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IONS Review #61
Sept. - Nov. 2002

Going Deeper

By Jane Hughes Gignoux

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.



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