Honing closer to the center

Confusion continues and even as I grieve over a loneliness that I do not understand, scores of people rush to support me. My husband, Stephen, has booked a plane ticket and will arrive here in Berkeley for an unexpected Easter visit. My aunt and uncle call to ask how I am doing and express a gratitude for simply hearing my voice. My dear friend Perry sits with me at lunch and provides intense counsel that keeps other people from casually sitting down with us.

There are numerous people here in this CDSP (Church Divinity School of the Pacific) dorm that watch me in my sorrow and make a point to pat me on the back when they say hello. My eyes tear up in emotion when I think of this outpouring of support.

But all this does not put an end to the emotive feelings that well in me. I read further in “Center Prayer and Inner Awakening” that indicates that is loosening of emotional pain is what Keating calls “the archeological dig.” This is the way, he says, to get to the origin of the “false self.”

The “false self,” in this Christian meditative context, is a modern equivalent for the traditional concept of the consequences of original sin. Beginning in infancy (or even before) each of us, in response to perceived threats to our well being, develops a false self: a set of protective behaviors driven at the root by a sense of need and lack.

It is the false self, Keating says, that we bring to the spiritual journey, as our “true self” lies buried beneath the accretions and defenses. Accordingly, there is a huge amount of healing that has to take place before our deep and authentic quest for union with God.

Interestingly enough, at this point I’m not sure what my personal theology is and for as much as I believe in a divine spirit, which is in each one of us, I don’t know that I think there is actually an essence that I will form a union with beyond my own nature.

Which seems to lead me to an ironic truth that even when we are deliberate, like my practice of centering prayer, life is an experiment with the unknown and the unseen. And for as much as I rail against the need to continually make my own way, another part of me understands that in our aloneness, we are each a part of each us.

It is indeed the mystery of life that touches us all. This mystery may be an essence that I could call God.