Author: krinvan

Krin Van Tatenhove is a writer, visual artist, and spiritual adventurer. His 40 years of professional writing experience have led to countless articles and 17 books. You can freely download most of his work—including art collaborations—by visiting krinvan.com. Currently, he is the fiction editor at Story Sanctum publishing. He is married, has four children, and lives with his wife and disabled adult son in San Antonio, Texas.

High Country Hozho

Flagstaff, Arizona
In beauty, it is restored in beauty. – a Navajo proverb.

Through the diner’s window, I could see Humphrey’s Peak in the distance. Rising to 12,633 feet, it’s the crown of the San Francisco Volcanic Field, some of North America’s most ancient geology. Andrew A. Humphreys was a Civil War General, so I prefer the Hopi title for the mountain, Aaloosaktukwi, meaning “its summit never melts.”

It was now August and the snowpack was thin, clearing passage to the top on a popular trail. I planned to hike there the next morning.

I sipped my coffee and waited for the breakfast burrito recommended on Yelp. The place was popular, with most of the tables filled, a clatter of dishes and conversation. The smell of bacon and biscuits filled the air.

Two months earlier, my wife, Liz, had seen my restlessness and sour mood. She’d endured my complaints about politics, the economy, and the inept administration at the high school where I taught. FUBAR, I muttered too often. I was out of whack, even more so than usual, and a deeper level of angst was seeping into my dreams at night. Finally, my grumbling was too much for Liz.

“Why don’t you use your summer break to get out of here,” she said. “You’ve always wanted to hit the road like the Jacks. What better time to do it?”

By Jacks she meant Kerouac and Reacher, two wanderers—one real, one fictional—that had always intrigued me. Liz knew that I lived vicariously through too many literary characters, reluctant to act on my own desires. She was laying down a gauntlet.

“You wouldn’t mind holding down the fort?” I asked. We’re childless, so that meant caring for our dog and cat.

She smiled and winked. “Mind? I’d be relieved to get rid of your moping for a while.”

We both laughed and I made my decision. With very little foreplaning, I took our old Nissan Sentra and left our home in Fresno, California. Driving isn’t romantic like hitchhiking, or using trains and buses, but I still let the road guide me. No set route, traveling at whim. I’d been to over a dozen states and seen some remarkable things. Now I was heading home.

But I still felt restless and out of balance, not what I expected after my mobile version of a walkabout. I feared this would be my default mood, and the thought of returning to work gave me claustrophobia. Liz deserved more. My students deserved more.

The server, a young Latina with multiple piercings and a bright smile. brought my breakfast and refilled my coffee. My eyes kept returning to the peak, imagining the next day’s trek, when I had that sense that someone was watching me. I turned towards the dining counter, its swivel chairs lined with customers. There was a tall man wearing jeans, boots, and a Carhartt shirt, his long black hair in a ponytail. He looked to be in his mid-20s, certainly Native American, with high cheekbones and large, slightly almond-shaped eyes. He smiled at me as he slipped off his stool and made his way to my table, coffee cup in hand.

“I hope I’m not being rude,” he said, “but I notice how you keep looking to the mountains.”

Conversations with strangers had been some high points of my travels. “You’re not being rude at all. I’m just thinking about my hike up Humphreys tomorrow morning. I’m looking forward to it.”

He nodded. “It’s a great climb. I was up there a couple weeks ago, something I wanted to do before going home. Now I’ve been to the top of all four sacred mountains.”

“Four?”

“Yes. Mount Blanca to the east. Mount Taylor to the south. Mount Hesperus to the north, and these San Francisco Peaks to the west.

He gestured first through the window, then to the empty seat across from me. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all. I’d love the company.”

He settled in and placed his cup on the table.

“My name’s Thomas,” he said, reaching his hand across the table to shake mine.

“Phil,” I responded, returning his strong grip. “You mentioned going home. Where’s that?”

“Shiprock. My family has roots that date back centuries.”

“So, obviously you’re Navajo.”

“Navajo alone,” he said with a wry smile.

“What does that mean?”

 “That both sides of my family have never intermarried with other tribes or races. At least that’s what we claim. It’s a huge point of pride, especially for my mother’s clan. Navajo snobs”

He laughed. “How about you? Where are you from?”

“Fresno, California. I’ve been wandering around the country for a couple months, but I’m heading back. I’m a teacher, so I had a summer break. I’d always imagined taking an unstructured trip.”

He nodded and sipped his coffee. “I’m thinking about teaching, but in a different way. I just graduated from Northern Arizona University with a degree in anthropology. I’d like to be a cultural interpreter, hopefully with the National Park Service.”

“Sounds like a great goal.”

He studied me for a few seconds. “I’m curious. Was all your wandering what you imagined it would be?”

His question felt like a tipping point. How much would I share with a stranger? I decided to let it all out.

“There’s an old saying, ‘wherever you go, there you are.’ I started this trek because I felt unbalanced. I had let so much of the conflict in our country get inside me. I felt powerless and insignificant, despite my wife’s love. I know it sounds self-entered, but it was even hard to sleep at night. I thought that getting away for this time would help clear my head.”

 “But it didn’t?”

“Not really. And now that I’m headed home, I have this depressing feeling that I’ll just pick up where I left off.”

He didn’t say anything. We sat in silence as he turned his eyes to the distant peak. I began to wonder if I’d been too intimate, but I just waited. The breakfast crowd was thinning, with people leaving and cars pulling out of the parking lot.

Finally, he turned his eyes back to me. “Do you know the Navajo word hozho?”

“Vaguely.”

“It’s hard to translate, especially for Western minds. The closest bilagáana words would be balance or harmony. Our right relationship with nature, our community, and our inner selves. You could say it’s the quality that Navajos hold most sacred.”

 I shook my head ruefully. “Harmony is rare in our world. I don’t see it anywhere, and it doesn’t help that I doom scroll too much on the web.”

He chuckled. “I hear you. I can get wrapped up in it also, especially when I return home. There are so many challenges on the reservation and our people have such a painful history in relationship to this country. I have a sister who works as a nurse in one of our medical clinics. She keeps urging me to stay on the res and work to better our conditions, but I don’t think it’s my path. To be honest, I’m searching for a clearer direction.”

I appreciated his candor. “I always encourage my students to find their own calling. The pressure to adopt scripts from our family and society is damn strong.”

He nodded. “That’s another reason I’m going home. To meet with my grandfather. He’s an old sheep farmer but also one of the most respected medicine men on the res. Growing up, whenever he could see I was troubled, he insisted on helping me return to the old ways. Sometimes a sweat, sometimes a sing ceremony, sometimes just a reminder to say my daily prayers.”

“Did it work?”

“Usually,” he said with that wry smile again.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a business card. “Anyway, I need to get on the road. Can I leave this with you?”

He handed it to me. “You probably know this famous prayer, the Blessing Way, but I find it helpful when I’m feeling restless or disturbed. I designed these to share with others I meet. A small piece of my culture.”

The printing on the card was embossed, set against an image of a sunrise. It read, With beauty before me I walk, with beauty behind me I walk, with beauty beneath me I walk, with beauty above me I walk, with beauty all around me I walk.

I’d heard the words before, but not for a long time. “Thank you. I’ll remember these few moments we shared.”

He stood and reached to shake my hand. “So will I. I’ll be thinking about you on the trail tomorrow. You’ll probably be near the summit as I pull into Shiprock.”

Then he nodded and left. Through the window, I saw him get into an older Dodge pickup and merge onto the highway. I smiled and turned my gaze once again to the mountains.

________

I left the trailhead at dawn under a clear blue sky, determined to reach the top and return before the weather changed. Afternoon thunderstorms were always a threat, and I didn’t want to be exposed on the peak.

The trail took me through shimmering aspen groves and meadows laced with lupine and columbine. Butterflies drifted among the flowers like blossoms with wings. The air was redolent with the smell of the soil, the grasses, and the trees, an intoxicating mix. At one switchback, just a few feet from the trail, a partridge eyed me with curiosity.

Mid-morning, I broke from the timber line and climbed the craggy volcanic stones of the final ascent, like mounting the stairs of an ancient temple jumbled by earthquakes. To my right, snow still clung to the slope. Swifts arrowed overhead, trapping alpine insects with precision.

The view from the summit was breathtaking. On the northwestern horizon was the rim of the Grand Canyon, carved over eons of time. To the northeast were the mesas of the Hopis who historically believed this peak is where kachinas live, the blessed bringers of rain.

The wind was brisk, buffeting my face. I’m not sure how long I stood there drinking in the vistas, but slowly, thoughts of returning to the workaday schedule of my life began to crowd my mind, like traffic noise or conversation from a distant room that suddenly got louder. I pushed it away, thinking of my brief encounter with Thomas and the prayer he’d left with me.

I took a deep breath and surveyed the splendid view ahead of me. I turned my head to an equally magnificent panorama behind me. I looked beneath me at the multicolored volcanic stones, remnants of primordial eruptions. Then I lifted my eyes to the blue dome of the sky.

Beauty. All around me. Embracing me and moving through me, dissolving resistance to its presence. Time never really stands still, but it surely felt like it as I stood there for moments, for eternity, with only the wind in my ears and the sound of my own breathing.

When I finally began my descent, it was a pivot beyond words, a personal kenshō, and as I fell into my hiking cadence, I thought of some words from a review of Kerouac’s Dharma Bums: “In the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain.”

I started laughing so hard that some other hikers approaching me on the trail were startled.

“Having a good time?” one of them asked with a bemused smile.

“The time of my life,” I responded.

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Heaven is Now: Adjust Your Vision, Find Balance – Conclusion

If you missed the first parts of this series, you can find them there: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four.

Conclusion

It should be clear now that this series is about experimenting with our sense of time to find more balance. Many of us, me included, can too easily live our days out of whack. Worry, regret, judgments of ourselves or others, and the unwillingness to surrender our illusion of control can get us off track.

Whatever the origin, we can do something about this suffering. We can develop mental tools and disciplines that lead us to more harmony. 

There are stories, especially in Eastern traditions, which feature spiritual masters who attained a final form of nirvana. Think of the myth of Buddha sitting beneath the Bo Tree. Weary of his endless experiments to achieve enlightenment, he sat down and reportedly said, “Let my skin and sinews and bones dry up, together with all the flesh and blood of my body! I welcome it! But I will not move from this spot until I have attained the supreme and final wisdom.” Throughout that night, enshrined in legend, he battled the final illusions that kept him ensnared.

I’m sure such transcendent victories exist. Their ripple effects are undeniable in history. However, in most of our lives the desire (and struggle) to awaken happens in the fray of daily living—while we’re working, caring for our family, or carving out leisure time from our schedules. This is why I resonate with a quote from the Alcoholics Anonymous Big Book: What we have is a daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of our spiritual condition.

Reprieve may sound like a harsh word, meaning the postponement of punishment. But think about it. When our lives are out of balance, it punishes us physically, mentally, and emotionally. A liberating three-dimensional vision of time helps restore balance and release our self-punishment.

Also, the words “our spiritual condition” won’t resonate for some of you. Substitute a word or phrase of your choice. I’ve heard others use “a balanced state of mind,” “emotional equilibrium,” or “my connection to higher self.” Whatever works to bring more balance into your life!

I’m on the email list for Hay House publications, and I receive regular ads about their eBooks for sale. I mean no disrespect to the many authors, but it reminds me of a booklet I cowrote with my friend, Heiwa no Bushi, The Six Medicines of BodhiChristo. The introduction begins with these words.

     A friend and I were recently discussing our favorite inspirational books. He and I are co-explorers, coloring outside the lines of conventional spirituality, testing every truth in the laboratories of our own lives. We had a good belly laugh as we recited the steps, secrets, and keys touted by various writers. So many of these maxims are similar, recycled and refreshed to make them seem trendy.

     In reality, this is age-old wisdom transmitted to us by a myriad of cultures and teachers. The ancient Hebrews called it derek olam, the everlasting way inscribed in our genes since the beginning of time. It is dharma, Tao, the cosmic order, a river wending its way to the ocean and inviting us for a swim.

I hope you know that right now I’m laughing at myself for contributing yet another title to this endless stream of literature. Why do it? Because if there’s a chance that even one person receives some assistance in liberating his/her mind from these posts, it will have been eternally worthwhile.

Please know that I, like you, am a human being in progress. I work every day to get my reprieve, and I assure you, it does get easier!

I close with a string of greetings gleaned from various spiritual traditions around the world. I have used them in many of my books.

Namaste! God bless you! As-salamu alaykum!Mitákuye Oyás’iŋ! May the Force be with you! Keep on truckin’!

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Heaven is Now: Adjust Your Vision, Find Balance – Part Four

If you missed the previous parts of this series, find them here: Part One, Part Two, Part Three.

The Harmony of Action and Surrender

Here are some adages that summarize this chapter.

Know what to pick up and what to put down.
Do your best, release the rest.
Let go and let God.

Sure, you might think, but no matter how true a saying may be, putting it into practice is the challenge! Balancing action and surrender is an artform that is difficult to master. This is especially true in our world that idolizes willful accomplishments. We consider it a high compliment when someone calls us a “person of action.” Our achievements can take many forms. We may know how to see a problem, analyze its component parts, then choose an effective strategy to solve it. We may write to-do lists on a daily basis and summon the energy to accomplish most of them. We may set goals for our fitness, our business, or our relationships, then work tirelessly to achieve them.

All of this is admirable. Most of us have little patience for people who complain about their lot in life but don’t get off the couch to make a change. Hard work isn’t only effective; it’s also its own reward, shaping our characters and providing an example to others.

But inevitably there’s that still point, that boundary that all of us eventually encounter. We come to the end of what we can control through our willfulness, and our continued efforts only create stress and anxiety. At this critical juncture, if we choose to spin our wheels, we squander a precious opportunity for personal growth.

As one who has benefited over time from a Twelve Step perspective, I hear repeated admonitions to practice acceptance. There’s a seminal passage in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous that circulates endlessly through the rooms of recovery.

Acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing or situation—some fact of my life—unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment. Nothing, absolutely nothing, happens in God’s world by mistake… Unless I accept life completely on life’s terms, I cannot be happy. I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in me and my attitudes.

It’s easy to see the appeal here. So many of us wrap our lives around the axle by trying to control things outside our purview. It’s another form of addiction, and it undermines our physical and mental health. Instead, when we turn to transforming ourselves, not the world around us, serenity rises like water from an inner aquifer.

Certainly, there are obvious exclusions to this truth.

  • Times when we witness injustice. To accept those moments as “exactly the way they are supposed to be” means to acquiesce, to allow the oppression to proceed unchecked. Choosing to join the struggle for liberation is a heartfelt expression of our compassion and love. In my book, The Smile on a Dog: Retrieving a Faith that Matters, I examine how to do this without perpetuating the vicious cycle of action/reaction. I suggest going to Chapter Five if you’re interested.
  • Times when we mustered the energy to try one more solution to a problem and by going that extra mile, we were successful. Looking back, we know that exercising a final bit of “control” made all the difference.

Despite these exceptions, there’s eternal wisdom in knowing when to surrender. Here is how writer Nancy Collier puts it.     

Surrender happens when…we know that we cannot think or see our way through where we are…All we know is that we can’t do it this way, the way we’ve been doing it, a moment longer. The moment of surrender itself is easy; it happens when it’s ready. Control falls away and takes us with it. It’s the path to surrender that’s excruciating. But what’s amazing is that when surrender does arrive, it’s accompanied by a great sense of ease, relief, and peace. It’s not like the situation remarkably gets better or easier, but we feel better and more easeful when we know in our bones that we cannot fix or figure it out, when we know that it’s truly not up to us, and we simply can’t. In this moment of surrender or grateful defeat, there’s clarity. And oddly, something deep within us relaxes when we acknowledge that we don’t know how to do it, don’t know the way. More effort, more doing, more thinking, more plans won’t work. We feel an inner softening when we agree to turn it over to anything else, whatever is not us, the unknowable, or perhaps to just the truth of not knowing. From our knees, paradoxically, we feel a remission from the suffering.

Sometimes the courage to let go seems almost superhuman. I have seen this (and experienced it!) when we must allow a self-destructive person in our orbit to make their own decisions without intervening on their behalf. Letting go is a nod to the sovereignty of their choices, and it’s essential for our own mental health.

I vividly remember counseling a woman whose young adult daughter was addicted to drugs. The mother had done everything in her power for her child—arranging counseling and multiple stints in rehab, repeatedly showing her love and support on every level possible. Yet, gripped by the disease of addiction, her daughter continued her descent into self-destruction.

The woman tried attending Nar-Anon meetings, which helped somewhat, but she was still struggling when she came to my office. Here’s a version of the conversation we had that day. For the sake of anonymity, I will call the woman Jan and her daughter, Carrie.

“Krin,” said Jan, “I went to a therapist about this, and she diagnosed me as codependent. She claimed that I’m addicted to someone who is also addicted. She says that the root of my suffering is my need to be needed, my own form of obsession.”

“And you don’t buy that?” I asked.

“Not really,” she said with a tinge of anger. “What parent wouldn’t do anything possible to save their child? Even give their own life! This isn’t an addiction. It’s the natural reaction towards my own flesh and blood. I don’t want to look back someday and feel that I didn’t go the extra mile.”

I knew Jan was speaking her truth. I had observed her in other situations, and I always considered her a balanced person. I also knew that now she was killing herself with worry and that she needed to come to the end of what she could control. I empathized deeply with her, drawing upon a similar experience in my own family.

“I hear you,” I said. “Theories are theories. Even with the best counselors, we have to choose what applies to our own lives. Ultimately, we have to face these challenges in ways that make sense to us. And I agree with you. Sometimes comments from people who have no authentic point of reference can seem glib, even dismissive.”

“Exactly,” she said. “I know they all mean well, especially the folks in Nar-Anon, but they still have this disease model about codependency. I’ve never been obsessed with caregiving or trying to control other people in the past. Not in my extended family, not in my marriage, not with my coworkers. It’s just this situation with Carrie.”

I let some silence permeate our session.

“You know some of my story,” I said. “I confronted the same issue. I can only share what I learned in my own life if you want to hear it.”

“Please,” she said. “It’s why I came to see you.”

I took a moment to find the right words and voice tone. “The hardest thing with surrendering in this situation is accepting that the other person might indeed choose death rather than life. The disease of addiction is powerful. Carrie knows you love her. She’s been in rehab. She knows there are tools she can use to stay clean.”

“True,” said Jan, looking down into her lap.

“So, the stark and difficult truth I had to face—which I believe is the same for you—is that we must be willing to surrender to the knowledge that we ultimately have no power to prevent our loved ones from killing themselves. This is not giving into cold defeat. It’s not a dereliction of our duty. It’s a sober realization of reality, and as much as it stings, it’s truth is unavoidable.”

She looked up at me, then down at her lap again, wringing her hands. I’m sure she had heard similar versions of this from others, but as the saying goes, “we get there when we get there.”

Softly, she began to release a torrent of tears. When her eyes met mine again, she nodded, and in that gesture I heard the full force of the well-known Serenity Prayer: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.”

We don’t have to be in a dire situation to see how we need a balance of both certainty and surrender in our daily lives. Here are some examples.

  • We’re certain of our love for our family, and we also see our need to accept their longstanding character traits without criticism. After all, they put up with us!
  • We vote, even protest, to make our point in the political arena, but we also learn to let go so that we can sleep in peace at night.
  • We do everything we can for our health, and we also realize that the rest is in the hands of our Creator.
  • We plan for our financial future, and we also realize that our world and its finances are unpredictable.

In one of my short stories entitled Path of the Monarch, a man has a reverie in which a butterfly leads him through fantastical landscapes—a meadow, a desert, and finally up a mountain. There, he encounters his doppelganger whom he calls D. Let’s pick up the story at that point.

     I stared at him sitting in the sunlight. I saw the wrinkles that had formed on his forehead. In his eyes—my eyes—I saw a mix of sadness and resignation, and it pierced my heart.

     “You see it, don’t you?”

     I nodded.

     “Will you do something for me?”

     I nodded again.

     “Tell me—tell yourself—those lessons you know are true but seem unwilling to actualize.”

     The words came faster than I expected, as if an inner treasure chest burst open, every phrase springing into the light.

     “Live in the present,” I said. “Focus on the gifts of each day, rather than regrets or fears. Hold my loved ones close. Practice kindness towards everyone. Do the things that bring me joy. Remember that I will die and seize each day with gratitude.”

     D slid down from the rock and started towards me, stopping a few feet away. He started to clap. “Bravo! No more self-help books! No more gurus! But there’s one more thing, grasshopper, one more piece of advice from yourself to you.”

     I felt stumped. No words came to mind.

     “Let go,” he said. “Let go, let go, let go, until it’s as natural as breathing.”

     He placed his hands on my shoulders and moved so close that our noses were nearly touching.

     “Practice with me,” he said. “Each time we breathe out, whisper let go.”

     We tried it, over and over, the two us inhaling, exhaling, and whispering together.

Practice

Take time today to embody the Serenity Prayer in your life. Bring to mind any current challenges that might be causing stress in your life because you can’t predict the outcomes. Then use the prayer’s suggestions by speaking words like this out loud.

1. I affirm that I have done my best today to change these things that are within my power (name them).
2. I see that the following people, events, and circumstances (name them) are beyond my control.
3. I will rest in the wisdom of knowing what I should pick and what I should put down. I will let go of the rest and let the universe have my back.

As you fuse these aspects of action and surrender into this present moment, remember this:

Heaven is here. There is nowhere else.
Heaven is now. There is no other time.

The conclusion of this series will post on June 19.

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Heaven is Now: Adjust Your Vision, Find Balance – Part Three

If you missed the first two parts of this series, find them here: part one, part two.

The Harmony of Certainty and Mystery

Certainty can be a wonderful thing, galvanizing our will and bringing clarity. It can help us make decisions, set appropriate boundaries, and navigate difficult trials in our lives. Certainty can also be destructive, putting horns on our stubbornness, cementing our biases, and closing us off from the beauty of new perspectives.

In contrast, mystery is an admission to ourselves that we don’t have it all figured out. It leaves our spirit wide open to novel discoveries.

There are many ways I could approach the balance of these two, but let’s focus on what we call religion.

As a cleric for over three decades, part of my weekly task was to write and deliver sermons. In the tradition I formerly followed, this meant using Hebrew and Christian scriptures as a springboard. In retrospect, it pains me to see that my default practice was to traffic in certainties. What was my purpose, I reasoned, if I didn’t send people home from Sunday worship with principles for their lives?

Let me be clear. Certain truths from the aforementioned scriptures are eternal and, to me, indispensable for our human journeys. Here are just a few, voiced by prophets, evangelists, and Jesus himself.

  • Do not return evil for evil.
  • Love your neighbor as yourself.
  • Have compassion for all human beings, including the hungry, the naked, the imprisoned, and the stranger.
  • Focus on your own shortcomings rather than those of others.
  • Realize that you can have all the accoutrements of this world, but if you don’t have love, you have missed life’s greatest treasure.
  • Don’t worry, for it can’t add a single meaningful hour to your life.

No matter what you believe about spiritual matters, surely you agree that these guidelines could help all of us fashion a kinder, more inclusive planet. My point, once again, is that certainty can be helpful if it shapes us into mature human beings.

However, staying with this topic of religion, let’s shift to how certainty can also wreak havoc. Here are just a few of the ways.

  • Believing that our version of truth must be adopted by all people for their “salvation.”
  • Clinging to anthropomorphic images of a deity.
  • Citing scripture from our chosen tradition to undergird homophobia, misogyny, or nationalism.
  • Adopting a sense of superiority over others because of our beliefs.

These are toxic fallouts when one’s certitude becomes fossilized into consciousness, unmoving and impermeable.

Mystery, an acknowledgment that there is more out there than we ever imagined, can crack this bias. In one of my former books, Invitation to the Overview, I wrote about an image that still turns my thoughts from certainty to mystery. Here it is.

Among our galaxy’s billions of stars, I know there are other marvels, dramatically evident in Hubble Telescope photos. That unique instrument allows the absorption of light which has traveled for countless light years. In a particular picture, its focus was a tiny spot about the size of a grain of sand held at arm’s length. What did it discover? Not just thousands of previously uncharted stars, but many new galaxies, some of them grander than our own. To coin an old hippie phrase: doesn’t that blow your mind?

In his Stages of Faith: The Psychology of Human Development and the Quest for Meaning, the late James Fowler gave a name to the highest level of spiritual maturation in his theory. He called it Universalizing Faith. This is when we are no longer hemmed in by differences in religious or spiritual beliefs. We learn to see beauty in the images and myths that others hold sacred. We adopt the truths that are helpful for us and leave the rest. We regard all human beings as worthy of compassion and deep understanding. 

Can you imagine a world where this is the norm, supplanting our divisive violence?

In another of my books, The Smile on a Dog: Retrieving a Faith That Matters, I invited people from diverse walks of life to share how their spiritual perspective had evolved over time. One of them is an esteemed colleague named Rebecca Blackwell. I realize this is from a Christian perspective, but I believe the truths are applicable to all of us. Here is what she said (in italics).

For the last 52 years, I’ve been on a journey that took me from the solid ground of Christian Fundamentalism to the misty mountaintops of whatever kind of Christian I am now.

The journey has required that I leave some things behind on the trail. I had to let go of certainty, fear, and shame. As my load lightened, I discovered a deep freedom, a peace that passes all understanding, a closer connection with God/The Sacred and the confidence that nothing can separate me from the love of God that permeates the cosmos.

I took the first step on this journey in 1972 when, at age 18, I walked away from the church I grew up in. I could no longer abide their sexism, patriarchy, narrow-mindedness and fear-based way of life. Since they taught me that they were the One True Church and the God they proclaimed was the One True God, that left me with nowhere to go. So, I did not affiliate with any church.

About ten years into my exodus, I began to notice that even though I had left “church,” I was still praying (though not in a hands-folded, head-bowed kind of way), and I was missing a spiritual community. Could it be that God was bigger than I had been led to believe? I took what felt like a huge risk and began exploring other churches.

The willingness to explore and to say “maybe” to new experiences or ideas, and to trust my instincts and intuition (which I believe are the way Spirit speaks to us), have been key to this journey. I said “maybe” and then “yes” to the Presbyterian Church (USA); I said “maybe” and then “yes” to the Charismatic movement. I said “maybe” and then “yes” to seminary and ordination in the PC(USA); I said “maybe” and then “yes” to yoga, meditation, Reiki and other practices. I said “maybe” and then “yes” to seeing God at work in the deep dimensions of other faiths.

With each exploration that resulted in “yes” (and not all of them did), my heart grew more expansive, my faith more inclusive. So, where am I today? I consider myself a Christian, though I hold few of the traditional doctrines (heaven, hell, penal substitutionary atonement and others are gone), and the doctrines I do hold have been significantly re-shaped. My conviction is that the Mystery at the heart of the universe is infinitely knowable through a variety of means. The Bible (especially the stories of Jesus) is the organizing narrative for wrapping my head and heart around this Mystery, and so I call this Mystery “God” and “Christ.”

Should you be on a spiritual journey of your own, I offer the following aphorisms and suggestions in the hope that they will help you.

  • Faith is a journey, not a trip. There is no precise road map, no timetable, no certain destination…the journey IS the destination.
  • Hold everything lightly.
  • Don’t confuse God with any church or religious institution.
  • Your convictions don’t have to make sense or be logical/systematic to be true. Embracing paradox is the heart of wisdom.
  • Read and study widely…history, spiritual biographies, theology, faith stories, poetry, and great literature.
  • Find some traveling companions, including people of different faiths or no faith at all; people who will talk, walk, think, and sit with you. A good Spiritual Director is an invaluable traveling companion.
  • Trust your inner wisdom, no matter where and how it leads you…it is the voice of the Spirit.

Learning to balance certainty and mystery is not just about spiritual development. It impinges on every aspect of our daily lives. Here are just a few, and I’m sure you could offer others from your life.

  • Learning in our marriages to balance what we know of our spouses with the mystery of who they are becoming.
  • Parenting with a grasp of good child rearing practices, while still respecting that our children have unique destines far outside our imaginations.
  • Being open in our vocations to a balance of training with updated knowledge.

It’s a beautiful thing when you witness someone surrendering to the realization of mystery or uncertainty. Here’s another episode from my long and winding career.

I was teaching a class on parenting using a curriculum I thought was helpful. The participants were a varied group of individuals who shared a desire to raise their children with the best practices available.

Among the attendees was an active-duty Army colonel stationed at a nearby base. He was “squared away” as they say in the military. Everything about him was tightly buttoned, including his opinions about our subject material. He had an answer for every aspect of parenting, citing his success in raising three children who excelled in both academics and sports.

Frankly, I wondered why he was there. Did his ego need to hold court and garner admiration? Then, slowly, I saw the cracks emerge, primarily through comments made by his wife who was also part of the course. She alluded to friction between her husband and their oldest son, a boy who would soon leave the family nest and go off to college. When she spoke, you could see the stiffness in her husband, as if he wanted to silence her but was afraid to make a scene.

In the final session of our time together, we took turns summarizing the high points of what we had learned. I was deeply gratified as I heard each person’s reflections, confident that the study aids and our shared experience would create healthier families.

When it came time for the colonel to share, he was uncharacteristically quiet. Then, unexpectedly, his face began to quiver with emotion.

“I’ve learned…” he tried to speak, emotion overcoming his words. He gathered himself to start over, like a soldier trying to come to attention. “’I’ve learned that you can have all the answers and still not know how to fully love someone.”

At that point, he began to shake as he broke down in tears. It’s hard to describe what happened next. It was as if an inner tension held by our entire group found its release. Numerous people got up to surround the colonel and lovingly placed their hands on his shoulders. I expected him to rebuff their gestures with his usual self-assurance. Instead, he placed his own hands on theirs with gratitude.

In that moment I thought of a beautiful verse from the Christian New Testament. “And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.” (I Corinthians 13:2)

 I’ll never know what ultimately happened to the colonel and his family, especially in parenting his oldest son. But I like to think that his newfound openness and vulnerability birthed a healing season in their relationship.

Practice

Take time today to practice the suggestions in this chapter. Sit and draw to mind some of the truths you hold dear, the lessons you’ve learned that have the weight of certainty. Bring an appreciation for them into the present. Then allow a non-fearful sense of mystery about what you might learn in the future be equally present. Please remember that even though doubt is useful, it is often accompanied by fear. The mystery we are talking about is not a manifestation of doubt. It’s a benign realization that there is more fullness, more joy, more fascination yet to be discovered in your life.

Here are some affirmations you can repeat.

  1. I have learned some beautiful truths from my faith and life experience (name them here).
  2. Alongside these certainties, I celebrate that the universe still has so much to teach me, new knowledge that will enrich my life. This unknown is beckoning me with its warm embrace.

As you fuse these aspects of certainty and mystery into this present moment, remember this:

Heaven is here. There is nowhere else.
Heaven is now. There is no other time.

Part four of this series will post on June 15

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Heaven is Now: Adjust Your Vision, Find Balance – Part Two

If you missed Part One of this series, here is the link.

The Harmony of Appreciation and Anticipation

This early part of the 21st century, like most junctures in human history, showcases the worst of our failures. Nations reverting to xenophobia, scapegoating immigrants. Chasms widening between classes. Wars continuing to rage. Ecosystems groaning under the weight of unsustainable consumption. Despite its tiny duration, the Anthropocene era is exceedingly destructive.

I cannot live without hope. It’s like oxygen for my soul. I maintain that there’s another trend, another golden strand of our evolution, an awareness dawning across our globe. I see people awakening. People recognizing our crucial need to embody love and tolerance. People realizing that our driven consumerism, stoked by discontent and covetousness, is ultimately hollow, even poisonous. May all of us emerge from our societal illusions as soon as possible!

Part of this trend is the popularity of what we call mindfulness, championed by talk show hosts, celebrities, and scores of books. There are even phone apps like Calm that help us reside more fully here and now. It conjures hope that the liberation of our minds will lead to the freedom of our hearts and spirits.

As I’ve stated, I propose some additions to our mindfulness—a fusion of differing realities that impinge on our consciousness daily. Let’s do this first with appreciation (no regrets) and joyful anticipation (no fears).

Appreciation

Of Our Genetic Makeup: An entire industry now exists for the analysis of our DNA. We pay a sum, send in an organic sample, then learn the root percentages of our ancestry. On TV, we hear people sharing the surprises that awaited them: unique forebears, some of them famous; awareness of ethnic mixtures; ties to new tribes and traditions.

Hopefully, this celebration of our roots leads to another gift: accepting and loving the literal shape of who we are.

There’s a tragic truth that permeates human history. We have discriminated against each other based on skin color, height, weight, facial features, and body shapes that pass as beautiful. In some cultures, these notions of physical appearance have taken a bizarre turn.

While on a trip to Belize, I learned of a cruel way that the Mayans shaped the looks of male children destined to be leaders. They placed an apparatus between their eyes to induce them to become crossed, and then affixed slats of wood against their foreheads, gradually tightening the fasteners so that their craniums slanted upward. Why would they cause such pain to an innocent child? Because a slightly cross-eyed man with a sloped skull was their depiction of god-like physical attributes.

The Padaung people of southeast Asia consider long necks among women an attractive trait. Girls as young as age two are fitted with neck rings that artificially stretch the length between the clavicle and the chin. The rings increase with age until a grown woman may have as many as 20 or more. They endure painful chafing their entire lives and cannot remove these coils without the risk of neck collapse. All in the name of beauty!

A more familiar example was foot binding in China, the brutal practice of breaking and tightly binding the feet of young girls to change their shape and size. Feet conformed in this way became “lotus feet,” touted as a mark of feminine beauty, but in reality, a relegation to servitude. It led to great pain, limited motion, and lifelong disabilities. It wasn’t until 1949 that China officially outlawed this savage, sexist practice.

These examples seem extreme, but Western culture promotes its own brand of desirable traits. Publishers plaster their magazines with images of those considered beautiful and desirable, often “photoshopped” to mask any blemishes. Traditionally, these were skinny, almost waif-like icons of femininity. I celebrate that recently we are seeing more “full-bodied” appearances, but the underlying message is often the same. Our culture objectifies others and us, a lack of appreciation and acceptance of our natural physicality.

Beneath this harmful veneer are countless individuals who internalize these notions of beauty. They weigh themselves on this scale and decide they are lacking, leading to self-doubt, even depression.  You can see this clearly in recent statistics. Demand for cosmetic surgery continues to grow in America, with the industry expected to gross 254 billion by 2033.1 Another study shows that between 2000 and 2018, eating disorders doubled worldwide.2 And the lunacy continues. In my hometown of San Antonio, there are billboards along the freeway that promise fuller lips, shapely buttocks, and larger breasts. One of these cosmetic surgeons is known as El Frutero, the Fruit Seller, implying that he can turn women into luscious edibles.

 I’m the father of a disabled adult son. Over the years, his peers have included those with Down Syndrome and other genetic markers giving them physical characteristics far outside our cultural notions of beauty. I’ve had the glorious privilege of involvement with Special Olympics, a celebration of accepting ourselves for who we are. There’s a powerful moment seared in my memory. A young man with cerebral palsy was participating in the 100-meter dash at the state finals in Texas. I was in the stands with hundreds of spectators. The palsied competitor couldn’t actually run, just walk in a jerky manner. He soon fell to last place, moving at one fourth the speed of other competitors. Those of us in the bleachers rose to our feet, cheering him on. You would have thought we were applauding Usain Bolt, and the crescendo of our support as he crossed the finish line is something I will always cherish.

In one of my speaking engagements, I pointed to a large easel draped in white cloth. “In a moment,” I said, “I will unveil the face of the most beautiful woman in the world.” I paused, letting those words sink in. “I mean it. This is not just my opinion, but the result of numerous international polls. So, are you ready? Do you want to see her?” Hundreds of heads nodded in unison, men showing the most eagerness. I walked to the easel and pulled away the cloth with a flourish, revealing the craggy face of Anjezë Gonxhe Bojaxhiu, known to the world as Saint Teresa of Calcutta. A woman who, by any world standard of physical beauty, was not even in the ballpark, but whose inner beauty of spirit shone through her eyes to everyone who knew her.

Imagine if we learned to see others in way that is untainted by the judgements society injects into us. In one of my short stories, The Sanctuary, two of the characters are chatting at a farmer’s market. They discover a common interest in people watching. Let’s eavesdrop on their conversation.

“This may sound strange,” said Dona, “but I’ve been experimenting with my perspective, especially in public places. When I watch, I try to observe how my mind responds. Am I reacting to people as types? You know, cataloguing skin colors, body shapes, clothing choices, tones of voice. Or can I just see each person, really see them? Does that make sense?”
John smiled. “It does. It’s hard, isn’t it, to just be in the moment and let go of the constant chatter and judgements? I remember reading a powerful piece by Krishnamurti to that effect. The line I recall is this, ‘The ability to observe without evaluating is the highest form of intelligence.’”

Try applying this higher intelligence more regularly to others. When you see them, think “What a beautiful human being!” Then practice the same acceptance with yourself if you ever look in the mirror. Appreciate your genetic characteristics! This is your only physical form for this life’s journey. As we learn to love others and ourselves with all of our attributes, especially those the world considers imperfect, we discover a more radiant love!

Appreciation of Our Family Influence. There is nature (our genes) and there is nurture, the influence of family, teachers, and other key people who raise us. Learning to appreciate their effects on us—both positive and negative—is key to developing this third eye that sees a harmonious balance of life’s realities.

If you come from a family that consistently affirmed you, helping you accept your uniqueness and make the most of it, I hope you feel blessed. If, instead, you come from a dysfunctional home, a nuclear system that left you with scars of heart and mind, I understand. Believe me! I know this firsthand, and sometimes it seems near impossible to release our grievances about the past.

Here is where I’m hopeful once again. I sincerely believe that each of us can arrive at inner serenity if we put in the spiritual work. This requires deep forgiveness and acceptance, a state of mind in which we no longer need affirmation from those who should have freely given it to us. It’s the liberation found in the well-known prayer attributed to St. Francis, “O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love.”

Consider the concept of filial piety taught by Confucius in the 5th century B.C. It calls for respecting our ancestors and current family members, beginning with our parents. According to Confucius, this is the mortar that holds societies together. To use another image, it’s the sinews that connect the body of humanity. Without it, there is chaos.

I’m not saying we should submit to unjust authority. There are times when we need to raise our fists in protest. There are times when we need to withdraw from the reach of those who would continue to hurt us, even our family members.

Yet there is still great wisdom in what Confucius taught, echoed in the Jewish commandment, “Love your father and mother, so that it may be well with you, and you may live long on the earth.” When we learn to love our elders, breaking loose of resentments into the pure air of forgiveness and acceptance, our world becomes steadier on its axis. We are then freer to exercise our own uniqueness.

How will we know when we have reached this level of maturity? When our memories of toxic events become healed, no longer releasing radioactivity into our lives. I’ve always loved these words from Lewis B. Smedes, one of the most profound writers on forgiveness.

“Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future.”

I once counseled a man who demonstrated this healing principle in action.

He had every legitimate reason to hate his upbringing. His whole family system was addicted—his father to work, his mother to alcohol, a brother to drugs. With an absent male figure and a female influence that was domineering and unpredictable, he had no port in a storm. He drifted into addiction himself, making one misguided decision after another.

In recovery, his mind began to clear. He learned the concepts of surrender, transparency, forgiveness, and serving others. He began to practice what Twelve Steppers call a “daily inventory,” a growing awareness of the thought patterns that still held him in bondage.

What cropped up repeatedly was the residual pain and anger attached to his family. He knew that without letting go of this turmoil, he couldn’t experience true sobriety. But how was he to do that? People gave him loads of advice and most of it sounded like trite slogans that never penetrated his spirit.

Then he internalized another essential part of appreciation…

Appreciation of Our Suffering and Struggle: Participants in Twelve Step fellowships often hear startling words. Someone says, “My name is ‘so and so’ and I’m a grateful addict/alcoholic.” Then they often share their painful history: blackouts, health problems, jail time, repeated stints in rehab, or the overwhelming despair that led to thoughts of suicide. If they have plumbed the depths of recovery, they also see the suffering they caused for everyone around them—relatives, neighbors, coworkers, even innocent bystanders in the community.

Who would be grateful for a disease that led to these consequences? Answer: someone who realizes a profound and liberating truth: every experience in our lives, no matter how painful, can promote spiritual maturity, even joy, if we learn the lessons offered.

Despite what you may think, this isn’t a rare occurrence. You will find it among people of all races, ages, occupations, and educational levels who have done the work to liberate themselves. Let them bring you hope!

Every one of us can look back and dwell on mistakes we’ve made, loves we’ve lost, or chances we missed. Regret can become a self-defeating trance that traps us in the hamster-wheel repetitions of our minds. Or, we can cling to our blame of family members, friends, or associates who carelessly or intentionally wounded us. We nurse those grudges as if we are watering one of the plants in Little Shop of Horrors.

Instead, if we calmly affirm the lessons we have learned from each and every one of these struggles, our third eye begins to open and gives us clarity.

Thankfully, the man I mentioned broke through to the liberating insights he needed. As he prepared to make amends to those he had harmed through his addiction, he realized that he also needed to forgive himself for the pain he had caused. He connected with the saving power of grace, and he knew that he needed to extend this quality to others who had harmed him. It was far from easy, but over time, he transformed his memories into serenity for the present and hope for the future. He recently said this to me: “It’s amazing. It never thought I would reach this point in my life. I am completely in my own skin. I wouldn’t want to have any other history. I wouldn’t want to be any other place. I wouldn’t want to be any other person.”

Think again of the Tao symbol in which the dark portion contains a point of light, and the light portion contains a point of darkness. This is a perfect depiction of living in a middle path when it comes to our suffering and struggle. In the dark we can discover points of illumination. In the light, we are aware of our own flaws so that we never succumb to arrogance. It’s a beautiful way of being!

Now let’s turn from appreciation to anticipation.

Joyful Anticipation

In a previous book of mine—Consider the Lilies: Five Ways to Stop Worrying and Enjoy the Kingdom of God—I wrote the following.

Our English word “worry” comes from the Old English wyrgan, meaning “to strangle.” How fitting, for this is exactly what worry does to us! It grabs us by the neck and chokes away the vitality from our lives. Worry steals our peace, weakens our potential, and sours our closest relationships. Just when it seems we have pried away its strangling tentacles, it throws out others we never knew were there.

Worry is fear rooted in negative anticipation. Fueled by unhealed moments from our past or the constant barrage of negativity that flows from the world around us, we anticipate, even imagine, the worst. But despite our fight or flight genetics, there’s a more peaceful reality, a pearl of great price imbedded in our innermost nature. It’s the knowledge that we are immersed in a benign Presence that we alternately call God, Higher Power, Spirit, or Tao. Surrendering to this Mystery can fill us with a sense of wellbeing that erases our expectation of calamity.

Unlike the past and its concrete images stored in our memory, the future is yet unexplored. This is why I use the words joyful anticipation.

At this point, some of you may strongly object. Based on your assessment of your past and all the dark cards you think you’ve been dealt, you’re cynical about what lies ahead. Fatalism clouds your vision. There’s no harmony in your perspective, only dread.

I invite you to think in another way. No matter how difficult your past has been, you survived. You grew stronger and hopefully a bit wiser from your experience. Let that realization help you believe that your future, no matter what happens, will work to enrich your life.

Recently, in one of my Twelve Step meetings, I heard a poignant story. A woman chronicled her descent into addiction and alcoholism, her version of a downward spiral that, in one form or another, was common to all of us. When she had lost everything—her children, her job, and most of her health—her family had her committed to a psychiatric institution. She remembered sitting in the back seat of her brother’s car, looking out at the foreboding building through her window, overcome by despair.

Fast forward ten years. The woman embraced the treatment offered to her like a floating mast after a shipwreck. She began to trust others. She began to treat herself with love and grace. She resurrected her lifelong dream of returning to school and pursuing a career in nursing. On a proud day, she received her diploma. Then, after graduation, she worked for a temp company that provided skilled care to a number of hospitals in her hometown.

This brought her, once again, to the parking lot of the very place she had received treatment. She looked out at the buildings that had inspired such dread, now seeing them from a vastly different perspective. She tried to describe something she said was indescribable—the feeling of her new life, a person with purpose, remembering the shell of herself that had been on death’s doorstep that day her brother delivered her. She began to cry, struggling for words, but to each of us who were listening, she couldn’t have been more eloquent. Our tears flowed with hers. Her story was a living parable, a shining example of one of the promises in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous: We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

If you wince at the word God, think of it another way. The Universe has your back. You are not destined for disaster. There is love, grace, and fulfillment in your future, so joyfully anticipate it.

Inspirational writer, Alan Cohen, sums up some of the thoughts in this chapter in his book A Course in Miracles Made Easy: Mastering the Journey from Fear to Love.

The future you expect is a projection of your beliefs about the past…When you change your thoughts about the past, you change your thoughts about the future, and thus you create a better future…If you regard yourself and life through the lens of fear, guilt, and mistrust, you will expect a morbid future. If you regard yourself and life through the lens of love, innocence, and faith, you will expect a bright future.

Practice

Take time today to practice the suggestions in this chapter. Sit for some moments and be grateful for the physical form you’ve been given, the family that birthed you into this world, and every single struggle that has taught you lessons of strength and maturity. Bring this appreciation into the present. Then anticipate that every day from here on forward—no matter what you may face—the Presence upholding you will ultimately guide you, teach you, and bring you peace.

Here are some affirmations you can speak out loud.

  1. I celebrate my physical body exactly as it is, knowing I am created as a one-of-a-kind miracle.
  2. Despite any pain from my past, I choose to affirm the family and ancestral roots that gave birth to my unique existence. I seek to forgive any ills done to me, no matter how difficult they may be.
  3. I affirm that every trial I survived has imparted knowledge and power that I can use to live more fully.
  4. I anticipate the future with joy, knowing that I can never be separated from the loving Presence that surrounds me and upholds me.

            As you fuse these aspects of appreciation and joyful anticipation into this present moment, remember this:

Heaven is here. There is nowhere else.
Heaven is now. There is no other time.

Part Three will post on June 11

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Heaven is Now: Adjust Your Vision, Find Balance – Part One

INTRODUCTION

We’ve all read something that awakened us. It might have been scripture from our faith tradition, a verse from a poem, or a quote from a philosopher. It recently happened to me when I came across these words from A Course in Miracles.

Heaven is here. There is nowhere else.
Heaven is now. There is no other time.

A simple thought, but it caught my breath, opening a window to the mystery of Time.

Most of us see the past, present, and future as a linear continuum. Somewhere on this imagined vector, we spend our brief allotment. Meanwhile, gurus, mentors, and motivational speakers have a clarion prescription. Live in the present! Bathe yourself in the here and now as a portal to liberation! Certainly, this is sage advice. Who will deny that we need to savor each moment?

But what if there’s a more holistic way to experience time, a means of harmony that is far more three-dimensional?

We’re all familiar with the concept of multiverses, especially in the movies. Perhaps we watched Dr. Strange as he flitted between alternate realities building to a climax. Or we tracked Michelle Yeoh in Everything Everywhere All at Once, shifting through parallel versions of herself to thwart an evil foe.

This notion of time isn’t confined to screenwriters. It actually has a long history. It’s called “Eternalism” or “Block Universe Theory.” It maintains that the past, present, and future exist concurrently—a cube of spacetime rather than a linear flow. An encyclopedia explains it this way.

Eternalism is a metaphysical view regarding the nature of time. It posits the equal existence of all times: the past, the present, and the future. Every event, from the big bang to the heat death of the universe, including our births and deaths, is equally real.

I don’t want to debate philosophy or science. I’m not here to champion a new certainty. In my previous life as a cleric, I grew weary of theologizing. So many words yet so little appreciation for mystery! I’m using eternalism as a metaphor to help free our minds and heal our souls. I’m challenging us to experiment with our notions of time, to tweak our consciousness for greater harmony and inner peace.

To use another metaphor, think of the “third eye” from dharmic traditions of the East. Hindus describe it as a mystical way of seeing, symbolically located on our brows. They believe that learning to view life in this third way brings startling clarity. These traditions don’t deny the interplay of opposites—light/dark, male/female, birth/death—they just know that clinging to one side or the other is what causes our suffering. As we begin to see beyond, or between, the dualistic chimeras that dominate our thinking, we get to the heart of life’s essential oneness. This is famously depicted in the yin/yang symbol of Taoism.

In his book The Naked Now: Learning to See as the Mystics See, Richard Rohr maintains that a third way of seeing is hardwired into our brains. He describes it so that westerners can more easily understand.

The idea of the third eye can seem foreign to both our culture and our experience, but in fact you are experiencing an image of the third eye at this very moment. Take a look around you. Even though your own two eyes clearly look at all things from two distinct angles, they connect…and create one image…This fact of physiology offers us a powerful metaphor for what we are talking about. The loss of the ‘third eye’ is at the basis of much of the shortsightedness and religious crises of the Western world… Lacking such wisdom, it is hard for churches, governments, and leaders to move beyond ego, the desire for control, and public posturing. Everything divides into dualistic oppositions like liberal vs. conservative, with vested interests pulling against one another.

Two angles, two opposites, two ways of viewing reality fused into a unified focus. Think of your third eye as a symbol for achieving balance and inner peace. As Rohr reminds us, our world desperately needs more harmony. Politicians snipe at each other from trenches on the partisan battlefield, ignoring their public charge to work together for common good. Religions pitch their versions of ultimate truth, often muddying our global need for tolerance.

Peace on a grander scale will only prevail when unity and love take root in each of us. You can’t legislate these qualities. They must arise from within. Until they do, we will continue the strife that screams from the annals of human history, destroying our planet.

Here’s a homier analogy.

Over the years, I spent many hours counseling couples who were trying to reconcile their parenting styles. I told them of a time when my wife and I lived in a mobile home, a structure without a firm foundation. Our bedroom was on the opposite side of the house from the laundry room. If the clothes in the washer were unevenly packed, the machine began to wobble and thump, jolting the entire structure. “Think of this concept in your marriage,” I said to these parents. “Unless you learn to balance the give and take of your methods, your family will quake with conflict. It begins at the core with concord in your relationship.”

This series is an invitation to balance. It’s a challenge to harmonize three areas of life common to all of us: 1) appreciation and anticipation; 2) knowledge and mystery; 3) action and surrender. I am ultimately filled with hope. I believe it’s possible to live firmly and joyfully in the present while holding a blend of these simultaneous realities in our consciousness.

Jesus said “The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light.” In other words, how we view our lives within the context of time is critical. Our way of seeing will either obscure the true nature of reality, darkening our path, or it will reveal the luminous unity that lies at the heart of the universe, drawing us onward into the light.

Part Two will post on June 6th, 2025

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Under the Bell Jar with Sylvia

But I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure at all. How did I know that someday—at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere—the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn’t descend again? – from “The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath

Throughout my career, I walked with the wounded. I communed with those suffering grief, addiction, disease, and mental illness. I’m certain that my personal struggles, so close to the surface, helped me become what Henri Nouwen called a “wounded healer.” It was a privilege to share sacramental moments with fellow human beings.

There’s an incident seared in my memory. Bob, a member of a church I served, had reached the end of what he could tolerate. He took a pistol, walked out to his driveway around midnight, and shot himself. I lived two blocks away, where I was awoken by my phone jangling. It was a police officer. An ambulance was on its way, he said, but Bob, somehow still conscious, was asking for Pastor Krin to come to his side. I got there quickly, where I kneeled next to him, his head haloed by blood. Under the bell jar, our eyes met. I assured him that both his Creator and I loved him, and that nothing could separate him from that reality. I believed it then; I still do.

Miraculously, he survived without brain damage and went on to heal the underlying depression that drew him into the abyss.

My empathy for those who suffer has never subsided. Recently it extended to Esther Greenwood, the main character of Sylvia Plath’s only novel, The Bell Jar, published just before she committed suicide. Set during a single summer, it’s the story of a young woman’s descent into depression. Beginning with a writer’s internship in New York, she plummets through a series of mental asylums, enduring primitive shock treatments along the way.

The novel had been on my radar for years, one of those “must reads” for students of serious literature. I knew about Sylvia’s tumultuous relationship with poet Ted Hughes. I had read some of her poems which really didn’t speak to me, but this novel was both lyrical and terrifying. I will never forget it.

The bell jar becomes a metaphor, a symbol of the pressures Esther faces to conform to societal norms. The conventional paths of marriage and motherhood, held up as ultimate goals for women, feel like chains to her, stifling her ambitions and suffocating her spirit. She yearns for freedom, for the ability to define her own life, yet every attempt to assert control pushes her further into despair.

Esther speaks of this inner turmoil. “I was supposed to be the author of my own life.” “I wanted to be intelligent and popular.” “I wanted to be a perfect person.” “I always believed that if I did or said the right thing, then everything would turn out all right.” “What is the point of this life if we are not living it to the fullest?”

Increasingly, depression dictates her thoughts. “It was as if I were always wearing a mask.” “I felt like I was drowning.” “The world was a big, dark ball, and I was all alone.” “The only thing I could do was stay quiet and let the shadows take me.” “I wanted to disappear.”

Seen through the bell jar’s distortion, Esther’s urge to vanish means ending her life. She contemplates multiple methods. Jumping off a roof. Drowning in the ocean. Then, in her most dedicated effort, taking an overdose of pills.

That final attempt still chills me. Esther makes her way to the family cellar, then to a dugout tucked in its furthest recess. She crawls inside, pulls some firewood against the entrance, and takes every pill in her bottle.

It’s hard to describe how that affected me. I was right there, sitting next to her in the damp darkness, powerless to banish her despair, bearing witness to a life that mattered as preciously as any of ours.

My colleagues and I call it the “ministry of presence.” Simply being with another person during their trials. Refraining from trite platitudes. Offering only love and grace. Over the years, it led me to sit beneath the bell jar with so many people, enduring their pressures with them, believing that the necessary remedies would emerge but that love and empathy come first.

Admittedly, I took this further than many. I remember being at the bedside of an elderly woman in her final days. She had no family left, and her failing heart would soon stop beating. I had been walking with her through all of this like a surrogate son.

She looked up at me, and in a weak voice said, “Pastor Krin, will you lie down next to me?”

Frankly, I didn’t care what the hospital staff felt. There was enough space next to her frail body, so I stretched out alongside her. She turned, laid her head against my shoulder, and softly fell asleep.

As I looked up at the ceiling of the hospital room, listening to her shallow breathing and the echo of voices in the hallway, something transcendent happened. The distortions of the bell jar completely cleared. There was only the present, the connection of two lives, and the omnipresent love that embraces all of us if we let it.

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Twilight of the Idols

We are all atheists about most of the gods that humanity has ever believed in. Some of us just go one god further. – Richard Dawkins

In an Egyptian crypt, deep underground,
lies a shattered effigy of Osiris,
guardian of the netherworld.
But there’s no one to usher into the afterlife,
and the relentless wind of the Sahara
scours the landscape above, erasing all but time.

From an ancient temple perched above the Aegean,
a towering statue of Poseidon once surveyed
the turquoise waters of his kingdom.
His triton, held by a muscular arm,
summoned magic and power.
But all that remains are weathered columns
and scattered pieces in museums,
while the waves crash below,
grinding the coastline to sand.

On a sun-scoured rock of a Coloradan mesa,
an image of Kokopelli is barely visible,
his back hunched, holding his slender flute.
Once the blesser of crops and human fertility,
his music is muted forever,
and no one dances in the ruins of the Ancient Ones.

A family leads their daughter to the cathedral’s altar
on the day of her first communion.
None of them see that time, coming soon,
when the chalice is shattered,
the bread a fossilized crust.
And twilight slowly dims to black
outside the fractured stained-glass windows.

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The Bucket

Every day the bucket a-go-a well. One day the bottom a-go drop out. – Bob Marley

It was a misty morning on the family farm,
cardinals and wrens calling from the junipers,
my father in his bib overalls,
performing his morning chores
while I milked the goats,
their moist muzzles pressing against my forearms.

“Son, come over here,” Dad called.
He was near the weathered barn,
a tall Dutchman, his hands the size of catcher’s mitts.
When I got to his side
he was standing over a wooden bucket filled with water,
its surface as placid as a cavern pool.

He plunged one arm into the liquid, then removed it.
The water rippled, quickly regaining its stasis.
“If you ever think you’re indispensable,” said Dad,
stick your hand in a bucket of water, then pull it out.
Go ahead, son. Try it.”

I followed his example,
in and out,
the brief interlude returning to stillness.
Dad laughed and ruffled my hair,
his palm nearly engulfing my head.

The other day, I looked at his picture on the mantle,
the one we displayed at his funeral.
He was dressed in his Army uniform,
his eyes already fixed on a distant battlefield.

And for an instant, the water stirred
before settling again,
as if a pebble had been dropped in a midnight lake,
no witnesses but darkness and time.

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Are You Choosing Fear?

Every day the headlines scream. Tariffs, deportations, inflation, layoffs, violence in Europe and the Middle East, political infighting! It’s a litany of doom and conflict, and it’s no wonder that for many people, these are fearful times.

Or maybe your unease is closer to home. A pending medical test. A legal entanglement. A relationship falling apart. Insecurity over your employment and financial status.

Here’s a question that should be central to each of our lives. As challenges arise, both near and far, how do we stay sane?

There’s a profound truth grasped by people from many walks of life, forged in their own crucibles. If their words seem repetitious, let them offset the repeated negativity that barrages us daily.

You hold the key to love and fear
All in your trembling hand
Just one key unlocks them both
It’s there at your command
 – Chester Powers (from lyrics of the Youngbloods song, Get Together

May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears. — Nelson Mandela

If you want to tap into what life has to offer, let love be your primary mode of being, not fear. Fear closes us down and makes us retreat. It locks doors and limits opportunities. Love is about opening to possibilities. Seeing the world with new eyes. It widens our heart and mind. Fear incarcerates, but love liberates. — John Mark Green

There are two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When we are afraid, we pull back from life. When we are in love, we open to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement, and acceptance. – John Lennon

Fear is the darkroom where negatives are developed. – Zig Ziglar

There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves torment. – I John 4:18b

I’m sure you’ll agree. Fear is toxic to our souls, an acid wash on our brains, a slayer of peace and relationships. So how do we learn to gradually banish it from our lives?

Start like this. Look back over the past century and see how many times we have faced uncertainty as a nation. Similarly, in the arc of your personal life, think of the trials you’ve survived, all the turbulent rivers you crossed to stand where you are today.

Does the universe have your back? Is there a force looking out for you? Is there a higher power, a god that is protecting you in ways you can only imagine? You will answer these questions for yourself, but for what it’s worth, let me share a glimpse into my recent struggles.

In the past year, our family has weathered three deaths, two cancer diagnoses, the failing mental capacity of parents, and legal challenges that are still pending. It’s hard for me. I’ve always found it difficult to let go. I’m energetic and I can efficiently tackle any problem, so when events are out of my control, I too often let stress—then fear—invade my spirit.

When this happens, there’s a coping mechanism I use. I recall the darkest hours of my life, those times when my alcoholism led me to contemplate suicide. I think of the path my wife and I have trodden with our intellectually disabled son—the grief at his original diagnosis, then all the effort to secure the services he needs. I remember all the financial rollercoasters we’ve survived.

Yet here I am at this moment. Alive. Housed, fed, supported by the love of my family and friends. Able to pursue my advocations of writing and visual art. In touch with that Force that lives and breathes through all of us—call it what you will—and recognizing that it wants only my wholeness and freedom. Thank you, Spirit, God, Higher Power, Tao. Thank you, Mystery!

As this gratitude infuses my life, I’m determined to decrease the lag time. I don’t want to look back weeks, months, or years from now and realize that I came through this season as a more mature human being. I want to claim RIGHT NOW the truth that this too shall pass. That I am OK and will be OK. That I will evolve and grasp more of the meaning for which I was created.

Whatever you’re going through, my friends, I truly empathize. My prayer is that you won’t deepen your malaise by choosing fear rather than love. So, I close with these words from Lisa Nichols.

“When you can’t control what’s happening, challenge yourself to control the way you respond to what’s happening. That’s where your power lies.”

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