Jewish holidays affect me – my life seems to sync up with them even if I’m not paying too much attention to the calendar. Right now people are celebrating Passover as well as Easter all over the world. What does that mean for me personally, and why would anyone other than me care? Bear with me – I believe my experience is a universal one so I’m hoping others will benefit from hearing what I’m going through.
As we know, Passover celebrates the Jews’ escape from Egypt. The Hebrew word for Egypt, Mitzrayim, also means narrow spaces. That means on a metaphorical level, Passover can also represent the liberation from narrow spaces. In addition to a past event, Passover can also be deeply personal and individual. For many years, that’s precisely how I experienced Passover. The regular occurrence is interesting. Like clockwork, at this time of year, life feels narrow. Not only feels narrow, but is narrow. There are many things I choose not to do because the consequence of doing them is too great. There are many foods I choose not to eat because eating them causes my body to hurt. I’m not throwing myself a pity party, I’m merely stating facts.
We can escape narrow spaces. Photo by Andrew Trius on Unsplash.
Always at Passover I fall into a bit of a funk and chafe against restriction. Life is not pleasant during Passover. It’s often trying and painful and dark. I’m not saying it’s as bad as a refugee fleeing for her life, but everything is relative. Everything is in degrees. I experience a small taste of what my ancestors went through and what many people still go through. However, Passover is not all bad. It’s not all plagues and sorrow. It’s also joy. It’s recognizing the deep, the dark, the painful, the narrow, and the relief that comes from no longer being in that space. It’s the thrill of leaving it all behind and being able to roam free. It’s not only Passover that celebrates renewal, but obviously Easter too. Christians also celebrate new life and resurrection at this time of year.
Passover and Easter are reminders of all the horrible things people have been through and their transition out of those things. Passover and Easter are holidays that celebrate hope and courage without omitting the pain. I’m not on the other side of my personal Mitzrayim yet, but I know I will reach the promised land, so to speak. I also take heart in a quote from my spiritual teacher who said, “Difficulties can never be greater than your capacity to solve them.” I truly believe that. Right now my difficulties feel insurmountable, but the holidays many of us are celebrating remind me that’s not true. The holidays remind me it can take a while, a long, long while, but eventually liberation happens.
I dream of a world where we remember no matter what we’re going through, eventually it will pass. A world where we remember we, too, will be liberated from our narrow spaces. A world where we take heart in stories from the past and use them as fuel for the future.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I notice there’s a tendency in me and in society to avoid the deep and dark places. We are uncomfortable with displays of depression and despair.
The other day, a friend posted on facebook that she felt depressed and the majority of her friends said, “Are you getting help? Are you taking medication?” I’m not saying people shouldn’t take meds and shouldn’t seek help, but it’s interesting to notice their reactions. How quickly people turned to solutions instead of saying, “I hear you,” or “Me too.”
I understand the rush toward solutions. I know in myself, the minute I feel depressed or hopeless, I want to leave those states as quickly as possible. I don’t want to sit with the feelings, I don’t want to acknowledge them, I don’t want to give them air time. If I could bypass all the uncomfortable feelings, that would be great, thanks.
Even small acts of love can have great effects.
As my therapist reminds me, it doesn’t work that way. I can’t pretend certain feelings don’t exist just because I’d rather they didn’t. The only way to move through the feelings is to first have awareness of them, and second to feel them. In thinking of my spiritual practices, I’d like to add a third step.
I am reminded of the work crafted by a monk I knew. He used to say every cell of our body is longing for liberation, is longing for oneness with something greater than ourselves. Not only the parts we acknowledge, but the parts we push away as well. He went to graduate school for psychology and developed a mantra therapy technique combining what he learned there with the principles of our yoga and meditation group. In these heart circles, as he called them, people would sit in a circle. One person would sit in the center of the circle and think about an emotion or belief they wanted release from. Then everyone on the perimeter sang to the person in the center. They verbally bathed the person with a Sanskrit mantra, sending them love. They imagined love coming through them and directed it to the person in the center of the circle.
I’ve been in many a circle, and people often weep or their expression softens or they start beaming. Something happens. Something happens because all parts of us want love. All parts want acknowledgment. All parts want us to say, “I see you, I hear you, and I love you.”
This week as I’ve sat with my own hard feelings, I’ve directed love their way. Not to drown them out, but in an act of tenderness and care. As Doreen Virtue says, “Love is the miracle that heals all things,” and that includes me. Instead of hating certain emotions, instead of pushing them away, instead of pretending they don’t exist, instead of skipping over them, I’m sending them love. I’m going to the deepest, darkest places within me and saying, “I’m here and I love you,” because that’s ultimately what I want. And what we all want.
I dream of a world where we give all parts of ourselves air time. A world where we embrace all parts of ourselves and say, “I’m here and I love you.” A world where we recognize love is the miracle that heals all things and it’s a miracle we can give to ourselves.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.