Light in the darkness. I love this, Susan. The first serious meditation retreat I ever did was in Upstate New York in early May. The while weekend had been chilly and dreary. We met in a room where all the windows were covered with blackout shades. We would have a short session about the process and ever-lengthening periods to meditate.
At our longest meditation, around an hour, as I recall, I had my eyes closed as usual, but behind my lids I experienced a light so pure and bright I felt like I needed sunglasses. Thinking perhaps it had cleared up outside and someone had pulled open a curtain, I opened my eyes for an instant--no, the space was still gloomy and gray. Closing my eyes brought me right back into that glow brighter that the sunniest day--it felt heavenly.
I reported out about my experience afterwards, thinking perhaps everyone had experienced something like it. Our teacher called it "beginners luck." Other, more practiced meditators warned I might spend the rest of my life trying to get there again.
And it's true. I've had other experiences in meditation but none so revelatory since.
It reminds me of your describing light in the darkness here--and so much more. Beautiful revelations all. Thank you for sharing them with us!
It does sound the same. It’s amazing how much we don’t understand about our own lives. Too bad others had to frame it like that rather than just letting it be.
I wish everyone understood how important it is to have experiences like this. I wish I'd known long ago. Your tireless work into the fear of death (and how it's created such a screwed-up patriarchal world where men and women suffer) is so valuable. It's amazing to read about the darkness cave. I'd love to do it. I guess I'm waiting till we can make it out West.
Susan, I appreciate so much your sharing of this walk into the darkness, into yourself, into the womb. The more you write about yourself, the more connected I feel our experiences are. That punishing internal voice instilled through a childhood of violence, intermittently hushed through therapy, analysis, retreats, spiritual paths, but never completely silenced. And so the only choice remaining to transform into kindness and love. To access the divine feminine that lives within. To bring it into the world to bring down the patriarchy that thrives on our listening to those voices.
You are an inspiration…your volcanoes of gratitude are contagious.
Susan, when I read the passage where your guide invited you to let the darkness pass through the barrier, I felt the offering inside it immediately. I heard: stay with this, you do not need to run now.
My own healing came through a similar movement, though in another form. I turned toward the hurt inner child, toward the pain and distress that had been avoided for years. I stayed present long enough for trust to grow. Then what had been buried began to speak through feeling, memory, and unmet needs.
What moved me in your essay was recognizing that same medicine in a different language. Sometimes healing begins when we stop fleeing what hurts and gently remain with it.
Thank you for sharing such an honest and powerful account. It stirred deep recognition in me.
Dearest Susan, I absolutely needed to read this today. You are a wise, beautiful, open-hearted mirror and so much more. The mind-imposed rules have hung heavy on me as of late, mostly about blame. So much, I feel a constipating loop that I have not felt in a long time or maybe ever. Or maybe more conscious than ever — a decision needs to be made. I don't know how to do it. It's about Abby's current medical needs, losing her vision, needing surgery... all of it, blaming myself. Your essay has given me the courage to write about it. It's tricky as she does not want me to write about her, yet it is my lived experience as well, how to honor both?
I am planning a jungle dieta for myself, it is half-time darkness. I love it more than anything in the world, how the dark swallows us in the fertile womb of the mother, where only love survives. And I don't want to move away from what I am feeling here.
Yes, this we can afford, we must avail ourselves, welcome all to be felt, and allow the divine to lead — as you note she has been and will, the intention is strong, the house of cards is crumbling, with it is heat, hurt, pain, sorrow, grief. We are not motherless and never were.
I am so happy you have your husband (who could be a wife—a person) to hold you, to lean on.
Currently, I am surrounded by my girls and people who care for them. It can be all-consuming, and I am incredibly lucky to have my oldest daughter here — slowly and together we are building community here.
I resonate with the line to your son on the times you needed to leave to care for yourself. Of course you did. Of course, I do.
Beautifully written. You have rekindled this smoky flame — refusing to ash.
I love you dearly and appreciate this deep resonance.
Dear Sister. Who gets me better than you? Your response made me tear up. I feel your contractions, and understand how painful. I know that you know, and yet I will still say this. When you ask, you will be shown. What to do will become clear. Resist action until you are clear. The jungle dieta is a powerful connection to her. Let me know if I can help or hold space for your feelings. I love you and the girls.
Light in the darkness. I love this, Susan. The first serious meditation retreat I ever did was in Upstate New York in early May. The while weekend had been chilly and dreary. We met in a room where all the windows were covered with blackout shades. We would have a short session about the process and ever-lengthening periods to meditate.
At our longest meditation, around an hour, as I recall, I had my eyes closed as usual, but behind my lids I experienced a light so pure and bright I felt like I needed sunglasses. Thinking perhaps it had cleared up outside and someone had pulled open a curtain, I opened my eyes for an instant--no, the space was still gloomy and gray. Closing my eyes brought me right back into that glow brighter that the sunniest day--it felt heavenly.
I reported out about my experience afterwards, thinking perhaps everyone had experienced something like it. Our teacher called it "beginners luck." Other, more practiced meditators warned I might spend the rest of my life trying to get there again.
And it's true. I've had other experiences in meditation but none so revelatory since.
It reminds me of your describing light in the darkness here--and so much more. Beautiful revelations all. Thank you for sharing them with us!
It does sound the same. It’s amazing how much we don’t understand about our own lives. Too bad others had to frame it like that rather than just letting it be.
I wish everyone understood how important it is to have experiences like this. I wish I'd known long ago. Your tireless work into the fear of death (and how it's created such a screwed-up patriarchal world where men and women suffer) is so valuable. It's amazing to read about the darkness cave. I'd love to do it. I guess I'm waiting till we can make it out West.
And we in the west are waiting for you. Honestly, nothing interests me more than the great insides.
Susan, I appreciate so much your sharing of this walk into the darkness, into yourself, into the womb. The more you write about yourself, the more connected I feel our experiences are. That punishing internal voice instilled through a childhood of violence, intermittently hushed through therapy, analysis, retreats, spiritual paths, but never completely silenced. And so the only choice remaining to transform into kindness and love. To access the divine feminine that lives within. To bring it into the world to bring down the patriarchy that thrives on our listening to those voices.
You are an inspiration…your volcanoes of gratitude are contagious.
Thank you so much. Turns out, the project isn’t about getting rid of anything. It’s about kindness, as you say.
Susan, when I read the passage where your guide invited you to let the darkness pass through the barrier, I felt the offering inside it immediately. I heard: stay with this, you do not need to run now.
My own healing came through a similar movement, though in another form. I turned toward the hurt inner child, toward the pain and distress that had been avoided for years. I stayed present long enough for trust to grow. Then what had been buried began to speak through feeling, memory, and unmet needs.
What moved me in your essay was recognizing that same medicine in a different language. Sometimes healing begins when we stop fleeing what hurts and gently remain with it.
Thank you for sharing such an honest and powerful account. It stirred deep recognition in me.
Thank you Jay. I felt total recognition in this response. My body responded. My eyes felt it.
So glad, Susan, you received it with recognition, I thought you might.
Dearest Susan, I absolutely needed to read this today. You are a wise, beautiful, open-hearted mirror and so much more. The mind-imposed rules have hung heavy on me as of late, mostly about blame. So much, I feel a constipating loop that I have not felt in a long time or maybe ever. Or maybe more conscious than ever — a decision needs to be made. I don't know how to do it. It's about Abby's current medical needs, losing her vision, needing surgery... all of it, blaming myself. Your essay has given me the courage to write about it. It's tricky as she does not want me to write about her, yet it is my lived experience as well, how to honor both?
I am planning a jungle dieta for myself, it is half-time darkness. I love it more than anything in the world, how the dark swallows us in the fertile womb of the mother, where only love survives. And I don't want to move away from what I am feeling here.
Yes, this we can afford, we must avail ourselves, welcome all to be felt, and allow the divine to lead — as you note she has been and will, the intention is strong, the house of cards is crumbling, with it is heat, hurt, pain, sorrow, grief. We are not motherless and never were.
I am so happy you have your husband (who could be a wife—a person) to hold you, to lean on.
Currently, I am surrounded by my girls and people who care for them. It can be all-consuming, and I am incredibly lucky to have my oldest daughter here — slowly and together we are building community here.
I resonate with the line to your son on the times you needed to leave to care for yourself. Of course you did. Of course, I do.
Beautifully written. You have rekindled this smoky flame — refusing to ash.
I love you dearly and appreciate this deep resonance.
Dear Sister. Who gets me better than you? Your response made me tear up. I feel your contractions, and understand how painful. I know that you know, and yet I will still say this. When you ask, you will be shown. What to do will become clear. Resist action until you are clear. The jungle dieta is a powerful connection to her. Let me know if I can help or hold space for your feelings. I love you and the girls.
You are so brave to face the real over and over and to let if flow through you and be you.
Thanks Charlotte. Every time I do, the reward outweighs the resistance.