|
|
Articles
|
|
IONS
Review #61
Sept. - Nov. 2002
Going
Deeper
|
|
In a recent conversation with IONS'
founder and Apollo 14 Astronaut Edgar Mitchell, I asked why
only certain members of the Apollo teams who made the trip to the Moon
had life-changing experiences. His response is worth noting. He said,
"All of us had some kind of dramatic experience. Some did not speak
about theirs." He went on to explain that those men who were most open
to an epiphany were, like him, in the passenger seats on the way back
from the Moon. Their major work for the mission was complete, and they
had time to allow their minds to relax into a more reflective mode.
The
Cast-Off Skin
Following
Inner Wisdom
Some
folk say that in the beginning, people did not die. Rather
they cast their skins like snakes and crabs, and thus renewed
their youth.
One
day, an old woman noticed that her skin had become wrinkled and
worn. In some places it was discolored, and in others calloused
and hard. What's more, her hair was dull and sparse.
"This will never do," she thought to herself.
"I've been so absorbed in my work, I didn’t realize
what was happening to me." So she stopped what she was
doing and went to a nearby stream to change her skin. She
wriggled and hopped about until the old wrinkled skin was
released and fell to the ground. Then she picked it up and cast
it into the stream, where it floated away. The woman, now
transformed into a beautiful young girl with glowing skin and
shining hair, watched the old skin drift downstream until it was
almost out of sight around a bend. Just as she turned around to
head back to her village, the skin caught on a stick lodged in
the mud near the bank.
When
the woman returned home, her little daughter refused to
recognize her in her new and youthful form. So upset was the
child that she sobbed without ceasing day and night. "Alas,
what am I to do?" cried the woman. "I cannot bear to
see my child so distraught!" She thought and thought, her
daughter's wails ringing in her ears. Finally she made up her
mind. "I must return to the stream to search for my old
skin," she said to herself. So the woman retraced her steps
to the spot where she had cast off her old skin. But her heart
was heavy for she was sure the skin was far downstream by now
and she had little hope of ever finding it. Nevertheless, she
walked along the bank, searching carefully in every eddy. As she
rounded a bend, there she saw the discarded skin stuck on the
stick not far from shore. With a cry of delight, she waded into
the water, carefully detached the old skin from the stick, and
carried it to shore, where she dried it off and then stepped
back into her familiar form. "So," she declared,
"My child will stop crying and be happy once more. Everyone
will recognize me now!"
From
that time people have ceased to cast their skins, and have died
when they grew old.
Excerpt
from Jane Gignoux' book, Some
Folk Say: Stories of Life, Death, and Beyond (Foulketale
Publishing Company, 1998). Adapted from material in The
Mythology of All Races, vol. IX, Oceanic, Roland B.
Dixon. (Boston: Marshall Jones Company, 1916). Reprinted with
permission of Marshall Jones Company.
|
As test pilots, each had been picked to be an astronaut because of
his outstanding ability to stay tightly focused and carry out complex
tasks. Some of the Apollo men also had a natural proclivity to explore
metaphysics (not part of the NASA job description). For a few, that urge
took the form of religious inquiry; for Edgar, it showed up as a
mingling of science and philosophy. The bottom line was, as Mitchell
notes, "We were open to it." Perhaps that is the best clue we have
as to why certain people have life-transforming experiences. They are
already headed in that direction (often unconsciously) and, therefore,
open to perceiving in a totally fresh way.
I happened to be sitting next to a friend recently at the screening
of a documentary about the efforts of women from three different parts
of the world to achieve equity and justice in their communities by
applying newly established statutes to help change deeply rooted
customs. As the film ended and the lights came on I sensed my friend had
been deeply moved. "This is important!" I heard her mutter to
herself. She seemed to be in a daze. A week later, I discovered that she
had sold her apartment, moved to another state, and made a number of
other major changes to her lifestyle. These were what I would call
spiritually healthy choices that she could have made at any time in the
preceding twenty years. Yet something in the film had profoundly touched
her, giving her the resolve to intercede and take action on her own
behalf. As Mitchell would say, "She was open to it."
In my professional work, I have found the use of story to be a highly
successful means of helping people find a way through to their own
openings. I give workshops, for example, drawing on all my early theater
training, not merely to bring stories alive but more importantly to help
others engage with their deeply held (and often unconscious) feelings
and thoughts about life, death, and beyond. Ideally, each participant
will experience some kind of awakening or "aha!" In theater, as in
all other forms of creative expression, the artist’s job is to
transfer some aspect of spirit (the mystery) to others in such a way
that it may be re-experienced and embodied. This transference is rather
like the game my brothers, cousins, and I used to play as children on
winter days when we were in our best Sunday clothes, complete with
leather-soled shoes. We would shuffle around on a thick carpet, not
picking up our feet, and then touch one another's fingers, setting off
an electric spark. This static transfer never failed to produce squeals
of shivery delight. In the sparking game, we were almost always
successful. In art and in life, however, that 'energetic' transfer
is harder to create and direct. But experience shows me that it can
happen.
Grace
or Epiphany?
This is about getting under the surface, isn't it? The remark
emerged unsolicited half-way through an all-day workshop I was giving
two years ago in North Carolina. Without comment, I repeated the words
to the ninety hospice workers present. "This is about getting under
the surface, isn't it?" I could feel the 'energy' in the room
subtly shift.
That subtle shift of awareness, the unexpected resolving of a thorny
problem - the "aha!" whether it is shared by everyone or affects
only one person, never fails to move me deeply. I have come to recognize
its many guises, and treasure its gift whenever and wherever it occurs.
Some call it grace, some speak of an epiphany, while others suggest it
is spirit in action. Similarly, the term 'catharsis' means emotional
release. Occasionally, it has a specific focus. In other instances, it
can be life-transforming. I think of it simply as 'Angel Work.'
I never know when or how this cathartic response may occur. An inmate
in a federal prison, for example, read a simple reincarnation tale from
the Tlingit people of coastal Alaska, reprinted in a magazine from my
book Some Folk Say: Stories of Life, Death, and Beyond. While I did not
witness his moment of transformation, I eventually saw the results.
After several months of correspondence initiated by this inmate (whom I
will call Mat), as well as phone calls from prison officials, I was
invited to conduct a workshop at that prison, and then return two months
later to do further work. When I met Mat and spent time with him alone,
he told me, "As I read your story I could identify with the character,
and I was comforted. It meant reconciliation with my family. I saw the
story as a sign of forgiveness." Mat had made a mistake that landed
him in prison. For him it was a kind of death because he felt cut off
from his primary support system, his family, the people he cared about
most. While his family had promised to stand by him and help him after
his release, Mat had placed himself beyond redemption. The message in
the Tlingit story brought him back to life.
Each individual life is a story—a story that, like all good mystery
tales, often unfolds with unexpected twists and turns. The challenge,
then, is to be present and embrace our unfolding life story, including
the transition we call death. The many day-to-day concerns of life,
however, frequently eclipse the more subtle spiritual issues that call
out to be addressed. And yet, for millennia, people have been asking:
"What is the purpose of life? How can I find meaning? Why death?" A
vast collection of material in all the creative art fields springs from
these and similar questions. Drawing on this tradition, using folktales
and stories from diverse cultures around the world and throughout time
as an entry point, my work helps people begin to address these and other
spiritual concerns. By reflecting on these stories, we uncover their
deeper meanings, thus enabling people to apply this perennial wisdom to
today’s pressing concerns regardless of age, culture, or lifestyle.
During a book reading in a suburban bookstore, a small, rather
forlorn looking older woman sat staring straight ahead, listening to my
reading but not taking part in the conversation that I encouraged.
Suddenly, after I had read the brief Aesop fable, 'The Old
Woodcutter,' I noticed her begin to stir in her seat. Her back
straightened as her eyes sprang to life. "That's what my mother was
trying to tell me before she died! Now I understand!" She was fairly
glowing with a new awareness. I have no idea of that woman's story,
but clearly, in that moment, an important healing had occurred.
Dying
as Healing
What are the conditions for transformation, and how does it occur?
Are there patterns that can be detected and comprehended? My own
conclusion is not scientific, but purely personal. I believe the
life-transforming experience is one in which people are brought back to
'life', reconnected to spirit. This often occurs after some part of
them has 'died,' been cut off, separated - not in the physical
sense, but in a deeper spiritual sense. This can happen to dying people
as well as those who are very much alive. One of my friends, a
distinguished writer and editor, became more and more difficult and
cantankerous in his later years. His last writings were filled with
allusions to his morbid fear of death. His son reported that as his
father lay dying, his entire physical aspect transformed. 'Wonderful,
wonderful,' he murmured over and over as he moved out of this physical
world, approaching the doorway we call death. Not only did the father
appear to be healed in this process, but his witnessing son was deeply
affected as well.
I suspect the angels, as I like to call them, are always doing their
work; it's just that often we are not paying attention.
|
Back to articles
|