ibid.