SAL: In the Final Analysis ( Emptying Myself Out)
As humans we evoke ideas about how things work in our environment: take water for instance. We name it, generate thoughts about its use and existence, and descriptions of its properties. Yet, to a fish, this is irrelevant. To her, water is experiential and a constant. There is not water as something apart form herself; she breathes it. And so spirit asks of us. The ultimate goal of any spiritual belief system is not the rote learning of its doctrine and following its rules, rather it’s experiential: that we evolve to that place in our consciousness where God is our very breath, undifferentiated from ourselves and others. It exists in the Now.
I found that the left side of my brain was fully engaged in my quest to understand what was happening to me. This helped ground my experiences and keep them from overwhelming me. But, over time, I found it an obstacle; I was pressing to explain everything, including myself. Again and again, I discovered that in trying to dissect something I limited it and hit a wall. Certain physiological things simply aren’t known yet, and although I am a researcher of my own experience, I am not a scientist. With interest, curiosity, and study I can speculate and suggest, but a SAL is by nature experiential, and I sense I am here to express that experience. As Murray Bail, in his novel Eucalyptus, notes:
“Once a given subject is broken down into parts, each one identified, named and placed into groups–the periodic table, strata of minerals, weight divisions of prizefighters — the whole is given limits and becomes acceptable, or digestible, almost. At may well be regarded as residual evidence of the oldest fear, the fear of the infinite. Anything to escape the darkness of the forest.”
Stripped of its dogma, bureaucracy, literalism, and patriarchy all major religions are beautiful metaphors of the Infinite—stories and rituals that give form and meaning to the unexplainable, honor Life, and allow our finite brain to wrap itself around purpose and mystery without limiting it. I was inspired to reinterpret what I learned and compose a spiritual metaphor acceptable to my psyche, a bed on which the Infinite could rest. Because I was initially embarrassed by it all, I tried to explain the metaphor biologically and psychologically to find acceptance of my psychic experiences within our scientifically oriented society and, more importantly, within myself. Although there are physical and psychological changes that come with an awakening, I also know it’s only a hint at what lies in wait in our intent as we loosen our grip on the need to calm our fears by rehashing the past, worrying about the future or defending our experiences. Ego hides out in this incessant, time-oriented thinking hoping to continue its charade that it is our identity. Yet, according to all the great mystical teachings, to live in the present moment is to find the Divine. Notes the 14th century Christian mystic Meister Eckhart, “Time is what keeps the light from reaching us. There is no greater obstacle to God than time.” Rather than the ego-self, our identity resides in the Self of the present moment. That said, most of us find it a challenge.
For a while, towards the end of the SAL process, it was as if I had one remaining hand grasped tightly around a fixed pole, ego holding on for dear life, afraid of where it would be propelled if I lost my grip. I feared that to accept what is (and what I didn’t want) would mean my desires would go by the wayside: seemingly emanating from ego, they would have to be sacrificed. One by one my fingers were pried loose until finally my resistance slackened and a way for acceptance, surrender, and peace was made. Further, my fear was that by releasing my grasp on the reality I knew, I’d be thrown into a whirlwind—a hurricane or tornado—bandied about by overwhelming, perhaps violent, winds of change: I would lose myself and become isolated. I found that as the winds of this battle within subside, the light of love overtakes this shadow of resistance at every level of our being. Just as a crying child surrenders to its hunger as its mother lifts it sweetly to her breast, so too, as we surrender our fear, the Divine lifts us with loving kindness into a nurturing state of pure calm, the eye of the storm. It is only then that we realize that we were holding onto the very “winds” we feared, and by letting go and allowing, we are carried to the place we always desired.
Even though you can lay the groundwork by accepting what is and allowing, letting go is not an act of will—you can’t make it happen. A tipping point is reached and a force of love slowly overtakes you. You come to reside in the peaceful eye of the storm, unshakeable, never again bandied about between the changing winds of duality. In this state of calm and reverence, you are in a perpetual dance with the fullness of Life. As Michael Washburn states in The Ego And The Dynamic Ground:
“Feelings, then, even very strong ones, do not ordinarily affect integrated people in a disruptive manner. Although easily touched, integrated people are rarely shaken, and although deeply moved, they are rarely swept away in emotional outpourings. To the untutored eye, it might even appear as though integrated people are unfeeling or uncaring. Nothing could be further from the truth, however. For if the feelings of integrated people tend not to be loud, that is because they are so deep and true. Of course, in unhappy times integrated people are bound to experience the unhappiness of others. This sensitivity… gives rise to feelings of sadness and even mourning; it does not, however, make integrated people ‘unhappy.’ Integrated people see, and therefore feel, both sides of life. Moreover, we should not forget that the feelings of blessedness and bliss are inherent to integrated existence. These feelings make up the affective ground of integrated existence, over which pass the pangs and pleasures, sufferings and joys of conscience. Although integrated people are keenly sensitive to the suffering of the world, they feel both an exquisite joy in being alive and an inexpressible gratitude for a world that, despite its serious flaws, is ‘perfect.’”
In trying to explain myself or a SAL, I hadn’t fully surrendered to the experience and its mystery. In general, the more we know, the more there is to know; this is the infinite nature of the Cosmic Mind, the nature of God transcendent. Scientific discovery is a testament to creative expression and the evolution of consciousness, and is making great strides in the “biology of spirit.” Yet it is in the face of this continuing mystery that we can let go and embrace reverence. On the mystical journey, we find we have to give up, give out, and give way—to pray the only prayer there is: “Yes!” Surrendering, even amidst fear and imperfection, releases the loving light of Spirit to fully embrace us. We no longer dance around Life, but are joyfully and peacefully engaged in it. To live our life as a prayer is to honor life with our total presence, to be alive in each moment and let things happen effortlessly. We then become a mirror by which others can see themselves whole.
© 2001 * Barbara Atkinson
