If you're feeling broken— there is hope. Your broken parts make you unique. Once we are healed, our broken parts make us stronger. Last night a monk reminded me of the Japanese art of Kintsugi— golden repair. The shattered bowl is reassembled, its cracked filled with lustrous gold. This, he assured me, is what our spiritual path does for each of us. We are children of the Divine, so all our shame is largely self-inflected. We need to see ourselves not only as whole, but as singularly beautiful— not in spite of— but because of our brokenness. Last week I shared my healing journey out West, California Dream Revisited.
Today I start leading 60 CEO’s through the 4 Permissions of my book, Permission to Glow. After such upheaval this Winter and Spring, I needed a week to put Humpty back together again. Walk with me through the hills of California.
Tuesday, April 30th. 4:20 am PST
Greetings from the Hidden Valley Ashram. I'm writing from a retreat in the Escondido mountains. It's the 4am hour, beneath a glowing bowl of stars. The coyotes are howling here and there, and every critter (myself included) know it will be a gorgeous day.
By 6:15 the sun will first peer, and then explode over the hills. My humble little room and porch faces God's panorama, so I just leave the door wide open. Out rolls my yoga mat, followed by an hour of meditation with 20 or so monks and fellow retreatants. Sunday's meditation was four hours. The balance of my days are spent in spiritual study, meditation, chanting, or walking the grounds. All meals, and almost everything else are in silence.
Outside the chapel where we meditate and chant, there's a labyrinth. Its outline made up of granite bricks, laid with geometric perfection. Monks half-ass nothing! Their workloads keep them busier than most of us. Constant meditation keeps their attention more focused and intentional than any of us. The first morning I walked the labyrinth, thinking it would be some cute little stroll. That sucker twisted me up and wrung me out. I had walked the labyrinth behind the hospice center where my stepdad Wayne died. "We come in alone, we go out alone."
Our trials, addictions, and fuck-ups. They are a labyrinth. Let me explain.
The labyrinth became a major theme of my time here. I'm unraveling knots on the healing road. It didn't feel safe to do this on my motorcycle, so here we are. The labyrinth taught me our trials, and seemingly insurmountable problems can't be fixed. They are an amazing maze to be walked, in reverse. It taught me we likely walked in asleep, unconscious. And, if we intend to heal the pain or learn from our mistakes: the only way out, was the only way in. By Divine blessing, if we can stomach the journey, we can retrace our steps— awake. If we entered unconsciously, we receive the gift of exiting consciously.
Yogananda’s presence is everywhere here. I asked him: "Where is my power, here in this labyrinth?"
”We leave daylight behind at the entrance, and by God's grace, we find our own light in the center. In our strength and humility we may carry some out to light our way. Service is a way out of suffering, so we may light torches for those behind us. Every soul has many labyrinths to walk.”
Perfect simplicity helps.
Hidden Valley is a Self-Realization Fellowship retreat center, and working ashram. Male monks enter their life of training and service here. A young, British, future monk is here with us. His devotion and practice are both inspiring. If accepted, he'll enter in the blue garb, as a postulant. As he advances in the coming decades, he'll progress to the yellow garb— a brahmacharya. As he advances further in his Self-realization (oneness with God through meditation, study, and service to humanity) he will wear the ochre-orange of a Sanyasi. A Sanyasi is one who has taken vows of renunciation or has no more attachment to this world, all is for the good of God. Also called a Swami, they live and work separate from their family and the world. They often choose a name that ends in ananda meaning pure bliss. Yesterday I was thrilled to see Brother Bhumananda here, who has helped me with past talks and my book. I counseled with Brother Nikulananada, who offered compassion, wisdom, and perspective.
Beautifully Broken, on the Mend
We need to talk about samskaras. The closest modern translation? Childhood wounds. The seeds of our karma to be worked out in this lifetime— or if we die trying, the next. These karmic 'scars' are another gift from our Maker. Built-in frenemies within to help forge us into what, or who we must become. Every one of us has them. And often they become the thing we hate about ourselves, or try to drink away. They live deep in our subconscious, and awaken for battle on a time release. I've recently needed to learn more about trauma than I ever cared to know. Something I learned is that if you have kids, once your children reach the age you were when you experienced it— your trauma will likely come knocking.
All our trauma is relative to us, meaning that if it blew our coping circuits, it is trauma. Dr. Karol Darsa is a leading figure in trauma recovery, and author of the excellent book The Trauma Map. My healing road led me to her world class Reconnect Center in the Palisades. "You can have two soldiers that go to war. One comes home with PTSD, and the other doesn't. The one who did filed what was experienced as trauma."
I drove out of the peaceful mountains at 8am this morning. By 8:30 I noticed an unshakable, calm grin on my face. I’m just grateful to be alive. Grateful to have people who love me. And most grateful to have a spiritual path that supports my work in the world for modern leaders. Game on. I’m ready to play full-out the next few days.
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