Crisis
Portola Valley, CA 24 April 2001
The first sunlight of the morning is dusting the taller trees in the garden. The big bay trees catch the first light. They are the gentle, watchful giants that see over the horizon line. Maybe their deep wisdom comes from their height. They draw in light from all directions – is that not a kind of seeing, not a source of wisdom? The last ones to feel the soft rays of sunset; the first ones to feel the welcomed dawn. I so love the golden light of this time of day in this time of the year.
I feel like I am sitting on a fragile perch right now. Yet, I trust something will emerge from all the spadework I am doing with this writing. I am thinking now about all the crises I have written about in past entries. I barely remember most of them now, but then they seemed, they were, very real. But the moment passed. Whatever they were, for all their importance at the time, they have gradually receded into the vague memories, catalogued under “Trying Times”.
There is an important learning for me here. The learning is to not take things lightly. In fact the opposite is the case. It is to pay attention to these critical moments, but to pay attention to them in motion. In a way these critical moments themselves are in motion – constantly changing and shifting this way and that. By realizing that “this too shall pass” lets me really see the opportunities embedded in these crises. If I wait – immobile – the moment will pass, and I will then have missed a chance to go deeper, a chance to dip into that diamond water that carries so much wisdom.
Crisis is a word that I have often used without much thought. Its roots are important. The word itself comes from the Greek word krísis, which means “a separating, discrimination or decision”. And that Greek word comes from krínein, which means “to separate or decide”.
What I take from this root meaning is that a crisis is not really an event at all. Rather, it is a way of thinking, and a way of acting as well. Critical thinking is a kind of “crisis creating”. It is my interpretation of separating that probably creates the usual sense of “crisis” for me. But what if I were to comprehend that separating is an act of thinking, of discerning much more than some external event imposed on me? What if I were to see the crises in my life as bell weather bits created by my soul to get my attention, to get me to move to the deeper levels – the levels of awareness where there is no separation, where individuation and immersion co-exist in a mysterious dance? What if I were to see these crises in my life as signposts telling me that whatever is truly part of my life, part of who I am, can never be lost, never be separated? What if I were to see that separating is a choice, just as much as joining is?
If I were to accomplish these things, get to that level of awareness, then I would be able to hold the notion that “this too shall pass” in a whole new light. I would then discern places where separating, cutting away, is what is best right now. I would know that grief is not an experience of the soul because for the soul nothing can be lost or cut away. It can only be given away freely. For the soul there are no crises, only choices to know separation and loneliness, or the deep connection of belonging.