"There is a grace that responds to intention, that shifts me from ego to presence. All Iād ever had to do was ask. She was with me in the dreamtime." I love that, and feel it. What a fascinating experience of retreat in darkness, Susan. Thank you for sharing the stages you went through, and the learning. The part about being grateful for unanswered prayers made me smile. āØļøš·š
I read this piece and thought, "I am such a Goldilocks". I need a lot of alone time, can't really tolerate being social for long, yet when I think of being in complete darkness alone, I can only imagine being filled with terror the entire time. At 55, I still need a nightlight and my bedroom door open.
So, maybe I only imagine I prefer alone time! After all, I always have my dog. Reading. Friends only a text away. Plants.
Thank you for writing this. It sounds like such profound self connection, where the self also equals all that is.
I am not a retreat person. But a darkness retreat? Uh-uh, no way. I respect you so much for attending one, though. What a fascinating experience.
"Iād dodged a bullet when I gave up being a spiritual teacher and became a high school teacher in the real, physical world." Love that. I bet you were one helluva teacher, too. You made an impact on your students. Of this, I am quite certain. Now, your writings make an impact on us, your lucky readers.
Your experience into darkness, or rather for us, your essay, bring hope. Light and darkness. Both are inevitable, so we might as well embrace both. Right now we are in a period of darkness, Darkness is an incredible teacher indeed - a truth to remember and hang on to.
Thank you for sharing about your experience. Grateful for the wisdom you share.
I know. It doesnāt mean we all will, though, as you know. Or that it will be easy, of course. I think it will be more like when an individual is healing deep trauma. It gets very dark before it gets better and it takes years.
I loved reading this, Susan. Of all the components, this one knocked me back: your therapist telling you to take a break and choose self-kindness. My god. I can be rigid. I set a framework, and tell myself that whatever lesson I'm looking for may not "count" (not to anyone outside, but in giving me the results I seek) if I deviate from the plan. I want freedom. That IS what's kindest. Even though I also find comfort in routine. Thank you for the food for thought. x
Agreed. They took her darkness out of the divine. White washed her. But that didn't change her, only our idea of ourselves. We are finding out now how dark the feminine can be. It's all love in the end.
I breathed in a rebirthing at a Sedona Retreat many years ago. My body remembered every little thing that was never processed. Memories followed. I understood the guy speaking in tongues and began laughing. Big release and yes, a rebirth. Journeying will never get old.
āSpiritual Calgonā¦ā Thatās a good one. It is so wonderful. People donāt understand how much the unwillingness to admit the inevitibility of death costs us.
I have been chanting a lot lately to hone a broader container and hush anger and strife. Qigong healing sounds. My mind turns off completely and there she is.
I've always loved chanting. The easiest way to stop obsessive thinking and drop into presence is through singing. I sing in a Threshold Choir, at bedside for people who are dying, and almost all our songs are chants in three-part harmony. I love our practices best of all. There, we also laugh; another time, it's impossible to obsess. I love my choir so much. It's chanting without any religion except kindness.
This is beautiful, Susan. And your description of that shrill voiceā¦I have had that one in my head a lot lately. Sheās fierce, that one.
I have been feeling the pull of retreat so strongly lately, and this one intrigues me. Living in a shed like Alyce sounds perfect, but days of darkness, going to the womb to allow, to plant, to birth? I feel dry and barren, forgetting how it feels to be fertile and hungry. This gives me a nudge to listen to the pull.
Thank you, Tina. I love that description: āfertile and hungry,ā All Iāve ever needed to do is admit the pull into my awareness. Then I see the right thing for me. I trust that.
Thank you. The darkness is an incredible teacher. I would say she shows up exactly as each of us needs. In that, she is a mother. Courageous? IDK. I've just learned over the years that there is nothing in my own darkness that can hurt me if I'm willing to feel it. And that, whatever it is, I will be lighter without it. The more the joy grows, the more willing I am to allow it to move that other gunk off.
Wowee. Gurl. You know how to rock a retreat. I admire your willingness to do these. I've only been on a couple of retreats, but I don't love being away from home, as you know. Probably a good idea to do another one sometime!
And this: "Iād dodged a bullet when I gave up being a spiritual teacher and became a high school teacher in the real, physical world." Honey, you taught kids. Those kids? Luckiest ones on the planet to have you as their teacher. I can't imagine anything better than being one of you students, especially at a time in life that's super-challenging, often quite painful, and full of raging hormones. They'll never forget you. I know this to be 100% true. And I think you do, too.
Love you, pal. From the bottom of my feet to the top of my head and past the moon and back. xo
Thank you so much, Nan. Yes, those kids were lucky. I was too, to have them in my life. They were my teachers in very meaningful ways. Turns out, I love teenagers, maybe because it was the most difficult time of my life, I have such respect for them. Now, there is no age I would go back to. None. I love being an old crone. I even love looking older. All those predators just donāt see me anymore. The invisibility cloak gives me licence, and a lot of BS I donāt have to track anymore. I go on retreat because every time I shed a layer, the joy gets louder.
I love being older AND looking older. I've come to a place of relative peace and absolute joy. I was a very unhappy teen and if it weren't for some of my teachers, I might not be here. xo
Been a teacher. Not like this, though. Taught children with no mathematical foundations about 'number bases' - I looked out of the window, and saw everyone skipping, complex patterns. So I cleared the classroom, and asked them to skip, while they counted in the number bases I threw at them, live. In two days they all 'got it.'
Then we moved on ...
And I had an evening, last night, with an old soul - or two, maybe more ... It'll take a while to chew the cud (sorry, words fail me. Again!).
That's the best way to teach. I bet they loved you. I saw you teaching Shakespeare, once, I think. You were brilliant. Evenings with old souls feed the flames. I'm glad for you.
Yeah, me too. It was all about seeing, in the end. About not being able to see, and then the inner eye adjusting and taking over. Iām still in it. New waves of gratitude coming in this morning, and tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow, lapping my shores.
Susan, Oh my goodness! I loved this--I'll admit I was greedy for the details of what the retreat was like. You really brought us there. This disapearing of borders "between" light, dark. Self, no self. And how the light flooded through--Whose to say what was dream and what was "real?" I'm so glad you had the twice a day guide to check in with.And the therapist suggesting light a candle or go outside if you need to.(I just went through something similar--just asking not to work so hard in therapy. I was afraid she'd fire me--but it made all the difference.). And then you brought us along as you transitioned into this world and realized the path you were on is the path you are on...or something more rich and right--and emotional...which is so much body, feeling. Thanks Cousin!
Yes, thatās it. āSo much more body.ā Kindness is the most important thing, and kindness to ourselves is the cornerstone of our kindness toward others and the world. Without the guide to check in twice a day, I would really have been adrift in time. My puritan work ethic laughed at āasking not to work so hard in therapyā¦ā Thatās where I got my devotion to discipline, I think. That and being born with an obsessive personality. What writer isnāt a little obsessive? Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrilyā¦ I love you.
A while back I remember a written conversation, I believe on one of your posts, about this dark retreat. Then moments ago I saw this post pop up on my page and I just had to read it.
Yes, sometimes we need to retreat. To come home to the womb of life. The belly of the Sacred She. Cradled in her darkness, as she hums mythic tales. Weaving dream time like a spider into a unified fabric of night and day. Where does one end and the other begin? Then falling into gratitude... for the porosity, for this ongoing remembrance of home, a natural birthright. This is what your post felt like to me.
Thanks for that. And for sharing what came up later. The integration. Of which I'm doing a lot of that lately. Related!
Well done. I've never done a structured retreat but I spent several years living in a shed on the fringes of society. There were wonderful neighbours who dropped in to check on me but mostly I was on my own with the my garden and the animals it attracted. It was peaceful and healing and that allowed me to process who I was --once everything else was stripped away. I learned to forgive and love myself.
I no longer live in isolation. The shed now welcomes another woman who needs time to heal. Although I now live in a comfortable house with all the modern conveniences, I found myself longing to retirn. To sit in front of the wood fire and watch the moon rise over the tree tops. To wake to the sound of birds outside my window. To hear the rain crashing on the tin roof. But now it's time to give someone else that opportunity. As I walked her through the orchard, I said, you will need to pay attention as thr fruit ripens because the birds and possums and bats know too. There's plenty of fruit for all, if you're willing to share. That's another thing I learned - sharing is receiving.
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 whole 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 than 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. Itās amazing how much we donāt understand about our own lives. Too bad others had to frame it like that rather than just letting it be.
"There is a grace that responds to intention, that shifts me from ego to presence. All Iād ever had to do was ask. She was with me in the dreamtime." I love that, and feel it. What a fascinating experience of retreat in darkness, Susan. Thank you for sharing the stages you went through, and the learning. The part about being grateful for unanswered prayers made me smile. āØļøš·š
Thanks Robin. It was an extended journey in the Dreamtime, for sure. We are so much more than we think we are.
I read this piece and thought, "I am such a Goldilocks". I need a lot of alone time, can't really tolerate being social for long, yet when I think of being in complete darkness alone, I can only imagine being filled with terror the entire time. At 55, I still need a nightlight and my bedroom door open.
So, maybe I only imagine I prefer alone time! After all, I always have my dog. Reading. Friends only a text away. Plants.
Thank you for writing this. It sounds like such profound self connection, where the self also equals all that is.
Thanks Maria. I think I am part hermit. They ease you into it and take care of you while youāre in there.
Hi Susan,
I am not a retreat person. But a darkness retreat? Uh-uh, no way. I respect you so much for attending one, though. What a fascinating experience.
"Iād dodged a bullet when I gave up being a spiritual teacher and became a high school teacher in the real, physical world." Love that. I bet you were one helluva teacher, too. You made an impact on your students. Of this, I am quite certain. Now, your writings make an impact on us, your lucky readers.
Your experience into darkness, or rather for us, your essay, bring hope. Light and darkness. Both are inevitable, so we might as well embrace both. Right now we are in a period of darkness, Darkness is an incredible teacher indeed - a truth to remember and hang on to.
Thank you for sharing about your experience. Grateful for the wisdom you share.
I know. It doesnāt mean we all will, though, as you know. Or that it will be easy, of course. I think it will be more like when an individual is healing deep trauma. It gets very dark before it gets better and it takes years.
Such good points. Thank you. We're in it for the long haul.
Thanks Nancy. I really did love my kids, and felt it returned often. What I saw in the darkness is that weāll be okay. Iāll be okay.
So glad that's what you saw. We all want to believe we'll be okay.
I loved reading this, Susan. Of all the components, this one knocked me back: your therapist telling you to take a break and choose self-kindness. My god. I can be rigid. I set a framework, and tell myself that whatever lesson I'm looking for may not "count" (not to anyone outside, but in giving me the results I seek) if I deviate from the plan. I want freedom. That IS what's kindest. Even though I also find comfort in routine. Thank you for the food for thought. x
You are so welcome. Kindness is the medicine. You already are freedom. Thank you so much.
Courageous is what courageous does. Stay with the joy. It's yours.
Yes. Inside, outside. The same. House , no house. The same.
That made me laugh. The joy is so big, it's a miracle.
so you believe in miracles too. :)
I do. I am a miracle. My whole life had been a miracle. Yours, too, I bet.
That brought a chuckle to me face too. Thank you.
Life itself is a miracle. Death ... well ... It's all part of the same thing, no?
Powerful words. Mother is always there. We turned. She is in the darkness. Many forget just how dark the Feminine is meant to be. Thank you. š
Agreed. They took her darkness out of the divine. White washed her. But that didn't change her, only our idea of ourselves. We are finding out now how dark the feminine can be. It's all love in the end.
Who can overstay their welcome in the womb
Right? I bet I was born after my due date, too. Reluctant to begin, with good reason, too.
I breathed in a rebirthing at a Sedona Retreat many years ago. My body remembered every little thing that was never processed. Memories followed. I understood the guy speaking in tongues and began laughing. Big release and yes, a rebirth. Journeying will never get old.
That musical harmony can invoke greater realms. Spiritual Calgon take me away. Sounds wonderful.
āSpiritual Calgonā¦ā Thatās a good one. It is so wonderful. People donāt understand how much the unwillingness to admit the inevitibility of death costs us.
So true. It's magical how powerful breathing is. That's how it was for me, too. Memories followed, but they weren't the point.
I have been chanting a lot lately to hone a broader container and hush anger and strife. Qigong healing sounds. My mind turns off completely and there she is.
I've always loved chanting. The easiest way to stop obsessive thinking and drop into presence is through singing. I sing in a Threshold Choir, at bedside for people who are dying, and almost all our songs are chants in three-part harmony. I love our practices best of all. There, we also laugh; another time, it's impossible to obsess. I love my choir so much. It's chanting without any religion except kindness.
Stunning. Just stunning. š
Thank you so much. I so appreciate you. A beneficial presence for all of us. I'm sending that volcano of gratitude your way.
šā¤ļøš
This is beautiful, Susan. And your description of that shrill voiceā¦I have had that one in my head a lot lately. Sheās fierce, that one.
I have been feeling the pull of retreat so strongly lately, and this one intrigues me. Living in a shed like Alyce sounds perfect, but days of darkness, going to the womb to allow, to plant, to birth? I feel dry and barren, forgetting how it feels to be fertile and hungry. This gives me a nudge to listen to the pull.
Thank you, Tina. I love that description: āfertile and hungry,ā All Iāve ever needed to do is admit the pull into my awareness. Then I see the right thing for me. I trust that.
Phew. This is food for thought / action. You are one courageous person.
Darkness. Who would have thought it?
What a teacher. What an experience.
Thank you. The darkness is an incredible teacher. I would say she shows up exactly as each of us needs. In that, she is a mother. Courageous? IDK. I've just learned over the years that there is nothing in my own darkness that can hurt me if I'm willing to feel it. And that, whatever it is, I will be lighter without it. The more the joy grows, the more willing I am to allow it to move that other gunk off.
Wowee. Gurl. You know how to rock a retreat. I admire your willingness to do these. I've only been on a couple of retreats, but I don't love being away from home, as you know. Probably a good idea to do another one sometime!
And this: "Iād dodged a bullet when I gave up being a spiritual teacher and became a high school teacher in the real, physical world." Honey, you taught kids. Those kids? Luckiest ones on the planet to have you as their teacher. I can't imagine anything better than being one of you students, especially at a time in life that's super-challenging, often quite painful, and full of raging hormones. They'll never forget you. I know this to be 100% true. And I think you do, too.
Love you, pal. From the bottom of my feet to the top of my head and past the moon and back. xo
Thank you so much, Nan. Yes, those kids were lucky. I was too, to have them in my life. They were my teachers in very meaningful ways. Turns out, I love teenagers, maybe because it was the most difficult time of my life, I have such respect for them. Now, there is no age I would go back to. None. I love being an old crone. I even love looking older. All those predators just donāt see me anymore. The invisibility cloak gives me licence, and a lot of BS I donāt have to track anymore. I go on retreat because every time I shed a layer, the joy gets louder.
I love being older AND looking older. I've come to a place of relative peace and absolute joy. I was a very unhappy teen and if it weren't for some of my teachers, I might not be here. xo
I'm so glad you are still here. I can't imagine my life without you.
Thank you, Susan. I am too. I would have missed out on you. xo
Been a teacher. Not like this, though. Taught children with no mathematical foundations about 'number bases' - I looked out of the window, and saw everyone skipping, complex patterns. So I cleared the classroom, and asked them to skip, while they counted in the number bases I threw at them, live. In two days they all 'got it.'
Then we moved on ...
And I had an evening, last night, with an old soul - or two, maybe more ... It'll take a while to chew the cud (sorry, words fail me. Again!).
That's the best way to teach. I bet they loved you. I saw you teaching Shakespeare, once, I think. You were brilliant. Evenings with old souls feed the flames. I'm glad for you.
"Evenings with old souls feed the flames." Accord. I miss them sometimes.
PS. I love the title. "What I saw...
Yeah, me too. It was all about seeing, in the end. About not being able to see, and then the inner eye adjusting and taking over. Iām still in it. New waves of gratitude coming in this morning, and tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow, lapping my shores.
lapping my shoresā¦.!
Susan, Oh my goodness! I loved this--I'll admit I was greedy for the details of what the retreat was like. You really brought us there. This disapearing of borders "between" light, dark. Self, no self. And how the light flooded through--Whose to say what was dream and what was "real?" I'm so glad you had the twice a day guide to check in with.And the therapist suggesting light a candle or go outside if you need to.(I just went through something similar--just asking not to work so hard in therapy. I was afraid she'd fire me--but it made all the difference.). And then you brought us along as you transitioned into this world and realized the path you were on is the path you are on...or something more rich and right--and emotional...which is so much body, feeling. Thanks Cousin!
Yes, thatās it. āSo much more body.ā Kindness is the most important thing, and kindness to ourselves is the cornerstone of our kindness toward others and the world. Without the guide to check in twice a day, I would really have been adrift in time. My puritan work ethic laughed at āasking not to work so hard in therapyā¦ā Thatās where I got my devotion to discipline, I think. That and being born with an obsessive personality. What writer isnāt a little obsessive? Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrilyā¦ I love you.
I love you too.
A while back I remember a written conversation, I believe on one of your posts, about this dark retreat. Then moments ago I saw this post pop up on my page and I just had to read it.
Yes, sometimes we need to retreat. To come home to the womb of life. The belly of the Sacred She. Cradled in her darkness, as she hums mythic tales. Weaving dream time like a spider into a unified fabric of night and day. Where does one end and the other begin? Then falling into gratitude... for the porosity, for this ongoing remembrance of home, a natural birthright. This is what your post felt like to me.
Thanks for that. And for sharing what came up later. The integration. Of which I'm doing a lot of that lately. Related!
What a gorgeous, poetic response. Thatās how it felt to be there, like I was gestating my next incarnation. I love that phrase the sacred she.
Well done. I've never done a structured retreat but I spent several years living in a shed on the fringes of society. There were wonderful neighbours who dropped in to check on me but mostly I was on my own with the my garden and the animals it attracted. It was peaceful and healing and that allowed me to process who I was --once everything else was stripped away. I learned to forgive and love myself.
I no longer live in isolation. The shed now welcomes another woman who needs time to heal. Although I now live in a comfortable house with all the modern conveniences, I found myself longing to retirn. To sit in front of the wood fire and watch the moon rise over the tree tops. To wake to the sound of birds outside my window. To hear the rain crashing on the tin roof. But now it's time to give someone else that opportunity. As I walked her through the orchard, I said, you will need to pay attention as thr fruit ripens because the birds and possums and bats know too. There's plenty of fruit for all, if you're willing to share. That's another thing I learned - sharing is receiving.
Thatās so beautiful. Sounds like Thoreau at Walden Pond. That sharing part is so important. I feel the urge to retreat every few years.
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 whole 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 than 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. Itās amazing how much we donāt understand about our own lives. Too bad others had to frame it like that rather than just letting it be.
I so agree, Susan. I so agree.