Claiming a Role in Global Evolution

“Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”

― C.S. Lewis

Over the last six months, I’ve been thinking a lot about my role in the ongoing global transformation. My central, guiding question is: How can I be part of the healing process, instead of contributing to an increasingly divided world?

A synergy of urgent crises has accelerated the chaos, causing strong currents and energetic rip tides of upheaval. It seems that everywhere we look there is pain, from the pain of disconnection to the pain of injustice and staggering loss.

In my last post, How to BE with a Crumbling World, I suggested that before jumping into action, we must slow down and have compassion for ourselves and for each other, as we navigate these precarious times.

Compassion is caring born of sorrow. It beautifully opens our hearts to care for one another, and brings empathy as we share the burden of pain.

Unrelenting pain is debilitating. Most of us have never been taught how to cope with it effectively.

But unrelenting pain is debilitating. Most of us have never been taught how to cope with it effectively. It’s no wonder we turn away from it, looking for comfort or distraction, or seeking someone to blame.

I’ve spent a good part of my sixty-five years learning how to deal with pain. For the first few decades, I buried it under “good girl” performance, chasing the love and approval I hoped would erase it.

This strategy only served to create greater separation from my real self, resulting in greater emotional pain that manifested as physical pain.

In my thirties and forties, I began the hard work of turning within to face my pain, to feel and heal the wounds of my past. There were days that pain overwhelmed me, but I learned to trust its wisdom, and find my way into a greater state of wholeness, piece by piece. This work is unfinished and ongoing.

It’s only been in the last decade that I can clearly see that healing pain is part of my destiny, and perhaps my greatest contribution. As I’ve transformed personal pain into empowerment and joy, I’ve been making maps of healing, slowly recognizing it was something we would all eventually need to do.

Humanity is at a point where we can no longer ignore our pain. It is oozing out in hatred, erupting in violence, building prisons of isolation and despair. Pain is screaming at us to heal our separation.

Humanity is at a point where we can no longer ignore our pain. It is oozing out in hatred, erupting in violence, building prisons of isolation and despair. Pain is screaming at us to heal our separation.

It’s scary as hell to wade into the deep end. Like an addict balking at the doorway to rehab, there’s a part of each of us that would rather do anything than face the pain we’ve avoided for years.

But this is our calling.

Healing pain globally and nationally begins with healing pain on an individual level. This is something we all can do, to participate at the deepest, most real level of the change we hope to see. It may not seem like doing much, in the broad scope of global evolution, but the impact is profound.

The surprising thing about healing pain is how much beauty it reveals. It is a soulful act of courage and forgiveness, illuminating a higher truth of irrevocable connection.

This is one of the paradoxes of healing, the simultaneous experience of pain and beauty.

If you’ve witnessed the birth of a child, you have likely experienced this paradox of pain and beauty happening simultaneously. The same is true of sitting with a loved one who is dying.

Birth and death are soulful events, stunning beauty wrapped in pain.

Birth and death are soulful events, stunning beauty wrapped in pain.

That’s how I perceive the world at this moment. We are going through the death throes of a broken world, and the painful, messy birth of a new paradigm for humanity.

This death and birth are happening simultaneously. And while pain claims the bulk of our attention, there is great beauty in this process, if we know how to look for it.

I recently had a moment of clarity, looking into the paradox of pain and beauty. What I saw was an opportunity to stand between the worlds, actively grieving the old world that is dying, and preparing the space for the new world that is emerging.

Standing between the worlds, I see that each process is sacred. If we choose to participate, we can contribute by consciously embracing two roles:

We can be hospice workers, holding vigil for a dying world.

We can be midwives, facilitating the birth of a new world.

Each role calls us to heal our personal pain, and hold a grander hope and vision of global awakening.

Attending a Dying World

The image of being a hospice worker for a dying world came to me in a meditation. I allowed my imagination to unfold the scene.

I saw a personification of The Dying World, which appeared to me as an old, white man who has been accustomed to being in control. His are not the soulful eyes of a life well lived. They are the hollow and fearful eyes of one who never took the time to build an inner life, one who feels separate from everyone and everything he dominates.

He is clinging to life, even though he knows his days are numbered. He does not plan to go quietly. He yells and blusters, creates division and conflict wherever he can. He thrives on righteous anger and hate.

Standing at his bedside, I look into his frightened and belligerent face. I listen to his jagged death rattle. I witness his struggle for control.

I have railed against this old white man for much of my life. I have hated him, and blamed him when I wanted freedom but was unwilling to pay the price. I have danced for him, attempting to please him, and striving to measure up to his criteria of worthiness.

For so many years, I thought he had power over me, as he belittled me and saw me as inferior, not realizing that this was his strategy to keep me on the hamster wheel of proving a worthiness that was already mine.

For so many years, I thought he had power over me, as he belittled me and saw me as inferior, not realizing that this was his strategy to keep me on the hamster wheel of proving a worthiness that was already mine.

Looking into his eyes, I feel my own revulsion. Part of me wants to push this old man off a cliff and say good riddance.

Instead, I sit down beside him. I take his hand, and reach for compassion.

A tangle of feelings floods my awareness. I feel his fear, his anger and blame, his hurt and betrayal. At the root of it all, I feel his pain. He is utterly alone, and lost in a delusion of insignificance. He is desperate to matter, trapped inside a powerful illusion of his own design.

It becomes clear to me what I must do to ease his passing. I must take back the pain he holds that belongs to me. I must forgive myself for turning my back on my realness, and I must forgive him for exploiting my fear. If I can do that, I can set us both free.

Still holding his hand, I close my eyes. I can take this one bit at a time. Just ten minutes.

I let the pain come. It might be a personal moment of teenage heartbreak or humiliation. It might be an image of a clear-cut forest where ancient trees once stood, majestic sentinels. It might be a memory of sitting in front of a new color TV, watching young men return from Viet Nam in body bags. I invite a lifetime of pain shoved down and denied to surface and be felt.

I allow myself to weep, honoring my pain.

In time, I reach for the light of forgiveness. I forgive myself for the ways I can still be seduced to separation. Every day, the news offers tantalizing hooks to blame and powerlessness. And every time I take the bait, I prolong his life and our collective suffering.

I forgive myself for all the ways I internalized his threats and promises, and for my hypocrisy of feeling righteously superior while still hoping to win at his game.

I forgive him, and forgive myself for the ways I empowered him. And when I have reclaimed as much as I can for today, I step away.

I recognize that sitting at the bedside of a dying world is only half the equation. If I spend too much time here, I will get lost in pain and grief.

I walk out into the sunshine. I breathe. I allow nature to restore my balance. I give thanks for my awakening, and gratitude to all those whose work before me helped me to remember who I am.

I remind myself that a new world is dawning. I reach for the light of hope and vision. I allow myself to dream a future of respectful interdependence and understanding, a world where each of us knows our value, and values our diversity.

I feel joy as I dream this future, as fiercely as I felt the pain.

I look for pockets of beauty, glimpses of a new world shining through the darkness. Some days it is a slog, wading through the morass of ugliness and insanity streaming into our email boxes and news feeds, but I am determined to find it: Truth being spoken, and heard at long last. People standing up for human dignity and character. Stunning acts of creativity that inspire us and remind us we are one.

The music of a luminous future plays in my soul. With every unburdening of pain, I hear it more clearly.

The music of a luminous future plays in my soul. With every unburdening of pain, I hear it more clearly.

This is sacred work. It is challenging and courageous, and the most powerful response to the world’s pain that I have yet to discover.

Tomorrow, I will return to the old man’s bedside, and look deeper. Piece by piece, I will take back the power I gave him, and I will forgive.

There will be a time, not too long in the future, where we will genuinely have turned the corner. The joy of an emerging new paradigm will eclipse the pain of a dying world. We will look back on the work we do today, understanding it was why we came, that everything up to this point uniquely prepared us for this moment.

We will grieve and we will celebrate.

But until then, we have the extraordinary opportunity to stand between the worlds, working an alchemical magic.

A new world of connection and love is on the horizon. I truly believe we will never be this lost again.