It isn’t Christmas. It hasn’t even been Thanksgiving yet, but I turned the lights on this morning. They were caked in sticky snow and looked like a Christmas card anyway, so I let them shine. Breakfast conversation turned to seasons, and my all wise son said it wasn’t actually winter… it’s still fall with just a little winter mixed in. He used his hands, intertwining to ensure I understood the concept. It is simple when you are eight. The calendar clearly says October. A month belonging to Autumn, not winter, therefore, the winter weather is out of place. Temporal reality and ultimate reality don’t match. Default to ultimate reality.
Things don’t seem so cut and dried with soul seasons. Most of the time it feels like there is no base line, let alone a default setting. There is only what I see and feel in this moment. I feel the need to turn on the lights and think the happy thoughts because the cold and snow that just blew in on last night’s wind has harshly hidden that which evidenced summer had preceded autumn, and in it, I was well. I suppose my neighbours may not catch the joy I felt turning on those lights… the decision to see the humour in our crazy climate. The rushing of the seasons the celebratory humans placed “in the bleak midwinter…” I find it interesting that there were celebrations at that time long before it was christianized. Humans need hope… we need things to cycle, dark days need to have something call an end to them. In the Chronicles of Narnia, the coming of Christmas signalled the beginning of the melt. Hope is part of the human story.
In a world that measures value in cost of replacement, and so often negates intrinsic worth or sentimental attachment, how do we measure how much of ourselves we can lose and still remain intact? Experience has been given permission to dictate identity in our western culture. That which really has no power has been given all the power. It fuels our indignant and self righteous responses, our victimhood, perpetuates racism and social inequality, religious division, and has trained us to only ever expect to cope and not to heal.
Humanity longs for connection. Ironically, that need is also the foundation of alienation. We spend our lives searching for even one person who can understand our story with a heart that lived it. We want our pain validated, our coping mechanisms celebrated, for we are survivors… and we desperately want to be accepted by a community of people with whom we can commiserate. But when we find it, we are again discontent, for the angst is still ours. The fear of being wounded again is still there, the shield stays up, and it is exhausting holding it up, daily painting on a mask to match. Even in connection is a disconnect. We placate ourselves with shallow understanding of soul seasons in this moment, assured that this will pass and the sun will shine again. We fake it until we make it. After all, everyone is not in my tribe. I can ditch the ones who are unsupportive. I can build my own circle. If your right hand offends you, cut it off.
Offence. Eastern culture is so different. I think it’s splendid. There is a balance to the flow, yin and yang, dark and light, working in tandem. A conversation moved in a direction that uncorked a train of thought for me recently. “Don’t be offended by this, but I think people in your culture are too easily offended.” My friend grew up rather east of here. I’m not sure she was expecting my response. I agreed. I still agree, and I think I should share why we have arrived at a place in western culture where even elections have become about periphery issues and small interest groups. It comes down to religion. Wait, you say, I am not religious, I don’t even believe in God!
True, but all cultures were founded on what they believe about the origin of man. Value is dictated by understanding of intrinsic worth. Our social and justice systems are formed on these principles. On an individual level, that core belief defines our understanding of personhood. Slots us in a niche, if you will. We have bought the lie that this perception of reality, combined with our experiences, is the formation of identity.
Western culture came out of a specific interpretation of the bible heavily influenced by the ideologies of those who paid tribute to gods like Molech and Zeus. It is very strong on the understanding of good and evil, and heaven and hell. Throughout history, those in power have used God as their validation for war, oppression and colonization. An understanding of “us” and “them” has heavily influenced a tendency to fear those who behave or believe differently than we do. We only feel safe and understood if those we are in discussion with agree with us by the end.
The influence of science may have somewhat successfully extracted the requirement for God to exist from our thinking, but the need to tidily organize and label people so we have a clear understanding of their roles and place in our world didn’t die. Instead of having our personal value dictated by a maker, (intrinsic identity) it is as though we are a culture of crustaceans, surrounding ourselves with like minded individuals who won’t rock our box and crack our veneer, making us vulnerable. We forever snap our crab claws at everyone else, protecting territory and habitually defending ideologies. None of us have stopped snapping long enough to realize we are all soft inside. Perhaps our true identity is in our sameness.
Imagine the implication of a culture formed around some of the modern schools of thought. the consequences to self worth, and the value of life, if: all life is accidental, a cosmic accident; we were created by a supreme being without desire for relationship at all; the god who made us is equally happy to destroy us if we don’t meet his standard as embrace us with love; or, god is truly sovereign, and all events on earth are not the result of love, but of perfect judgement. You can extrapolate where those might lead the collective. I foresee fear. And some mental health issues.
But what if… Spirit is Source. We are manifest because he first thought us, and then looked to see our arrival within His Consciousness? What if the heart of our origin is within the Spirit who is our beginning. What then is the base line of my worth? What then is the ultimate reality of my being? What is the true season of the soul? Does the sun actually shine in all seasons? And if this is true of me, is it also not true of everyone else.
God is Love. The very definition of the one in which we all live move, and have being is love… so how do we get here from there? How do we get from our point of origin, to a place where humanity looks nothing like its Maker? We are so far removed that we need to put on Christmas lights in an early October snowstorm to combat the depression that flavours a change in seasons.
A few times now, I have heard the term “imposter syndrome” which, as I understand it is the niggling feeling that while I look successful on the outside… if people really saw me, they wouldn’t give me the platform to open my mouth. If my worth really is subjective, and my value based on my accomplishments, that those that created my niche do get to to tell me how well I carry the role. But the role is not identity.
My person is safely settled in the place I originated. My authenticity as an individual is what gives rise to the uninhibited use of the gifts within my design. My connection to the source is my justification for the belief that I can contribute and make a difference. It is also that which enables me to make decisions for others with clear, loving authority. Knowing that I am the perfect manifestation of my Maker’s many pleasant thoughts gives me the confidence to reach into the imagination I have at my disposal and bring to manifestation a life that is better than my present temporal reality. Within my source is everything that is, resources are limitless. I was made, with the Healer in me. Not built to cope, to survive, but to heal. I am not built only to adapt, but to completely change.
The snow storm in October is the imposter. And trust me, it will melt. The Calendar did still say it is fall. My wounding experiences are snow. I have been given a shovel and a broom. I can clear a path to walk through them. I can choose to see the joy in moment, and turn on the lights. My neighbours don’t have to smile with me for that moment of joy to be real. They can laugh if they want to. I am not required to embrace the storm, or carry it with me. That gives it power. My perspective is mine, and is subject to the default setting I choose to believe is reality.
I choose love. I choose to not become easily offended. I choose the template that lets me see the person I may circumstantially wish to label an enemy. For they too, love their family, make dinner, shovel their snow. They too seek connection and belonging.
Turn your light on in the storm, someone else is craving the hope. You may just connect over the strangest thing. But let it propel you further into love, not deeper into your partisan offences. For we exist inside the one who is all in all. Spirit Source is our default setting. Let us return from whence we came and be healed.