One of the downsides of writing about spirituality in the first person is that there are times when I fail to include my shadow in the story. Now that's part of what the shadow is all about, right? An awareness of an unseen but real presence in our lives that drags behind us. Others know it is there even when we don't: the shadow is rarely a part of our ordinary consciousness. But owning it and dealing with it is essential for authentic spiritual and emotional health. The poem, "Yo no soy yo/I am not me" by Juan Ramon Jimenez (translated by Robert Bly) hits a home run.Yo no soy yo
Soy este
que va a mi lado sin yo verlo;
que, a veces, voy a ver,
y que, a veces, olvido.
El que calla, sereno, cuando hablo,
el que perdona, dulce, cuando odio,
el que pasea por donde no estoy,
el que quedará en pié cuando yo muera.
I am not me.
I am this one
walking beside me whom I do not see,
whom at times I manage to visit,
and whom at other times I forget;
who remains calm and silent while I talk,
and forgives, gently, when I hate,
who walks where I am not,
who will remain standing when I die.
Part of the quest of spiritual practice is to embrace our shadows, live with a measure of awareness that they are as real and significant as our flesh, and move gently and tenderly with their consequences without fearing or fighting them. Befriending our shadow is part of how we live in peace with all that is real both within and beyond. My mentors in learning to love my shadow include Parker Palmer, Robert Bly, Frederick Beuchner, Leonard Cohen, Joni Mitchell, Ernest Kurt, Joanne Harris, Fr. Ed Hays, Fr. Thomas Keating, Fr. Matthew Fox, Fr. Richard Rohr, Fr. Thomas Merton, Fr. Henri Nouwen, Sr. Joan Chittister, Gunilla Norris, Elie Wiesel, Rumi, Jean Vanier, Christopher Heurtz, Coleman Barks, Cynthia Bourgeault, CG Jung, and Joseph Campbell.
I am eternally grateful to Jung for his invitation to honor the wisdom and compassion of Matthew 25 - "When did we see Thee, Lord, naked or hungry, alone or afraid" - within ourselves as profoundly as in the world. Activists and social justice folk use that text all the time, but rarely do we let it speak to ourselves. And we need to be loved, clothed, nourished, protected and fed just as much as our neighbors, yes? Rohr has been equally nourishing for me in his reminders that the way of the Lord is never cruel. Or judgmental. Or degrading. There is pain in our journey, to be sure, but never to vanquish or diminish us. The way of Christ is always to strengthen a tender, gracious love. Anyone who uses the word of the Lord to harm is not of God.
Hays taught me that the blessing our shadows bring to us in grace are "the wisdom of our wounds." Heurtz amplifies this in his enneagram work noting that our brokenness is one of the ways God's love speaks to us through our flesh and feelings. But it never arrives punitively. Rather the wisdom of our wounds ask to be embraced through the upside-down grace of God. When we feel angry, it is time to stay quiet and listen. When we want to run away, it is probably better to stay engaged. When we want to triumph over an adversary, why not back off and become vulnerable? From my experience, this approach to our wounds and our shadow is a practical application of the Prayer of St. Francis:
I am eternally grateful to Jung for his invitation to honor the wisdom and compassion of Matthew 25 - "When did we see Thee, Lord, naked or hungry, alone or afraid" - within ourselves as profoundly as in the world. Activists and social justice folk use that text all the time, but rarely do we let it speak to ourselves. And we need to be loved, clothed, nourished, protected and fed just as much as our neighbors, yes? Rohr has been equally nourishing for me in his reminders that the way of the Lord is never cruel. Or judgmental. Or degrading. There is pain in our journey, to be sure, but never to vanquish or diminish us. The way of Christ is always to strengthen a tender, gracious love. Anyone who uses the word of the Lord to harm is not of God.
Hays taught me that the blessing our shadows bring to us in grace are "the wisdom of our wounds." Heurtz amplifies this in his enneagram work noting that our brokenness is one of the ways God's love speaks to us through our flesh and feelings. But it never arrives punitively. Rather the wisdom of our wounds ask to be embraced through the upside-down grace of God. When we feel angry, it is time to stay quiet and listen. When we want to run away, it is probably better to stay engaged. When we want to triumph over an adversary, why not back off and become vulnerable? From my experience, this approach to our wounds and our shadow is a practical application of the Prayer of St. Francis:
of Thy peace;
Where there is hatred,
let me sow charity;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is error, truth;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light; and Where there is sadness, joy.
O, Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled, as to console;
To be understood as to understand; To be loved as to love;
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned; And it is in dying to ourselves that we are born to eternal life.
Amen.
And then there's Ernest Kukrtz: working in the spirituality of AA and the 12 Step Movement, he playfully links our shadow to both humility and humor. His easy to read collection of tales from the Sufi, Buddhist, Hassidic, and Christian Desert Mothers and Fathers traditons entitled, A Spirituality of Imperfection, is one of my favorites:
Humility involves learning how to live (and even rejoice in) the rejection of all or nothing living... (More often than not) we are mixed-up, our being is both saint and sinner, beast and angel. To live with and rejoice in this mixed-up reality (often evokes) humor which is defined as 'the juxtaposition of incongruities" - the placing together of two things that do not belong... and what could be more incongruous than the strange mixture of beast and angel that we are, the spark of divinity encased in a hunk of nothingness!
There are certain moments in our lives when it seems "as if the fundamental choice is between fighting ourselves and laughing at ourselves." I have long practiced fighting with myself - for decades - and it is still a losing proposition. It exhausts and frustrates me - and I never seem able to successfully beat myself into submission. There are times, however, when I can laugh my way into a soft and tender place.
When confronting our own incongruities, humor is usually the healthier choice, as the wisdom of the word's origins hints. For the words humor and humility both have the same root - the ancient Indo-European ghom - best translated into English as humus... that 'brown or black substance resulting from the partial decay of plant or animal matter.'
I like that. It rings true to me. As St. Joni sang: "I've looked at life from both sides now, from win and lose and still somehow its clouds illusions I recall... I really don't know life at all." According to the wisdom of the world, today was supposed to be raining. So rather than work on my garden terrace, I set time aside for bread baking. I haven't made time for that in a month. But, bad news, the sun came out. And is out still! What's more, the damn wind is cool and comforting. With a measure of frustration, I nevertheless picked up a new bread recipe and chose to go ahead with my plans.
Right from the get-go I knew something was off. And by the time I started to knead it, I was clear that something was way off. Nothing felt right and then it hit me: apparently I was working with a recipe for only one small loaf! Usually, if I am going to devout a whole day to baking bread - and I do - I make four loaves at a time. But letting the beauty of the day distract me and even frustrate me... who the hell knows how this loaf will turn out? It is still in the oven getting ready to rise. (Maybe it will become croûtons!) See what I mean? Laughter is tons more healing and tender-hearted than carping or crying.
Not cruel or sarcastic laughter. And never humor that denigrates. But honest, self-deprecating humor can be a great spiritual practice. It gives some shape and form to the shadow, too so that we can embrace it with grace. I remember reading years ago while I was still doing urban ministry in Cleveland, that many of the parables of Jesus were considered humorous in a Zen-like way. (Robin Williamson, that wild Scotsman who was instrumental in creating the Incredible String Band, once said that Zen wisdom was much like "weak humor." It hurts a little and reveals a lot.) I just checked on my bread. It doesn't look promising. How does John Prine put it: "That's the way the world goes 'round, you're up one day, the next you're down, a half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown: that's the way the world goes round." Amen.
Right from the get-go I knew something was off. And by the time I started to knead it, I was clear that something was way off. Nothing felt right and then it hit me: apparently I was working with a recipe for only one small loaf! Usually, if I am going to devout a whole day to baking bread - and I do - I make four loaves at a time. But letting the beauty of the day distract me and even frustrate me... who the hell knows how this loaf will turn out? It is still in the oven getting ready to rise. (Maybe it will become croûtons!) See what I mean? Laughter is tons more healing and tender-hearted than carping or crying.
Not cruel or sarcastic laughter. And never humor that denigrates. But honest, self-deprecating humor can be a great spiritual practice. It gives some shape and form to the shadow, too so that we can embrace it with grace. I remember reading years ago while I was still doing urban ministry in Cleveland, that many of the parables of Jesus were considered humorous in a Zen-like way. (Robin Williamson, that wild Scotsman who was instrumental in creating the Incredible String Band, once said that Zen wisdom was much like "weak humor." It hurts a little and reveals a lot.) I just checked on my bread. It doesn't look promising. How does John Prine put it: "That's the way the world goes 'round, you're up one day, the next you're down, a half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown: that's the way the world goes round." Amen.
credits
1) https://www.widewalls.ch/shadow-art/
2) http://avax.news/pictures/60130
3) https://cyprus-mail.com/2018/11/22/art-in-the-shadows/
4) https://www.artpal.com/daniel_bonnell?i=8106-37
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