#005: The "S" Word

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a personal note

For about 90% of my life, spirituality was a black box.

"Black box" is probably too generous of a description.

Spirituality brought to mind people who were largely disengaged from reality and had a penchant for loose-fitting clothes.

I didn't get it, but I also didn’t feel like I needed to.

Fast forward to today, my understanding of spirituality is very different, though I still struggle to articulate this tectonic shift to friends and family.

I've been avoiding addressing spirituality directly because it felt hefty and complex. Yet, I kept inadvertently writing (and rewriting) this issue…

The following is my best (non-expert) attempt at unpacking the black box. I hope you find it as helpful as I do.

where do we even begin?

Spirituality is about spirit. There are a lot of other words for it: Consciousness, awareness, energy.

At its core, it's energy that witnesses your existence.

From the moment you're born, no matter what you're doing or feeling, whether you're asleep or awake, our "lights" are on in some form.

Far behind the thought, action, or sensation, this energy sits back and observes.

Of course, there are endless theories exploring the nature and origin of consciousness.

While these are interesting conversations, knowing the answer to one of humanity's biggest questions isn't as relevant to the perspective I'm about to share.

That happens downstream of this mysterious energy.

To get there, let's start with a story.

meet flob

From the second Flob left his mother's womb, he was entranced.

Wide-eyed, Flob was constantly mesmerized, grasping, and fully immersed in his environment. Through his interactions, he learned about the world and himself.

But it wasn’t all endless curiosity and wonder. From a very young age, Flob was programmed to seek security, a factor largely influenced by his immediate environment and formative relationships.

If perceptibly threatened, his brain became a tool of survival. Over time, his trusty brain collected experiences to help him navigate future interactions.

Formative experiences stuck to him like shrink wrap. A stack of seemingly invisible layers created a filter between him and the world.

These lenses not only created a unique filter but sometimes incited a chemical reaction, morphing his perception of reality.

the porous & prickly

Growing up, Flob loved football. Playing football was associated with extremely warm feelings of belonging, community, connection, and effortless flow.

On the football field, the shrink wrap appeared to grow "pores," airing him out.

A deep energy current ran through his body. His breaths felt light, his body boundless, his senses heightened.

The worries that normally crowded his headspace evaporated, directing all of his energy toward the present moment.

This obviously felt awesome.

But it wasn’t all football.

In middle school, Flob encountered a classmate with heavy eyebrows and a heavier New Florker accent. This brooding fellow bullied Flob relentlessly about his lisp. Another thick layer of shrink wrap descended upon him.

If you asked him about it now, more than a decade later, Flob would say he barely thinks about it.

But this doesn't mean it didn't change him. Now, when he encounters someone who even looks like his heavy-browed bully, a “phantom bully,” the laminate thickens and grows prickly, creating a protective barrier.

Flob feels a heaviness extend over him. His chest constricts, forcing his breaths to become shallow. There is a growing disconnection between him and the world, closing off his energy.

This bristling at a phantom bully may feel "natural," but it's actually an acquired layer of baggage.

we are all Flob

We all walk around laminated.

There are experiences we picked up and never put down.

A couple of these experiences literally keep us safe. A majority don't. Regardless of their actual utility, they quietly drive how we interact with the world.

They manifest as needs, fears, coping mechanisms... even personality traits if the impressions are deep enough.

Outward focused, and driven by our past, we hand over the reins of our inner experience to our environment. We design our lives to include as much football as possible and avoid thick eyebrows.

This might be fine if we had full control of our environment, or even if the things we wanted/avoided consistently delivered a sense of security.

But of course, neither of those conditions is true. (Not to mention the full spectrum of life we lose if we’re constantly trying to protect ourselves.)

Spirituality doesn't deal with the content of the layers. Instead, it's a reminder to zoom out and recognize these experiences we've collected are neither the truth nor who we are.

This awareness alone is one hell of a drug. It sets in motion something...funky, creating a chasm between you, the observer, and the “layer” itself.

A dis-identification, like a bond breaking, occurs, releasing a bunch of energy. The energy that was subconsciously held in this bond now belongs to you.

When our relationship with something changes, we assume the thing now has to be different. New partner, new career, new whatever. You uproot your life and move to the Himalayas.

While an external shift is certainly possible, the real shift is internal. The change is the nature of our relationship to the person, place, or thing in question, not the thing itself.

It’s now a choice we get to make, not a layer born from a decision when we were 5.

Instead of clinging to form, we start identifying with the limitless, amorphous, unspoken, unconditional, eternal energy behind the form.

The you who sees. The you who’s always okay.

If this “shedding baggage” business sounds impractical and unsettling, a substantial part of me agrees.

Another part of me though, a largely silent but increasingly present part, gently encourages me to keep zooming out and falling back. To sit on my hands while the flies are swarming. To relax while the noises of an old but biting narrative get louder.

Until it's finally quiet, and a deeper, more elevated sense of calm and renewal takes over.

On the other side of letting go, you’ll see more of who you are. The you who's always been without the heavy coat you never knew you were carrying.

Unthinkable.

love,

Silvi

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