You are the pure spirit which pervades this whole universe
and on which the whole universe rests.
—astavakra
Exposed Earth:
Exploring Vulnerability
and Preparing for Change
Bare earth without all of the junk piled on it may bring feelings of relief and lightness, but it can also leave you feeling exposed. When you cart away old behaviors and attitudes, and turn some roles into compost, it can result in feeling naked and vulnerable. At home I felt at ease and comfortable with my new, clean inner space. Even though nothing much had grown yet, I liked the pure, fresh feeling. But out on the street, no longer dressed in my business suits and stripped bare of old habits and attitudes, I felt like a knight losing every last piece of protective armor. The feelings manifested in a dream:
I’m standing in the middle of the city naked. Everyone else walks around in business suits, uniforms, and jeans. They all look like they’re going to work—into offices, trucks, and taxis. But my work is taking me in another direction. When I look at my body, I’m not wearing a stitch of clothing to cover my skin. How embarrassing. How could I let myself be caught out like this? I want to hide.
I awoke in a panic and pulled the sheets tight around my body. After all of the changes, I wondered and worried, “Who am I?” I was once an international business executive who’d spent a lot of time in London, New York, Montreal. But the slick executive persona along with her values died in the Nile. I once fulfilled the role of a wife, but divorce changed that status. I used to identify myself with the things I owned: my watch collection, designer suits, Hermès scarves, and expensive leather handbags. But I’d lost, terminated, or given away many of the things and roles that I’d identified as “me.” Now I could wear what I wanted, set my own schedule, and dance to the tune of an inner drummer that no one else heard. A friend called this peeling away the layers of the onion. But when layer after layer is removed, what remains?
Finally, I took a trip to London to visit a friend. I’d traveled there many times on business, but this time as I stood at Piccadilly Circus beneath the racing neon lights, below the double-decker buses, and beside the blaring London cabs, I wanted to hide. All the familiar sights bustled around, but without the armor of my business suit and briefcase, I felt totally naked. I lost the courage to cross the street and venture out into the world as myself. I didn’t know who I was—and I didn’t want anyone to see me without the masks I’d worn. An urge to hide overcame me, and I sheltered in a doorway while waiting for the panic to pass. Did anyone notice my vulnerability?
The dream of nudity represented a new sense of vulnerability and a deep change in identity and self-understanding. It required digging deeper. If I am not my job, then who am I? If all of these things that I thought I was change, then who am I? Is some part of me permanent? These questions hit kids who graduate from college as they grope for a new profession. They confront empty-nesters who devote their lives to raising children and then wonder about their purpose once this is fulfilled. These questions plague recently retired people who worked long in rewarding careers and then find themselves with time to reflect but no business identity or social status. They hit those of us who fall ill and wonder about mortality. Who am I? Will some part of me continue? This is a mystical question that requires more excavating in the garden to find the first hints of a response.
I held the question in my heart, and once I garnered enough courage, I rushed out of the Piccadilly Circus doorway back to the little London bed-and-breakfast to my shoebox-sized room. I had no answers for these huge questions, and my heart felt heavy, confused, and anxious. If I’m doing all of this work, then where’s it leading me? It seemed to be leading me into uncomfortable, new territory where new roads were under construction. I yearned for direction, but I couldn’t see the building plan.
Outdoors, behind the hotel, a walled garden protected from the noise and traffic offered sanctuary. I slipped into the silence and felt suddenly at ease among the rose bushes and potted geraniums. I began to breathe in an even, quiet rhythm, soothed by the twittering birds and a gurgling stone fountain in the center. Something lay there inside me, beneath the chattering worried mind, beyond the physical aches and tiredness of my blistered feet that had walked Piccadilly and Covent Garden. Something waited there beyond the confusion, lifting my soul, and it carried me higher and deeper. At the heart of the garden and at the heart of my Self I sensed something vast, huge, beyond my imagination. But I couldn’t perceive it or touch it. What was it?
A beautiful thrush flew swiftly past and I yearned to fly like that, too. If an eagle is raised in a chicken yard, it seems it will think it is a chicken. If a tiger cub is raised with lambs, he will think this is who he is. It is only when a teacher, inner or outer, stands in front of us like a mirror and says, “You are that,” that we can open our eyes to our true nature and soar higher. My inner gardener coaxed me to fly high and know my Self fully. At the moment I lingered in an in-between stage: between the old and the new, and between the material and the spiritual. I felt the earth quake beneath my feet and no ground felt firm. I’d come this far, carted away much useless junk, but hadn’t found the new place of peace and comfort so longed for. It seemed the rewards for the hard work up to this point included discomfort and loss of friends who didn’t understand. But adventure on any heroine’s journey entails moving out of the comfort zone and into new, unfamiliar frontiers.
I sat back, took a deep breath of the fresh, cool air in the garden, and identified myself as an adventurer—a woman exploring a new world in the final frontier inside her own spirit. By shifting the perspective, the discomfort didn’t go away, but as an adventurer my feelings shifted to excitement and anticipation of treasures to come. Slipping deeper inside, I realized, “I am not the body. I am not this mind that brings worries.” I didn’t know really who or what I was, but knowing that I was not fear, nor discomfort nor a businesswoman nor all of the other things I’d imagined I was so far, allowed me to breathe easier and grow more at ease with the nakedness. It seemed that by stripping away the armor and mask, my spirit expanded, the doors of perception opened wider and connected me to the huge, vibrant world. With each breath, the outside came into me and with each exhale, that which was within me went out to the world. The thrush must have sensed my ease now because it landed on the back of the bench where I sat and began to sing. Its enchanting song lilted up and lifted my spirits.
My dreams of nudity eventually changed. Joy surfaced as I walked naked through towns and cities waving and smiling at people, not showing off, nor attracting attention, just feeling comfortable and at ease. People waved and smiled casually. All happened in a natural rhythm and flow. Nakedness became a metaphor for transparency, for living without a façade, and being my Self without embarrassment or apologies. No shame, uncertainty, or fear plagued me. I didn’t seek to hide my spiritual Self. My heart opened to the people and events that would come into my life. Everything will be fine, I thought. But I was only partway through the journey of clearing the ground in the secret garden, and going on from here meant digging deeper and shaking up the very foundations of my existence. Much more excavating would be required to clean out this messy inner space and allow the new plantings to grow.
Getting Spiritually Naked
The inner sacred space of the secret garden continually changes and evolves. In my dreams it has been a desert, a schoolroom, a place of temples, and a landscape where oversized flowers grow from vibrant trees. It also revealed shadow areas that desperately needed light. In quiet reflection, at a quiet time, settle into the center of your inner garden as the witness, the observer of your life, your actions and thoughts. Ask yourself, “Who am I?” What do you consider most as your identity? Are these things, relationships, properties, career, or something else?
Make a note of the roles and ways that you identify yourself. In your protected secret garden it’s safe to set all of these outer identities aside for a little while and take a break. Move into the core of your soulful Self and capture a sense of who you are beyond the material identity. Feel the vastness and expansion beyond your personality. If you’d like, write about how it feels to be spiritually naked. Describe the sensations and feelings you experience. Move deep within and connect with your soul-Self in the heart of your secret garden. The soul’s values may differ from your personality’s desires. The soul tends to align with the Divine. What do you feel are your soul qualities? Some soul qualities include patience, a love of peace, desire to live in beauty, compassion, seeking to be of service, and many more.
Sharing with a Partner
The journey seems shorter in the company of a friend. On the spiritual journey into the secret garden, sharing with a supportive buddy can help to bring insights. If you like, take an exercise, such as manifesting the image of your secret garden, letting go of junk, or working with recent dreams, and explore it with a friend. Determine you’ll each speak about your experiences, feelings, and reflections while your partner listens without making comments or giving feedback for five to ten minutes. Then trade places. Now it is your turn to listen while your partner shares her or his experiences and writing. Listen carefully and attentively with an open heart and mind. Do not judge your partner. Listen with love and affection. Do not speak or interpret during the designated period. This is a wonderful way to develop a deeper connection with a friend and with yourself—and to practice really listening.