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Spiraling through Spirit

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credit: NASA

I was intrigued when CNN recently ran a piece about spiritual-but-not-religious folks on their Belief Blog. In spite of the survey data that affirms that up to a third of the U.S. population self-identifies as such, we are all but invisible in the media and popular culture. Yet the fact that the article generated over 9,000 comments demonstrates that there’s clearly an appetite for dialogue on the topic.

As I read, I was immediately disappointed by the author’s tone of judgment and annoyance. I had hoped for better, but the essay was one of those shallow straw man dismemberings that pass for thought pieces in the mainstream media.

Written by Alan Miller, a film director and cultural commentator, the piece characterized the spiritual-but-not-religious as representing “some of the most retrogressive aspects of contemporary society”. Wow. For Miller, such people are relativist flakes who are too undisciplined and narcissistic to commit to either a religious tradition, or atheism predicated on the primacy of science and reason. In his world there are only two options.

The caricature of spiritual-but-not-religious approaches as a “cop-out” appears to be based purely on the author’s personal impressions. Yet there is an emerging scholarship around the questions of what motivates the spiritual-but-not-religious, who they are, and how they fit into the broader landscape of spiritual/religious expression. I had hoped that there’d be some mention of this because I’m quite interested in the findings. Sadly, Miller only bemoaned “the implosion of belief” that he assumes is behind the growth of this group of people.

The reality obvious to anyone paying attention is that there is a lot of diversity within the spiritual-but-not-religious. The move away from mainstream religion is far too complex and widespread to simply dismiss as a “cop-out”. Instead, I think the trend reflects larger patterns in the story of human development, where spirituality is one domain of many.

Spiral dynamics is a useful framework for understanding human complexities and social change, and I think it has something to offer to this discussion. Based on the work of Clare Graves and Don Beck, spiral dynamics is basically a typology of “memes” that humans evolve through. Here are the memes, in the order that we move through them:

Beige – the central value is survival; this meme is characterized by instinct and limited self-awareness (e.g. toddlers)

Purple – safety; tribal, kinship structures, group identity (e.g. fundamentalism)

Red – power; self-interest, conflict, domination, zero-sum game (e.g. Tea Party)

Blue – order; authority, convention, rule of law, stability, tradition, absolutes (e.g. mainstream religions, GOP)

Orange – achievement; reason, science, technology, humanism, the Enlightenment (e.g. academia, atheism, secularism)

Green – community; egalitarianism, post-modernism, relativism, consensus (e.g. peace and civil rights movements)

Yellow – synergy; integration, flexibility, change, flux, interdependence, big picture (e.g. spiral dynamics)

Turquoise – holism; compassion, dependent co-arising, cooperation, unity consciousness (? emerging…)

This is way oversimplified, but it gives you a general idea. Researchers have used quantitative methods (e.g. survey data) to describe profiles of different societies. For example, in northern Europe there’s a larger percentage of the population in orange and beyond, as compared to other places. In the U.S., the center of gravity hovers around blue-orange (ergo our tediously polarized politics – meh). In short, the idea is that as we evolve, individually and collectively, we shift towards the turquoise end of the spectrum (though many of us may never even get to orange). It’s by no means a neat, simple progression. The shifts are uneven and messy, but I’m just trying to give you the gist of it here.

Given this framework, I would argue that spiritual-but-not-religious people start to show up mostly in the orange meme and beyond. As we evolve, many of the structures of the preceding memes stop working for us, and the religions that go along with purple-red-blue are either adapted or left behind. We may still draw on some practices and core beliefs of those religions, but we are no longer willing or able to embrace all of the institutions and dogma.

Because we cut across quite a few memes, there’s a good deal of topography in the territory of the spiritual-but-not-religious. From orange-meme scientist yogis who sense the presence of spirit in unified field theory, to green-meme feminists rekindling relationships with the goddess, to the teenagers of today who seem to intuitively know that all the rules are changing, and yet I AM. There’s a lot going on here, and it’s very much in progress.

From Miller’s orangish standpoint, atheism and big religion are the only options. Folks like him are impatient with all our untidy improvising, experimenting, and synthesizing. They always will be. Unfortunately, they are so busy being right that they don’t see that the path continues on ahead… that there’s more to this journey… more to be revealed and co-created.  Yet the soul calls us to adventure. And so we unfold.

Currents

There are certain truths that we have heard so often they have lost their charge. Especially in this time of cynicism and snark. When someone manages to get one of these points across with any kind of freshness, I am grateful. It’s a blessing to get such reminders.

David Foster Wallace was a writer with an overly active mind. He was hilarious in the way only very depressed people can be. He wrote some essays I recommend (see A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again) and a couple of novels I abandoned once their cleverness exhausted me. But that was around the time I lost interest in fiction altogether.

Recently I came across a commencement address he gave, which was posthumously turned into a short booklet. You can find transcripts of the spoken original online. I was interested to see what someone so brilliant and troubled would say on such an occasion. What would he want to impart? A central feature was this story:

There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says “Morning, boys. How’s the water?” And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes “What the hell is water?”

His point is that the most important subjects are those that are hidden in plain sight. The easiest to overlook; the hardest to perceive. He goes on to urge his young audience to be aware of what they give attention to and how they construct meaning. He talks at length about the inescapability of belief and even worship. Humans are hard-wired to make meaning. Our choice – and adventure – lies in how we do this.

Nothing really new. But it’s interesting to me to see my generation’s intellectual class pass such a baton. And the problem of the day that he articulates is necessarily a spiritual one: “The alternative is unconsciousness, the default setting, the rat race, the constant gnawing sense of having had, and lost, some infinite thing.” Indeed. And so he leaves us with a practice. A mantra. A reminder.

“This is water.”

“This is water.”

Persephone’s Path

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Credit: Michael Wer

We don’t talk much about the underworld any more. The dark realms were such a strong undercurrent in pre-modern consciousness. There were so many stories. And ceremonies. Occasionally, even now, reminders surface. Little sparks and shadows that flicker at the edges of awareness, like the melody of a song that we dreamed long ago. But for the most part, we carry on as though it’s not there.

Society has trained us to be high-functioning in the middle world, now dominated by rationality, consumerism, and the institutions of modernity. Interestingly, though our culture is self-consciously secular, we still have robust traditions that encourage spiritual transcendence. Reaching towards the upper world remains a legitimate part of the human enterprise. But we no longer descend. At least not with clear intention or with the willingness to let the shadows instruct us. When we tumble down the rabbit hole it’s usually because we’ve tripped.

I want to make space in this blog for Persephone’s path – the descent and return. The soul journey often takes quite a few underground detours and I think it’s important to explore that terrain. But “detour” is the wrong word, already implying a bias. Instead, I suspect these are necessary adventures. On Persephone’s path I need to use night language, and the best way to do that is either to speak a poem or tell an old story. So here is a story from Northern Europe. It’s called the Erlkönig and I first heard Clarissa Pinkola Estés tell it.

There was a village at the edge of a forest. People there told stories about a supernatural being called the Erlkönig, who lurked in the forest at night to steal away the souls of anyone who happened to wander out into the woods. One night a man was riding home with his young son on his horse. They were tired. To save time, he decided to go through the forest. As they made their way through the woods, the boy became very afraid. He heard something, and told his father he thought it was the Erlkönig. His father reassured him, saying the Erlkönig did not exist, and all would be well. They rode on. Then the boy saw a figure coming closer, and again he warned his father. But his father said he was just imagining things and scaring himself with foolish stories and nonsense, and there was no Erlkönig. They rode on. But now the boy could see someone right behind them, reaching toward them, and he cried out in terror and the horse panicked and surged ahead at full speed and the man had to use all his strength just to hold on. When they arrived at their home the horse collapsed in exhaustion. And the man discovered that his son was dead.

I think of the man, the boy, and the horse as different aspects of the self. Because he operates purely in the world of rationality, authority, practicality, and the five senses, the man is not able to see the danger or to save his son. The boy – the part of the self that is emotional, open and transparent – is able to perceive the world of shadows and imagination, to see in the dark. The horse, representing nature and the aspect of the self that is connected to the earth, responds both to the boy and the danger.

Our culture trains us relentlessly to be like the man. But the story reminds us to stay connected to the parts of ourselves represented by the boy and the horse – to stay in contact with wonder and wildness. The story calls us not to transcend, but to something else…

Integration vs. Bypassing

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The Flammarion Engraving, 1888

Why is it that certain aspects of being human get such a bad rap in spiritual circles? I’m talking about the usual suspects: the ego, and our proclivities for attachment, strong feelings, and scenario planning.

Recently I participated in a workshop on mindfulness. Interestingly, the idea of giving significant attention to thoughts and emotions was pooh-poohed as neurotic self-obsession. Focusing on moment-to-moment sensory experience was the preferred mode of being that we were encouraged to cultivate. I just don’t buy it.

Fostering vivid presence, mindfulness, and being grounded in the body is absolutely vital. I have a regular meditation and yoga practice that assist me greatly in these excellent goals. However, I would argue that the experience of our inner world is not in principle problematic, and we unnecessarily give ourselves a hard time when we take on this belief. Further, our thoughts and emotions are no less “real” than sensorial experience. Consciousness and matter are energy, and that energy exists whether our five senses can detect it or not.

The danger in promoting the notion that our interior worlds are somehow invalid is that it may lead to unhealthy avoidance. This is what Robert Masters calls “spiritual bypassing”. This is the idea that we use our spiritual path and the primacy of transcendence to avoid dealing with our stuff. Let’s face it – it can be horribly unpleasant to deal with our stuff. Spiritual bypassing is a welcome reprieve. If we tell ourselves that it doesn’t count, we can ignore it. Unfortunately, it’s simply not true. We all know stories of spiritual teachers who spent decades working on their liberation to the exclusion of dealing with their shadow selves, and ultimately the chickens came home to roost. The shadow owns you, till you own it. The disowned self will kick your spiritual ass.

The real issue seems to me to be a question of balance. Instead of simply redirecting neurotic self-obsession into a fixation on sensory observation, I think it is more productive to explore what exactly constitutes a healthy, balanced, constructive use of attention and presence. What does that look like in the day-to-day? How do we achieve that? The various parts of our humanity need attention, nurturing, healing, and integration. Not exile. Not annihilation. My thoughts and feelings are real and should not be dismissed. Instead, how can I own them and work with them in a loving, transformative way? This reclaiming and integration is the path of redemption. This is the path of the soul.

How I Learned to Love My Monkey Mind

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credit: Oskar Henriksson

Have you ever been meditating only to find yourself completely overwhelmed and frustrated by the incessant, acrobatic gyrations of monkey mind? Some spiritual paths put a lot of emphasis on getting the little chimp under control. Or rather, getting better at being present, so he eventually decides to go sit in a corner and quietly amuse himself with a twig or leaf instead of bothering you. I don’t mean to pick on any of these well-intentioned traditions. The teachings aren’t the problem, it’s the way that we apply them. Namely, sometimes we put way too much pressure on ourselves.

Evolutionary psychology offers some insights that put the way I experience my inner world in context. As a result, I feel affection instead of exasperation towards my monkey mind, and showing the chimp a little love actually settles him down rather nicely. I wanted to share some of that wisdom from brain science as it applies to spiritual practice.

The human brain is the product of several iterations. The prototype reptilian brain is composed of the cerebellum and brainstem. These structures govern the five F’s: fight, flight, freeze, food, and the four-letter word that sounds like “fire truck”. These instinctual responses make our survival possible, and we should be very grateful to have them. But the reptilian brain can also get in the way of our best interests. For example, as I am writing this I notice that Katrina just posted a great piece about fear at Freedom to a Full Life that dovetails nicely with my point.

The limbic system developed with mammals. This governs the ability to feel emotions, and its healthy functioning includes dreaming. It enables mammals to form bonds and nurture young, which is unnecessary for reptiles (who lay eggs and set off to find a new partner to make more). The mammalian brain also enables the development of social groups, hierarchy, and the notion of status. Again, while I deeply appreciate the ability to form deep bonds and have feelings, I also see how this can get out of hand. And in so far as it amplifies reptilian drives with strong emotion and competitive status-seeking, the limbic system can get me into even deeper trouble.

Evolution came out with a new mammalian brain model via the primate neocortex. I think you can guess that this is where the monkey mind lives. The neocortex is akin to a computer – constantly processing permutations and combinations of information, including input from the reptilian brain and the limbic system. The primate brain is capable of generating scenarios, looking back into the past, or forward into the future. It weighs pros and cons, calculates probabilities, predicts consequences, and scientists speculate that this part of the brain is what makes free will possible.

What I appreciate about knowing this is that it shows me that many of my troublesome tendencies have their roots in ancestral ways of operating. Though evolution has added new elements, the old structures remain, as do certain unwanted patterns. When I understand where these patterns come from, they are easier to deal with. So I don’t have to beat myself up for eating that last piece of pie or missing my bus stop because I was daydreaming. Of course that doesn’t mean we get a free pass. It is not OK to simply shrug your shoulders and blame an affair on your reptilian brain. My point is that we can be a little more forgiving and gentle with ourselves for not being perfect when we understand and appreciate our less evolved parts. Fortunately, evolution is not done with us yet and has already provided a way to manage this motley inheritance.

We humans have a unique pre-frontal cortex or frontal lobes. This area performs what brain scientists refer to as “executive functions” like intentionality, purposefulness, and high level decision-making. This peculiarly human faculty involves the ability to override the less evolved parts of the brain. So there is no excuse for dismissing egregious mistakes as biological in origin. We actually do have the ability to know better and make wise choices. But when it comes to everyday slip-ups I think we can cut ourselves a little slack and thank our frontal lobes for the opportunity to do it right next time.

These days when monkey mind pays me a visit on the cushion I pat his furry little head and thank him for the ability to multitask, do my taxes, and remember a loved one who has passed. And then I choose to breathe in… and out.

Fall Line

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credit: Sarah Williams

I stumble less
trailing the Dane
his pace
generous and easy

somewhere
before
the terrain opened up
I put down
fact and faith
at the base of an old vine
my footing
steadied
by the firmness
of unknowing

sure of himself
Hamlet heads downslope
and I hear
water running

all this time
I didn’t know
that I prefer
raisins to grapes

~

Circles of Connection

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credit: Päivi Tiittanen

I want to continue exploring practices that could foster mutual support for the spiritual-but-not-religious. Let’s start with circles. I am very grateful for the privilege I have to participate in a circle of women who meet regularly for this purpose.

There are elements that seem especially important, including:

  • using ritual to create sacred space
  • committing to ground rules that maintain privacy, promote deep listening, and create a safe container (e.g. no fixing or giving unsolicited advice)
  • participating as equals – no leaders or followers
  • embracing authenticity, vulnerability, and honesty
  • honoring the diversity of each member’s spiritual path and experience
  • using movement, sound, breath, and silence to attune to the group energy and cultivate presence

The opportunity to gather with allies who share the goal of supporting one another’s soul journey is amazingly rich. It is different from simply sitting with a friend or loved one and sharing conversation. Perhaps because it allows us to set aside habitual roles and interpersonal patterns. But there’s something more. The power of group intention and conscious focus opens up a unique space that we cannot access on our own. Speaking one’s truth and being deeply heard by others enables a profound healing that is different from what we can achieve by ourselves. There is something mysterious about the energetic field created by group consciousness that triggers shifts and breakthroughs that may otherwise elude us.

I have participated in other groups and gatherings that were not as helpful. A major missing element was trust and the ease and freedom that it creates. When people bring small, stubborn agendas with them into circles it generates static and noise that clutters up the spaciousness that would otherwise appear. The willingness to set aside the anxious contraction of our egos is a key ingredient of transformative connection.

There are many circle practices beyond my example. Indigenous cultures are full of such traditions, including sitting in council and using a talking stick, prayer, ceremony, etc. Perhaps you can describe examples from your own experience? I recently participated in another circle that had several interesting rules that were new to me. First, the use of names was not allowed. So, when it was my turn to speak, I could not refer to something X said earlier. Second, no questions were allowed. The reasoning was that using names and asking questions pulled the group’s attention too much in the direction of specific participants (the one named and the questioner) and away from the emerging field of the collective.

Perhaps we also form a virtual circle of sorts through our blogs. I like the taking turns and holding space. Heart-speak. Thoughtfulness. Mirroring. I like watching an insight float up from California, or South Africa, or Seattle, and see how it settles and maybe works on me for a spell. The comments… bowing.

On Our Own Together

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credit: sanja gjenero

The post-religious spiritual path is lonely. In the polarity of American culture, which recognizes only conventional religion and secularism, there are not a lot of ways to find your tribe. Actually, it’s one of the reasons why I started this blog. Unless you gravitate to a particular modality or practice that you can really identify with and use as a channel for community (e.g. yoga), you’re basically on your own. There’s a sense of isolation in being spiritual-but-not-religious that I want to explore.

What happens to spiritual fellowship in a post-religious world? In the era of mythic religions people on the spiritual path were led by a guru or teacher. They had the comfort and support of a sangha or congregation. And they had a creed that mapped out the glorious, sacred story within which their soul journey unfolded. It’s different for us. Why?

I think a major reason is that we have undergone huge epistemological shifts that have dismantled traditional religious foundations – at least for those of us paying attention. First, we had the Enlightenment and the rise of modern science. Second, post-modernism forced us to accept the reality that what we think we know is actually subjective. The upshot is that we are left without an overarching myth or external authority to explain everything for us. And we no longer have a cohesive social context for our soul journey.

I don’t think this is all bad. Because there are no well-worn road maps we are forced to take responsibility for finding our own way. Unlike religious devotees we cannot simply go along with the set of teachings we are handed. Instead of “hear and obey”, we operate in a mode of exploration and experimentation. This self-responsibility gives spirituality a wonderful aliveness and creativity – the vitality of unknowing. It requires sustained attention and cultivation. We are souls-in-progress.

But I think there is also a downside. For many of us in this predicament, the spiritual path collapses into something intensely (and sometimes stiflingly) personal. In the absence of myth, both the goal and the experience are confined to our own personal growth and development. Yet I think that ultimately, as human beings, this isn’t enough to satisfy us. I think we’re hard-wired to want more. There is an impulse within us that wants to connect with one another and the world. To have an impact beyond our own skin and psyche. Without some outward movement or orientation, spirituality can become neurotic.

This brings up several questions I want to pursue in future entries. First, how can we broaden the context of the spiritual-but-not-religious journey without going backwards? What is the bigger meaning of spirituality here and now, beyond achieving my own personal peace and healing? I am also curious about what new forms and practices are emerging that could support people like me in working collectively on spiritual development. How do we come together in spirit in ways that are appropriate for the non-religious?

Blue Room

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credit: Sigurd Decroos

I wanted to share an exercise that I use at times when I am concerned about clear communication. I often use this in advance of potentially volatile conversations, in preparation for dealing with a challenging person, or if I’m feeling muddled and I’m worried that I won’t be able to get my points across clearly. Sometimes I do this when I want closure with someone who is no longer in my life. This technique helps me to transmit my intention and heartfelt message to the other person on an energetic level. I find that if I’ve done it with compassion for all involved, the outcome is pretty good. Even if there is conflict when an encounter occurs, I feel clearer, stronger, and less reactive than I might otherwise have been.

The Blue Room

  1. Use whatever clearing and grounding techniques you are comfortable with to achieve a quiet, centered state. (E.g. meditate, clear your chakras, smudge, do a brief asana practice, etc.)
  2. Visualize yourself entering a blue room. This is a room of safety, clarity, and understanding. In this room, your fifth chakra, which is related to communication, will open and operate beautifully. In this room, only you are allowed to speak. Others that you invite into the blue room are not permitted to speak. They must listen only.
  3. Invite the person(s) that you would like to communicate with into the room. They are silent. Take a moment to observe them with compassion. How do they seem? See what you notice.
  4. Now explain your perspective to this person. Begin by describing your feelings. Take all the time that you need to connect with and name the emotions that come up around this issue and this person. After that, and only after, describe the needs, hopes, and expectations that are behind those feelings. What do you wish for in this situation? Why? You will probably feel compassion for yourself as you describe what’s in your heart, your intentions, and the outcome that you would like to see. Take time to clarify any misunderstandings that might be in play. Offer and ask for forgiveness, if either is appropriate. Offer a blessing if that’s appropriate.
  5. When you feel complete, thank the other person for listening to you and watch them leave. Take a few moments to connect with whatever emotions you feel associated with having spoken your truth.

While I believe communication and shifts in relating are happening at an energetic level, I personally find the most beneficial part of this exercise to be the self-care aspect. I appreciate the opportunity to feel compassion for myself as I connect with my emotions, needs, and wishes. It helps me to feel more grounded in my own authority, integrity, and power. I also relish the sense of taking responsibility for how I am showing up energetically in that relationship.

I hope you find this useful. I would be interested in hearing about any experiences you have with the technique.

Occupy Your Path

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credit: Robert Linder

Our culture exhausts everything. The word “occupy” is all but used up. The media machine churns everything into banal pap, such that it’s difficult for our society to sustain meaningful conversation for very long. I don’t think it’s an accident. I’m not talking about a conspiracy, just observing that our culture seems set on a pattern of keeping us numb, feckless, and disconnected. The pervasive mood is one of ennui.

Nonetheless, ever since Tammy at Serene One posted the article containing the suggestion to “occupy yourself” I have been pondering what that might look like. I agree that on one level this is about presence and conscious embodiment, about cultivating intimacy with one’s thoughts, feelings, and sensations. But to what end? Without some sort of movement or action the intensification of self-awareness strikes me as nothing more than narcissism.

The article does suggest action: Sharpening our awareness should lead to a realignment towards positivity. I want to explore that further. I also want to link this back to the Occupy movement, because I think it’s important. We are souls making our way through a wabi sabi world, and spirituality is ultimately irrelevant if it does not address that untidy passage.

We can only consciously choose our path if we are aware of our location. Practices that help us get our bearings are vital. But having achieved a degree of clarity, how do we choose the way forward? I think we have to set our sights as high as possible. If not, we’ve already limited ourselves. I spent many years working in the environmental movement and I found it utterly demoralizing. What I learned is that when you focus on the problem, it ends up defining your experience. When you channel your energy into resistance, you match the frequency of that which you resist, and on some level you amplify it. You can become stuck in the energy of the hideous, toxic problem, and the despair and grief that surround it.

So I find myself wondering to what extent the Occupy movement has mired itself in the dark energy of injustice, suffering, powerlessness, and lack? A broad movement like Occupy cuts across a whole spectrum of motivations, including rage, victimhood, retribution, and despair. My hope is that the dark energy is offset by enough light to enable something constructive to emerge. I am no Pollyanna, but I have learned that it’s crucial to hold a positive, generative vision of what might be. In our own lives as well as in the world, the most powerful choices involve setting out in the direction of love and light; consciously occupying the path of our highest good.

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