A Liminal Space

The place between “here” and “there”

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Honor the space between no longer and not yet.
— Nancy Levin, Author

Living near Lake Ontario, I find myself in awe whenever I look toward its horizon. The vastness of this body of fresh water is impressive.  For persons adventurous enough to sail across this Great Lake, they eventually reach a point where no shoreline remains in their lines of vision. 

Whenever I consider this, I am reminded of a familiar story about an explorer who navigates a ferry across an angry sea.  Huston Smith retells this tale within his book, The World’s Religions

In his retelling, he states that mid-way through the voyage, the captain reaches “an interval in the crossing when the only tangible realities are the water, with its treacherous currents, and the boat, which is stoutly but precariously contending with them.”  

If we imagine ourselves as passengers in the boat, we are left with three tasks according to Smith. The first is to take comfort in the fact that there is an able leader at the helm who has made this trip already and proved himself a worthy commander.

The second is to take shelter in the vehicle of transport, the vessel to which we entrust our lives in the belief that it is seaworthy. The third is to take refuge in the crew who navigates the ship, the team who faithfully safeguards us as we traverse the waters. 

Smith goes on to say, “The shoreline of the world has been left behind.  Until we set foot on the further bank, these are the only things in which we can trust.” 

This story, of course, mirrors those times in the spiritual journey when we encounter something called liminal spaces – moments when we lose sight of what’s ahead or behind us. Those times can be frightening, perhaps exhilarating - but usually necessary.  A liminal space prepares us for stepping into major change.  

I’ve encountered several liminal spaces during my lifetime, several of which I described in my previous post.  I’m sure you’ve experienced your share too. They are periods of waiting, of not knowing, of being unable to return to the point where one began.  

We experience liminal space during the process of a divorce or serious illness.  We encounter it while awaiting the birth or adoption of a child, transitioning to a new career, or moving to an unfamiliar area.  

We certainly face a liminal space when wrestling with grief. And seekers experience this as they deconstruct former beliefs and search for a spiritual home.

One thing is certain, though. Whatever the case may be, we will endure the waiting, but can expect to find ourselves transformed by the time we finally catch sight of the distant shore.

Post Author: Anna Cuyler, Certified Spiritual Director

 

The Gifts of Story

Hidden Spiritual Gems in Our Personal Narratives

I think the people who wade into discomfort and vulnerability and tell the truth about their stories are the real bad asses in this world.
— Brene Brown

A former colleague of mine once said that the most powerful lessons are those that are told through story.   I am convinced she is right.  The most meaningful spiritual gifts for me have surfaced within the everyday events of my life.

Author and spiritual director, Janet Ruffing, says that there is a “continual interplay between ‘what happened’ and ‘what it means’”.  When we hear enough of our own stories, she adds, we reflect on them within our larger, personal narrative. We begin to recognize patterns and perceive direction.   

That’s what often happens to a person who seeks and engages in spiritual guidance. That’s what happens for me when I look back on my life and where I’ve been.

Recalling more than a decade ago, for example, I had pretty much “arrived” in life – career, marriage, children, home, the usual stuff of middle-class America.  My comfort zone was established. I was tucked snuggly within it, and change was not on my agenda.  

But as John Lennon once noted, “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans”.

As with anyone on a typical heroine’s journey, I eventually “left home.”  No, I take that back.  I was thrown unwillingly into turbulent waters without swimming skills or a life raft.  

In my case, “leaving home” entailed a cancer diagnosis.  It meant discovering that my decades-long relationship was unraveling.  It required doling out “tough love” in the face of a family member’s addiction. 

It involved grieving a father who succumbed to heart failure and caring for a mother diagnosed with ALS. To add spice to the mix, work politics had become toxic to this woman. 

That laundry list was what I thought accurately described the problems that had surfaced in my life, the sources of my woundings.  In the heroine’s journey, however, the far-flung traveler eventually discovers her real problem – and the resolution of it ultimately becomes the key to her transformation.  

My true problem was this: I had staked identity in all the wrong places.  I didn’t know who I truly was -- at a spiritual level -- although I thought I did.  The key to my transformation was a slow peeling back of the identity onion that had slowly grown and taken form around me.  

I had to peel it back, layer by layer. I had to willingly toss aside all that I thought to be “me” and the images of self that went with that: esteemed employee, progressive parent, devoted daughter, supportive partner, healthy being, etc., etc.  

I was forced to answer the question: Who was I without these identities? I had to tap into Truth, the internal wisdom that had always been present and available.  This formed the climax in my journey’s narrative.  

Writer and Franciscan friar, Richard Rohr, describes this as “falling through” one’s life situations to discover Real Life, “which is always a much deeper river, hidden beneath the appearances”.  This river, he notes, is what flows beneath everyday events.  Many would term the discovery of this as “finding one’s soul”.  

Rohr notes that the heroine eventually returns to where she started -- and knows the place for the first time. She steps into something called “deep time” – a blending of past, present, and future – and there she finds her True Self. 

As the journey concludes, the heroine doesn’t return empty-handed.  There is an abundance of life energy that she brings back to share, a sacred gift for herself and others.  This giving back idea is what I am committed to at this juncture in my years.

My final thought is this, however: I have come to believe that most of us take several journeys of this kind in a lifetime -- arriving at the end of one, only to realize that we stand at the threshold of another.  

What, dear friends, has been unearthed within your sacred stories?

Post Author: Anna Cuyler, Certified Spiritual Director

Hear the Call. Follow Its Lead.

Embrace the Road Less Traveled.

“If it feels safe, it’s probably the wrong path.”
— Mark Gerzon, Author

A few years ago, during a conversation with a wise spiritual mentor, I shared my struggles with doubt regarding a transition I was about to make.  I asked, “Is this typical of people who feel strongly drawn to move in a specific direction – that they begin to distrust their own discernment?”  

He responded that it was very common and that, in fact, he would be concerned if I didn’t experience some self-questioning along the way.  I was relieved.  He added that, with any call, something is always asked of us, and that may include giving something up.

This can be a fear-producing situation for many people. It was for me. If you are someone shifting to an expanded level of spiritual independence, re-examining what you believe or value, stepping into a role requiring courage or sacrifice, or faced with any other kind of transition in your life, this may be true of you too.

My conversation with the mentor inspired me to dust the cobwebs off a favorite book I hadn’t referenced in almost two decades: Callings: Finding and Following an Authentic Life (Gregg Levoy). I discovered a few highlighted quotes that seemed relevant at this new crossroads. 

This one especially caught my attention, because it reinforced what my mentor had said: “One of the grave difficulties in following a call is that it may feel utterly and hopelessly at odds with whatever we’re trying to conserve, and this is always a moment of crisis, …meaning that a call is asking us to separate from something.” 

What was I trying to conserve?  After some time, I concluded it was my sense of normalcy and emotional safety — the status quo of my life.  

And what was I being asked to relinquish?  What came to mind first were some long held limiting beliefs, my fear of vulnerability, and my occasional doubts about the benevolence of something larger at work in my life.

Levoy states that this moment of crisis naturally brings with it an internal resistance to the change that a transition or calling requires. He reminds us, however, that resistance is a good omen. 

Resistance means that you’re closing in on something important, something essential for your soul’s work in the world, something worth doing or being.

Post Author: Anna Cuyler, Certified Spiritual Director

The Roads to Spiritual Independence

Dissenters, Casuals, Explorers, and Seekers

“Every doorway, every intersection has a story.” (Katherine Dunn, American Novelist)

My previous post provided a definition of spiritual independence, presented some of its challenges, and discussed the fact that people find themselves independent for a variety of reasons.

This time, we’ll focus on additional information, generated by Dr. Linda Mercadante, that will add to our understanding of who this group is. Dr. Mercadante is currently a Distinguished Research Professor, Emerita, at Methodist Theological School in Ohio.

 In her book, Beliefs Without Borders: Inside the Minds of the Spiritual but not Religious (SBNR), Mercadante shared qualitative results from scores of in-depth interviews conducted with “spiritual-but-not-religious” individuals across the United States. The interviewees represented both those within and outside a formal religious tradition.  

 Although the study offers data from over a decade ago (I am not aware of any newer qualitative findings like these), the results help paint a picture of the various ways spiritual independence can manifest. Through her research, Mercadante identified four distinct groups, each with their own characteristics and generational demographics. 

 Dissenters

 First are the Dissenters, people who largely stay away from institutional religion. There are mainly two types: “Protesting” and “Drifted”.

 Protesting Dissenters are those who have been hurt, offended, or angered by an experience or some aspect of organized religion. Theology is often at the root of the dissent. These are frequently people from the Silent or Baby Boom Generations. They are often individuals who were raised in a certain religion but now have specific issues with it.

 The Drifted Dissenters are just what the name suggests. These are people who find themselves drifting away from organized religion and then not going back. No particular issue typically triggers this lack of engagement. Instead, the drifters simply get out of the habit or find no compelling reason to attend anymore. At times, an expressed rejection of a theological position is offered as justification.

 There are also a few in this category who Mercandante described as “Conscientious Objector Dissenters”. They tend to be people who hold a suspicion of religious institutions in general. They may acknowledge that religion is useful for some but that it is not necessary for a person’s spiritual life.

 Casuals

 Then there are those Mercadante dubbed as Casuals. These are people for whom religious or spiritual practices are mainly functional in nature. She found that interviewees from the youngest cohorts often fit this category. A finding that stood out was the low level of interest expressed by nearly half of the Millennials as compared to older age groups for both religious and spiritual alternatives.

 Spirituality for casuals does not serve as a central aspect in their lives. It is ancillary. Casuals may occasionally read related books, seek out a teacher, attend a service, engage in a ritual, etc. but only as need or interest dictates.

 Some she termed Pragmatic Casuals because they did not seem troubled by the theological inconsistencies among the many alternatives with which they engaged. Theirs was mostly “a loose, open kind of thing, used for psychological health and happiness, serving its purpose and then receding into the background.”

 Many who fall into this group have an interface with spirituality that comes from complementary and alternative health practices. The litmus test is usually whether something helps them feel better in some way.

Explorers

 A third group, Explorers, is often confused with the last one (Seekers). They are, however, distinct categories. People in both groups seem to search for transcendent experiences, but Explorers are more “like tourists who enjoy the journey but do not plan to settle anywhere.”

 Mercadante found that a large portion of her Baby Boomer interviewees fit this category. In fact, the Baby Boomer cohort had a higher percentage of Explorers than any other age group. Second to Boomers were Gen Xers. Relatively few were Millennials.

 Explorers are willing to mix and match beliefs, techniques, and spiritual practices that are often quite incongruent. We might consider many of them “hybrid” (or “spiritually fluid”, a term I mentioned in my previous post), as they tend to have a foot in two or more spiritual traditions.

 Of her interviewees, Mercadante found few who took a fully hybrid route – that is, remaining committed to both their native and new spiritual traditions. She stated that while it might be possible to embrace this approach to a certain degree, it could present serious theological dilemmas to those who think about and attempt to participate in their faiths at deep levels.

 Seekers

 Last, we have the Seekers. These are people who are actually looking for a spiritual home. Mercadante found fewer in this category than religious leaders might hope for -- but more than some researchers might predict.

 Seekers were more common among those who had either: 1) had a positive religious experience in their past or 2) desired to finally belong somewhere. There was a fairly high percentage of Seekers within both the Baby Boom and Gen X interview cohorts (25% and 20% respectively).

 People who fit the Seeker category are often looking for credible beliefs. They want a trustworthy group that is a good personal fit. Members of this group often experience, early in their lives, a longing to connect with something transcendent, starting in childhood and continuing thereafter.

 The standards of Seekers tend to be high. As a result, few of Mercadante’s interviewees who fit this category had actually settled anywhere permanently. Using the terminology of certain researchers, she found that many were “seekers” but not “dwellers”.

 This specifically meant that few had either returned to their original traditions or become what Mercadante calls religious “immigrants”. The latter term refers to those who move to a new spiritual tradition and attempt to adjust to a new identity and community. Mercadante found very few “immigrants” among any of the generational groups.

 For Seekers who had become “immigrants”, their new tradition was often very different from their original affiliation, if they had one. They frequently found themselves as newcomers attempting to adapt to the new environment but who did not feel completely at home in it.

 Many still saw themselves primarily as spiritual-but-not-religious, even when they were regarded as full members in their new settings. Due to the long-standing tendency toward non-affiliation, they seemed quite hesitant to fully commit.

 The source of their discomfort was often theological. Certain belief assumptions were often made by the new spiritual or religious group that these “immigrants” found challenging to fully embrace. Mercadante concluded that there may be something inherent within the SBNR designation that makes full integration especially difficult.

 She stated that adopting a new religion requires commitment, constancy, and group loyalty. These often conflict with the values common to the spiritual but not religious -- independence, freedom, non-dogmatism, and an open and questing attitude.

 Why Does Any of This Matter?

 It matters because what I’ve presented here shows that there is no single way to be spiritually independent.

It matters because, for those sincerely interested in crafting an authentic spiritual life, independence can often be both freeing – and a lonely road.

It matters because appropriate supports will depend on how independence plays out for any given person (i.e., what “type” they seem to be).

As we continue this exploration, my intention for An Uncharted Path is to serve as a kind of companion, offering encouragement and guidance as you independently (or perhaps interdependently) search to construct meaning in your lives and connect to “something larger”. 

That is our birthright as human beings.

 

Post Author: Anna Cuyler, Certified Spiritual Director

  

 

 

 

 

Three Questions

Reflections in the light of suffering

Do not lose yourself in the past. Do not lose yourself in the future. Do not get caught in your anger, worries, or fears. Come back to the present moment, and touch life deeply. This is mindfulness.”
— Thich Nhat Hanh


As I bear witness to the turmoil of current global and national events, a recent group spiritual guidance session comes to mind. During this gathering, we discussed the final chapter of a book, by Rabbi Rami Shapiro, titled Perennial Wisdom for the Spiritually Independent.  This particular chapter focused on the “why” of suffering.  

Our group members seemed to agree that sometimes there is a clear cause-and-effect to these situations.  We are able to trace a sequence of events or circumstances to discover the root or roots of the suffering.  In other instances, a clear reason doesn’t appear to exist.  In this case, Shapiro offers the only answer available to our question of why. It is simply: “Because.”

Regardless of whether we can substantiate a reason, three questions can be asked and applied to our own personal suffering and challenges.  They can also be applied to suffering and challenges faced by the broader collective.

What? 

The first question is: “What?”  What is actually happening? What are the facts? What are the immediate consequences or impact of the situation? Although “facts” are often subjective, we can choose to face what we know, to the best of our ability, in the cold light of day.  Several possibilities exist in response to what we find.  Our reaction may be to deny, blame, or perceive ourselves as victims.  As people committed to a spiritual path, however, we attempt to move past those initial responses to eventually accept what is

So What?

Acceptance does not mean resignation in this instance.  Acceptance, ideally, leads to the second question: “So what?”  This is the meaning-making phase of the healing that is possible if we are open to it.  What were the significant lessons? Who were the people who became our teachers? What were the circumstances that moved us to another place on our spiritual journey?  Finding acceptance, and then making meaning of the suffering or challenge, often requires a substantial amount of time and distance from the situation.  Self-compassion is important here. 

Now What?

The final question left to us in the face of suffering or challenge is: “Now what?” What action(s) do I need to take?  What personal qualities are in need of development? What remains to be healed? What am I now being called to do in my life? The best that we can offer in response to this question (as well as the previous ones) requires a degree of spiritual discernment.  

 Answering these questions brings an opportunity to open ourselves to guidance from an Inner Voice.  We bring these questions into the stillness of our spiritual practices.  We use deep listening to become aware of the answers that inevitably arise within us.  We may decide that we need to revisit these questions more than once.  

 As you face various types of suffering or challenges, consider that spiritual guidance could offer you the time and space to internally address any or all of these questions. It could provide a container of sorts in which to wrestle with your answers.  With time, patience, and self-compassion, your guide may gently lead you to uncover the invitation from Life that lies buried within a difficult situation.  

Regardless of how you choose to address your personal circumstances, may you ultimately discover the truth in this quote by Thich Nhat Hanh: “Most people are afraid of suffering. But suffering is a kind of mud to help the lotus flower of happiness grow. 


There can be no lotus flower without the mud.
— Thich Nhat Hanh

 

The Power of Practice, Part 2

At the end of my previous post, I talked about the power of spiritual practice to transform.   This time, I’ll make it more personal, so that I can provide a concrete example for you. 

 I’ll begin what I’m about to share with two words…

 40 days.  

That’s how long it took for me to learn how to be mindful, to meditate… to take a pause, as some refer to it.  I had tried on my own, many times, over many years – by sitting, willing my mind to “go blank”. But inevitably, I rarely made it through five minutes. 

 

Along the shoreline of Lake Ontario

Along the shoreline of Lake Ontario

The Power of Practice, Part 1

I have always been drawn to trees.  As a child I climbed them.  I like to draw and paint them.  I have hiked through them more times than I can count.  And I have surrounded myself with them in places I have lived.

So it comes as no surprise that I was attracted to the tree as a metaphor for spiritual practice.  Someone once shared a graphic with me that illustrates this metaphor.  I find it useful in thinking about spiritual practice and in explaining it to others. It comes from a web site called contemplativemind.org.

Since I don’t have the actual graphic to show you, here’s where your visualization skills come in.  Imagine your favorite tree for a minute.  Imagine its largest branches.  In this metaphor, those large branches represent the types of spiritual practices available to us.  There are seven: creative, activist, relational, movement, generative, ritual (or cyclical), and stillness. 

The “Big Woods” near Anna’s home in Upstate New York

The “Big Woods” near Anna’s home in Upstate New York