Being Woke by an Inner Life

I enjoy reading the works of folks who have lived the problems they address.  For example, Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote his book on Ethics in part from the inside of a concentration camp where he was imprisoned and executed in 1945 for his part in a plot to assassinate Hitler.  The book Alcoholics Anonymous speaks to the direct experience of those in recovery from alcoholism.  I am currently reading the diary of Etty Hillesum, An Interrupted Life, that chronicles the last two years of her life as a Jew in Holland prior to her transfer to Auschwitz where she was executed.  A line that stood out to me from her diary is (p. 88):

If you have a rich inner life, I would have said, there probably isn’t all that much difference between being inside and outside of a camp.  Would I myself be able to live up to such sentiments?

I have thought of this challenge a great deal of late.  I equate the “inner life” as my spiritual/emotional/mental state and the “outside life” as my physical state.  There is no denying that my physical existence in line with my eventual mortality and cancer has an unknown expiration date.  I know too that I am less physically able than I was one year ago.  I have lost some 50 pounds, am a bit anemic, sleep more, have not been on my bike for the past month, have more aches and pains, and so forth.

At the same time, I am aggressively dealing with these physical issues, the results of which I have no assurance.

But today, I thoroughly enjoy my “outside life” events even more than before.  I enjoy being able to walk around the block with Emma and Grace as much as a 20-mile bike ride a couple short years ago.  Going out to the movies, spending an hour weeding the garden, eating a simple meal, listening to music, all bring me great joy today.

I attribute this joy to my pursuit of a rich inner life.  Whether it is Emma and I attending the early morning Sunday service at Rayne, serving meals at Mt. Zion, my Wednesday morning School for Contemplative Living meeting, our Friday dream study group, men’s UMC meetings, and all of the relationships, dinners, conversations with family and friends that flow from these activities, my spirit soars as never before in my life.

In the Universal Christ, Richard Rohr writes (p. 153):

It does not mean you are going to heaven and others are not:  rather, it means you have entered into heaven much earlier and thus can see things in a transcendent, whole and healing way now . . .   Saints are those who wake up while in this world, instead of waiting for the next one.”

The rich inner life of which Etty Hillesum speaks is certainly part of that being woke and a goal to which I aspire.

AA’s Fourth Step and Shadow

My Friday morning book study recently read Robert Johnson’s Owning Your Own Shadow: Understanding the Dark Side of the Psyche.  Following Carl Jung, Johnson (1993:4) defines the shadow as ” . . . that part of us we fail to see or know.”   One of the study group members commented that their experience with AA and the 12 Steps fit well with Johnson’s notion.  The member noted how fortunate he was to have the 12 Steps as a guiding principal not just in recovery, but in his total life.  His comment got me to thinking of that overwhelming truth.

The Fourth step of Alcoholics Anonymous “Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves” is precisely the introspection that can lead to owning our shadow selves.  The Tenth Step “Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it” allows continuing that process on a regular basis.

I recall my early days in recovery and the struggle to accept responsibility for the events in my life, in large part based on a refusal to examine and claim my shadow self.  For example, much of my life was governed by an uncontrollable anger at people, places, and things, but in the throws of my addiction, I refused to examine my part in those resentments.  I had a shopping list of people and actions to readily blame.  However, the Fourth Step began the process of understanding my role in those situations.  Inevitably that led to an examination of my shadow I had failed to see or know.

In claiming the anger that governed much of my existence, I came to become more accountable.  Through the Serenity Prayer concepts of accepting what I cannot change, having the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference, my anger transforms into a tool to live life on life’s terms.  Owning this anger is particularly helpful in today’s highly polarized blame game for social, political, and economic issues.  Instead of just pointing out the very real evils of the world today, I can examine my role in creating those evils.  I often find my role comes down to one of inaction and complacency as someone living a privileged social and economic existence.

I do not think claiming and owning one’s shadow means being a doormat or wearing sackcloth in a “woe is me” sort of way.

In The Book of Joy, written about the philosophies of The Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Douglas Adams writes (pp. 223-224):

Acceptance, it must be pointed out, is the opposite of resignation and defeat.  The Archbishop and the Dalai Lama are two of the most tireless activists for creating a better world for all of its inhabitants, but their activism comes from a deep acceptance of what is.  The Archbishop did not accept the inevitability of apartheid, but he did accept its reality.

Acceptance allows us to claim our shadows, as in the Alcoholics Anonymous Fourth Step, and begin to deal with life on life’s terms.