Copyright ©2019 by The Good Elder. All rights reserved.
In a moment of contemplation, I became aware of the tendency that we all have to create or live by stories that we tell ourselves (or that we've been told). In most stories, there is some limitation that we've imposed on (or accepted about) ourselves, a limitation that is usually based in habit or acculturation more than in truth. Similarly, we have created narratives or stories that we imagine that others in our lives live by. Such stories may be familiar and comfortable, but are they true, empowering, or liberating?
Earlier this year, the entertainment world was all abuzz with the series finale of the worldwide smash TV series, "Game of Thrones." Set in a time and place reminiscent of medieval Europe, its primitive gruesomeness was unfamiliar to most in "first world" countries. Today, such primitive experiences have largely been replaced today with modern technological conveniences, with an arguably more refined civility, hygienic and sanitation improvements, and the idealized rule of law. And yet, amid the distant place and time of the setting, people were still able to relate to the humanity of the characters, whether noble or evil, or somewhere in between.
One of the anchor characters of the series was named Jon Snow, played by Kit Harington. Jon Snow's travails through the series were enough to test even the most hardy souls; and yet, at the end, after he makes a fateful decision that could get him killed (for the second time), he manages to survive and live in freedom. Although we were able to relate to Jon Snow through the considerable acting skill of Harington, at the end, it was a story--and fiction at that! Still, the fact that it was a story did not prevent millions of fans from becoming attached to and invested in the show and the character, or feeling a bit of withdrawal after it ended.
Furthermore, the actor himself revealed that he was so invested in the character and the traumatic happenings that his character endured, until he sought counseling to help him integrate his character and his popularity with reality.
As a work of art, the Game of Thrones was a masterpiece, complete with allegories and metaphor that can be mined for lessons for many years to come. And yet, for all of the good we can gather from it, for all of the entertainment that we derived from it, it is, at the end, still a story.
If the truth be told, many of us have our own stories that we follow just as closely, stories in which we are just as invested, stories whose drama and trauma have opened up emotional wounds which have scabbed or scarred over, as we walk through life. Within our own stories, we have created stories about other people in our lives, stories which we have shared, stories in which we have invested ourselves, stories where drama and trauma have captivated us (and sadly for some, entertained us).
As we consider this unsettling notion, I ask today, what is your story, and furthermore, is it true, and does it lead you to eternal life?
In our anchor scripture from Ezekiel chapter 18, Ezekiel is prophesying to people who have bought into a story for generations, a story that was not true, a story that perhaps took the motivation out of countless young lives before they even got going. The story that their potential for success was limited by the transgressions of their forefathers was a crippling story indeed, even though it was inspired by something very real and true (i.e. the 2nd Commandment).
The matter of sin and transgression is, of course, very real, as are their consequences; but no one ever bothered to ask for clarification of a Law that seemed unfair (or for an interpretation that seemed just). Given that all have sinned, what hope would anyone ever have under a strict surface reading and interpretation? And yet, an unconscious inner yearning remained within the people that life was still worth living. Few could put their finger on it, and so there was this conflict between the deep, unconscious knowing, versus the bleak future alluded to by their stories of sin and iniquity being visited on unborn generations.
So tumultuous was this inner struggle that God sent a prophet to clear things up, because people actually came to believe that God's Law was unfair. "How can He expect this from us, when His law dooms us for things we didn't do?" was the unspoken question.
The Word of the LORD through Ezekiel clarified the Law, taking away some of the stigma of sin, particularly those which are honest missteps on this road fraught with trials and tribulations. Generations had invested in a story that ultimately was not true. And, had their not been courage to pose the existential question, or at least an inner yearning to know, who knows how many more generations would have been saddled with baggage from a self-defeating story that turned out to be false?
How often does this happen to us? How addicted are we to our stories? How invested are we in their rightness, afraid to consider that we could be wrong, or at least things could be different than we presently see?
As we learn from Job, sometimes, bad things happen to good people, and not always because of sin. And yet, some of us, so entrenched in our own story of inadequacy or unworthiness, have taken such happenings as evidence that something is intrinsically wrong with us...
With each disappointment or setback, we reinforce our story. When someone else, seemingly unhampered by our hangups, makes positive strides in their life, we envy them, we want what they have, we may be so moved with jealousy that we want them to fall, and sadly, we may even try to tear them down ourselves.
It's a shame to say, but yes, we gossip; in fact, some of us delight in the struggle or downfall of others who we've branded as enemies in our story. We tell ourselves that they're not better than us (and they're not), but our negative actions, fueled by envy, reveal the truth that we think that they're better (or that we're bad); in either case, we keep writing a self-defeating story.
Ironically, so many of the people whom we envy have their own insecurities! No one who's married to their own self-defeating story seems to understand that everyone has their challenges, their struggles, their burdens. Brainwashed by our own story, we judge them and their lack of suffering only by the very little bit that we can see (never minding the multitude that we cannot see). We can get so caught up in our story, and especially with us being the weak, helpless, pitifully damaged one, only to realize in a moment of enlightenment, that it's not real, true, or even important!
This enlightenment usually blossoms over time, and can come in the sublime intimacy of prayer and meditation. But most often, it comes when we hit rock bottom--when we wake up in a hospital bed with an IV drip in our arm, when we stand over a grave stunned and numbed, when we come home with a pink slip to a house full of children with mouths to feed. When life forces us to change and see things from a different perspective, suddenly life (and our story) seems a lot more fluid and malleable--especially when our life and well being depends on it!
No matter how captivating our story may be, it is not the essential what-ness of who we are as a spiritual being. As long as one remains in the flesh, a story can be changed or revised from boredom, uncertainty, guilt, or tragedy into triumph, happiness, and joy! The unending potential that streams into our Being from the other side of the Veil is always waiting to enter our lives, just like light is always ready to enter through a window. But, as long as the blinds are closed and the curtains drawn, no Light can enter.
Certainly, there is something to be said for the historicity of our existence as a person and the happenings of our lives day-to-day. But, even as we remember what clothes we wore, or what places we went to, the people with whom we interacted, what money we spent, or the accomplishments we achieved, we should identify and always remain aware of that part of our Being that is not totally immersed in this world. Bishop William S. Crowdy, who is affectionately known as "the Prophet" taught his followers, "We are in the world, but not of the world." One of his successors, Rabbi Levi S. Plummer taught, "Wear this world as a loose garment."
In short, their exhortations should have alerted us to a greater reality which transcends and yet permeates and influences this reality. There is nothing that we acquire here on this plane that we can take with us.
As long as we keep our blinds closed and curtains drawn, we keep our focus on the small space inside the house. It seems so limited... so dim... everything is so close (there is little space to move around). We find ourselves placing a lot of value on the material things... we seem so big and important in our closed little space. But, when things start to break in the house, when there is sickness in the house, when the house's smallness feels too tight and restricting, when the air become stale and stuffy, and we feel trapped within its confines, all one has to do is pull back the curtains, open the blinds, and let some Light in!
If one is bold enough, one can even open the window, let some air in, or even go out through the door into the unfathomable bigness of the rest of Creation and realize that there is so much more to life that the few trinkets that we've deified in our little ol' story and our little ol' house!
If we're too engrossed in our story, how would we ever muster the courage to ask the terrible question, "Is it true?" "Is this all that there is?" If we're too married to our story, how can we ever be aware of our power to rise above it and to change it?
Certainly, our actions, and the events of life have meaning, but at what level are we operating on? Is it all about acquiring money, wealth, notches on the bedpost, influence or popularity, titles and other acclaim? Are we so petty and our sights set so low that we'll suffice to just have more than someone else (whatever that "more" may be) in order to feel good about ourselves? Or, have we discerned that there are much bigger lessons to learn in this life, and sought to let in as much Light as possible to illuminate every corner of our little house, to see it in all of its innate beauty? Have we resolved to pull back the curtains and open the blinds, keep them open, and let the Light in? ...to banish the darkness inside, to illuminate all of the hidden treasures there?
What is your story? How strongly do you believe it? Is it even true? And, what is the story that we've written for others, especially those with whom we are at odds? Did we leave them space to change and grow? Did we write anything good? Is anything that we wrote true? Does any of it lead you or them to a fulfilling destiny?
It is a tragedy to have invested in a story, a story in which you feel stuck, a story that is filled with drama and trauma, a story in which the bad guys and the evil acts keep draining you of happiness and the will to live; and yet a story that may not even be true (or at the very least can be changed). Have you hopelessly given up your power over your own story? Will you remain stuck in a small little house, in the dark, afraid of what might jump out... and doomed to believe that this is all there is to life?
Or, do you dare to take control of your story, infusing it with as much Light as you can gather, so that you can actively and deliberately write an ending that leads us to fulfillment?
If we dare to take control of our story, then we can sing that song, "Amazing Grace" with new feeling:
Amazing grace! How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost (in my story), but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
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