Photograph: Reinhard Pantke, used with permission
I have always been fascinated by personal accounts of awakenings, in particular when they involve a climax where the world shifts on its axis and the protagonist is suddenly ushered through the doorway of the breakdown towards a glorious breakthrough, complete with light pouring in or radiating from the heart. Feeling held and guided by a much larger frame than the small self battling with chaos and disorder, the blessed recipient touches the depths of love, peace and joy, and even if it should be only for a few seconds, knows who she or he is in essence.
Such revelations are mind-shattering: they inform the receiver that they have outgrown their current circumstances and that it is time to move on. I call this a ‘crossing-over’ moment, others see it as a tipping point where everything falls apart and cannot be put back together in the same way. Follows a long period, often amounting to decades of dedicated work, when the protagonist seeks to understand the flame burning bright inside and explain the phenomenon without oversimplifying and downgrading it.
Reading accounts of other people’s revelatory experiences always brings me alive. Yet, could this be a place where my penchant for envy takes over? The answer is a clear and loud, YES, since my default reaction when facing the waves of fascination is to resort to dismissive comments such as, “That is not for the likes of me. It will never happen to me, however much I wish for it, regardless of the amount of hard work I put into it.”
A few weeks ago I came across a fresh account of two different revelatory experiences with a brilliant description of the phenomenon of being broken open by life and propelled towards new horizons. This time, I paused so as to curb my conditioned response. What might I be missing when I am seduced by other people’s revelations whilst believing that I don’t measure up to their greatness? If I were to throw off the blinders of envy that devour me, would I be able to see my own experiences of miraculous revelations?
No sooner had I uttered the questions, that I saw myself literally crossing over and, unbeknownst to me at the time, changing the direction of my life. So the answer is a double YES. YES, I am blinded by the mental poisons of envy and, consequently, unable to appreciate myself fully. YES, when I let go of the biases of unexamined desires and compulsive thoughts, whole new worlds unfold.
For more than 25 years I dedicated myself to long-distance running. It was my ‘go-to’ activity to work off anger or soften depression and anxious thoughts. It was also where I experienced the joy of being alone in nature and, during my years of scholarly pursuits, it was where I honed my dissertations and scientific articles. In my forties, ramping up the competitive aspect, I ran several marathons, the last being in London on the eve of my 50th birthday. After that I slowed down, shortened the distances and did a few half-marathons for the fun and the pleasure of an outing with like-minded companions.
Then, 11 years ago, something unexpected happened. I was running a half-marathon in Strasbourg where I was living. It was a beautiful spring day and the course meandered through my favourite locations including the woods along the Rhine river. I thoroughly enjoyed the first 10 km flying through the sunlight streets with childlike buoyancy. Something shifted when we entered the dark woods; suddenly, my legs felt heavy as if coming out of REM sleep, paralysed, unable to run from threats. I was startled by the experience, but knew without any doubt, that the time had come for me to stop running. I was bobbing down the right side of the country lane. I remember looking at the meadow bank on the other side dappled with white spring flowers gently swaying in the breeze. The pull was irresistible: nothing, and no one, was going to stop me from crossing over to the other side, literally, and resting in the meadow. I stopped running, deaf to the cries of encouragement of my running partners, and sat down in the field to enjoy the moment.
Initially, I struggled with my choice and, in the days that followed, I sincerely believed that, after an appropriate pause, I would return to the running tracks. Fortunately, one of my students, who happened to be a brilliant sporting coach, looked me in the eyes at the end of a tutorial and gently confirmed that it was time for me to ‘desacralize my running practice’ (his words, not mine) and to hang up my shoes.
Looking back on this ‘crossing-over’ moment I now recognise the key ingredients of a graceful revelation: the sense of breathtaking beauty, the resplendent nature, the unassailable certainty and, last but not least, the generosity of a caring companion who validates the experience without needing to provide lengthy explanations.
It has only been 11 years which means that I am still at the beginning of this new adventure. Everything started on a beautiful spring day when I decided to cross over without fully understanding why it had to be there and then and what was behind all this. Amazingly, the spirit of aliveness that sparked the decision continues to grow in me, even more so when the contours of the quest become blurry. There are plenty of merciful winds to fill my sails and it is good to feel the vibrancy and enthusiasm at work in me. In a sense I am still running with my childlike joy, but in a completely different way because it doesn’t matter how I practice beginner’s mind.
Next month, it will be 60 years since I left England as a seven-year-old to grow up in Switzerland and settle down there for the next 40 years. That, too, was a massive transition but not one that I associate with a magnificent breakthrough. It is a story of pain and hurt, a lament weeping for the world I abruptly lost and bemoaning the utter loneliness as I tried to make sense of the foreign territory I was expected to embrace.
I have spent most of my adult life working on this origin story packed with nostalgia, unrequited love and bewilderment tracking the long shadows of the end of the day that reach out to blemish even the happiest stories of miraculous awakenings. I longed for my mother to wake up from her version of the family story and apologise for her cruelty and the hard work I took on, on her behalf. Even today, a small part of me occasionally struggles to accept things as they were and still are. Nothing I have done or said has softened my mother’s heart and I have had to learn to live with this. No wonder I have become suspicious of awakenings that are meant to change the face of the world.
Cleaving to this origin story, construed as a traumatising transition, and overidentifying with the relational dynamics at play, prevents me from seeing, and appreciating, all the small and big, visible and invisible, mundane and spectacular thresholds I have walked up to and crossed over in faith, hope and love.
I am currently on the cusp of another big threshold, a biblical stepping out of the boat, a crossing which implies letting go of all the stories I have told about my relocation on the Danish island of Bornholm. Those stories no longer bring me alive. As a matter of fact, none of the stories I have been entertaining about my life-trajectory seem to motivate or inspire me. It is like opening a wardrobe full of splendid clothes to discover that nothing fits and that it doesn’t even bother me.
Gone with the wind is the idea of transforming the guest lodge into a retreat centre and community house leaving place for a new dream, one I have secretly nurtured since early childhood. As soon as I was able to read and write and was given a notebook and pencil, I sat down to write my first story, a transformational story, the one of the caterpillar becoming a butterfly. I was five-years-old and I knew that I wanted to spend my life making beautiful, illustrated books and telling captivating stories of metamorphoses.
More than 60 years later, after a circuitous walk through the labyrinth of scientific writing, editing and reviewing, producing and publishing a wide-range of books and journals and then venturing into the jungle of self-publications, I have finally come full circle. Much to my amazement, I have just created an independent publishing company here on Bornholm. Furthermore, I have found a young pioneer from a long family line of traditional printers. He set up his own business on the island two years ago as a homegrown alternative to the mammoth online platforms operating in the field of printing and publication.
I am still bowled over by the ease with which I am launching this new venture having finally consented to follow the hidden dream. I am discovering ample opportunities to step into a world where each voice matters, each acts of kindness is recognised, each pioneering initiative is blessed. To do so, and to acknowledge all the doors suddenly flung wide open, I needed to mature. I needed to leave behind the dramatic stories of my childhood and step up to the larger, unspoken invitations.
Here in Denmark, innovative minds provide customised services that advantageously compete with big technology. A bit like the slow food movement in Italy to counteract the trend for fast food, locally crafted technological solutions free us from the imperialism of megastructures. I am also realising that women don’t wait to be invited to do something, they simply do it. They discard any sense of set rules needing to be scrupulously respected and cast aside the protracted debates on gender divides. So, out go all my beliefs around gender biases.
Despite being a country well-versed in digital services, having recently closed down its postal service, Denmark also values books, reading and all manner of storytelling. Suffice to experience the vitality of its vast range of public libraries, to marvel at the performing arts experimenting in storytelling, crossover and blending genres. To encourage reading at all ages, the 25% VAT on books will soon be abolished and independent bookshops flourish even in small communities. The core principal being if you have a voice, then speak up and share your story. We are listening. We are waiting for you.
If I want to fully inhabit this new territory, even if I do feel scared about the turn of events, more so than stopping my daily practice of running, I mustn’t hang on to the remnants of the former dream. That dream shaped me into becoming who I am now and for that I am, of course, full of gratitude. Returning back into the larger world from the safety of my hermitage involves that, like Prospero in Shakespeare’s The Tempest readying himself to leave his island shelter, I let go of the rough magic that sustained me during the years of exile and that I give back to the spirit who kept me company during the years of maturation her freedom. I am thinking here of the tools I designed for exploring different configurations of archetypal energies or the Celtic cross readings I regularly did. I want to give myself over to the deep silence that cuts through the addictive, albeit fascinating, world of images.
For all these reasons, this is the final issue of the monthly Newsletter as I pull down the curtain on the present chapter. In the coming months, I will take time to review my online presence and check out tools better suited to my literary ambitions. I will be choosing platforms and partnerships that participate in elevating collective awareness, free us from technological imperialism and promote human wellbeing.
Wherever you are and whoever you are, thank you for your listening ear and generosity of spirit. Let’s stay in touch.