We Still Belong

Belonging is on my mind a lot these days. I think in part it's because I'm still unemployed. I interview somewhere and they assess whether I'm a good fit for them and I assess whether they're a good fit for me. Thus far nowhere has been a match. It's tough to be rejected so many times, especially when the stakes are so high. The way our society is set up you have to have money to survive. I realize there are workarounds with bartering and such, but my electric company isn't keen on receiving an astrology reading in lieu of payment for my electric bill. So. Gotta have that green.

You know how some people talk about eating rejection for breakfast? Or how some authors kept all their rejections from publishing houses as an "I'll show them" gesture? Yeah, I'm not one of those people. Each rejection stings and with each rejection I take it as a personal affront there's something wrong with me. "What did I say wrong during the interview? What was bad about my résumé or writing sample?" Everything becomes about me and a reflection of how I'm terrible.

An apropos sign. Photo by Amer Mughawish on Unsplash.

This shame-based place culminates in feeling like an outsider because if I'm wrong then someone else is right. There must be a "correct" way to do things, right? Except what keeps knocking around in my head is my post from last week -- how the universe comes to know itself through me. If that's true, can I truly be wrong or right? Can I really be an outsider?

While watching a youtube video of Charles Eisenstein talking about the burning of the Amazon, he said there's a larger intelligence that knows where to put you in its healing. As soon as he said that, my eyes welled up because it reminded me my life is so much bigger than me. Maybe I'm right where I am meant to be, even if that's jobless. And also my placement at a company is not only about my skills and talents, it's also about where I'll be of the most use, the most service, the most healing.

Where I fit, where I belong, is not only where I want to be, what I want to do, it's also about the universe or my higher power. Where does higher power think I should be? Where does the universe think I'll be of most use in coming to know itself and also for its healing? I belong where I am. If I'm here, now, that's where I'm meant to be. It's a hard pill to swallow because sometimes the present moment is painful but that doesn't mean something is out of sync. After all, just think of childbirth.

I wish I could say after writing this post I suddenly feel completely at home and at ease in my self, my body, my life, but I don't. What I can say though is I feel marginally better that's good enough for me.

I dream of a world where we realize we're exactly who we're supposed to be and exactly where we're meant to be. A world where we realize the universe puts us where we'll best aid in its healing and that means even if it doesn't feel like it, we still belong.

Another world is not only possible, it's probable.

The Unfolding of Me (and You)

A friend of mine shared a quote recently that keeps kicking around in my brain. In the book Journey of the Universe, Brian Swimme and Mary Evelyn Pope write:

"[J]ust as the Milky Way is the universe in the form of a galaxy, and an orchid is the universe in the form of a flower, we are the universe in the form of a human. And every time we are drawn to look up into the night sky and reflect on the awesome beauty of the universe, we are actually the universe reflecting on itself. And this changes everything."

We are the universe reflecting on itself. We think we are separate, apart, autonomous beings -- and we are -- but at the same time, we are also the universe. We are the universe in the form of a human. I wrote about that a while ago, the notion that we're all stardust, but my friend takes that concept a bit further. In essence, the tenet of our spiritual practice is that the universe is coming to know itself through us.

I like this picture because it's cosmic and it shows an unfolding process. Photo by Mark Tegethoff on Unsplash

I'm not sure how to expound on that concept. It's not easily explained and instead is more of a feeling or worldview. It's the recognition I am me -- a woman, a writer, etc. -- but I am also more than me. There's a "me" here that will live on after my death. Because I believe in reincarnation that means "I" was once a single-cell organism, then moved up the evolutionary chain to become a plant, then an animal, then a human. As a human, I have made a conscious choice to know the divine, but because I'm already made up of the universe, made up of stardust, that's another way the universe is coming to know itself through me. I am a conduit, a channel, a vessel for the universe to express itself. We are all of us the universe but we're wearing different costumes.

I hear frequently that "the world needs the special gift that only you have," or that we all have our own unique genius. Usually I roll my eyes because it sounds like a trite throwaway, but when I think about the universe knowing itself through me, it takes my ego out of the equation. I'm not sure that makes a lot of sense but in essence I become aware of something bigger than me. My life becomes about more than what I want, what I don't want, what I have, what I don't have. My life becomes a spiritual endeavor where I'm dancing and playing with the universe as a co-conspirator. And eventually that play will lead me back to the source of all creation. In the meantime, the life I'm living is like a rose in bloom. Each petal, each experience unfolds and contributes to the rose in its entirety.

I dream of a world where we realize there's more to us than we're aware. A world where we recognize the universe knows itself through us. That as much as we think we're interacting with the world, it's also that the world is interacting with us. A world where we recognize with each experience we continue to unfold.

Another world is not only possible, it's probable.

Tuning to a Certain Pitch

I've woken up most mornings this week with swollen eyelids. On Friday I received two job rejections. My unemployment money runs out in a couple of months. I mention all this to set the scene -- I'm not feeling all that peaceful, and in fact "anxious" is a better description. Maybe even a little panicked. How is this all going to work out?

When I called a friend and gave him the lowdown, he told me a story about a spiritual master who got caught in a rope while pulling water up from a well. The master stayed stuck for hours until a disciple came by and freed him. The disciple said, "You seemed so relaxed. Were you in pain?" The master replied, "I was in pain, it hurt a lot, but I also felt at peace."

This picture will make more sense once you keep reading. Photo by Providence Doucet on Unsplash

I spent 20 minutes googling that story and can't find it so my telling of it is not very adept. What stuck with me though is the moral of the story: that I can still feel at peace in the pain and in the struggle. What does that even mean? I'm not sure but I think it comes down to acceptance, which leads me to a quote I found while searching for the rope story.

Sufi teacher Hazrat Inayat Khan said, "Tagore says: ‘When the string of the violin was being tuned it felt the pain of being stretched, but once it was tuned then it knew why it was stretched.' So it is with the human soul. While the soul goes through pain, torture, and trouble it thinks it would have been much better if it had gone through life without it. But once it reaches the culmination of it, then, when it looks back, it begins to realize why all this was meant: it was only meant to tune the soul to a certain pitch.”

Before I interviewed for the jobs that ultimately rejected me, I felt peace because I said to myself, "If I'm not employed yet it's because I'm not meant to be. There's more learning or healing or something I need to go through that wouldn't be possible with a job." When I say that even now I feel better. I don't know why I'm struggling so much right now. I don't know why things aren't looking the way I want them to, but what I do know is one day I'll look back and understand everything. I'll see how my soul was being tuned to a certain pitch, but in the meantime, I'm still being stretched.

I dream of a world where we understand even pain has a purpose. A world where we sit with our pain, finding peace where we can. A world where we recognize when we're going through hardship it may be because our soul is tuning to a certain pitch.

Another world is not only possible, it's probable.

The Pairing of Joy and Sorrow

This weekend held a wide range of emotions from the high to the low. On Saturday I went to a bachelorette party for one of my closest friends. We lounged by the pool, chatted, and generally celebrated her impending marriage. It was a joy to spend time with her and other close friends of hers for the sole purpose of having fun. But I had another event this weekend and it was not a bachelorette party.

A family friend of mine passed away a couple of weeks ago and it's sent shockwaves through my community. I say that because no one could have guessed he would have passed away. He was one of the most healthy, vibrant people I knew. When I think of him, I see him with a huge smile on his face, beaming out joy to the world. He was the same age as my parents so his death has me confronting their mortality as well. Layered on top of that, I grew up with his daughters so his death hits me in another way that's hard to express. Sunday was his memorial service and I cried through most of the ceremony.

Seemed appropriate. Photo by Bryan Garces on Unsplash

But here's the interesting part: joy and sorrow get to coexist within me, within us. Even during the memorial service we could hear his grandchildren laughing and playing in the background. It reminded me both emotions can be present. That joy and sorrow can be like the yin yang symbol with a little bit of white in the black and a little bit of black in the white. In my experience life is like that. Attending a wedding can bring up grief about being single. A funeral can bring not joy, but appreciation at reconnecting with friends, even if the circumstances are sad. This weekend was a study in that for me -- pairing joy with sorrow.

Two years ago I wrote a poem about a similar experience following the death of a coworker called "Big Enough for Both:"

Big enough for both
Grief and celebration
A funeral and a wedding
Loss and gain
Hurting and healing
All at once
Altogether
Everything
Everything
Everything

That's what life is like for me right now, maybe for all of us. It's heartbreaking and heart-gladdening. It's happy and sad. It's frustrating and peaceful. It's everything all at once. I want to parse things out and say, "Now is a happy time and now is a sad time," but my life isn't like that. It's messy and chaotic and unpredictable. As I contemplate how to end this post, I can see my friend with a big smile on his face saying, "Don't worry, it's fine," as in, I don't have to make sense of it all, I don't have to try to change life or circumstances. I can be here, in the moment, accepting everything.

I dream of a world where we understand life is messy, chaotic, and unpredictable -- not only in terms of circumstances but also in emotions. A world where we realize the yin yang is an excellent portrayal of our experiences. A world where we understand that oftentimes joy is paired with sorrow and vice versa.

Another world is not only possible, it's probable.