To Die or Not to Die...

The reason we fear spiritual maturation and self-actualization is actually the same biological reason we inherently fear snakes. 

Though we may think that a fear of snakes is solely a cultural conditioning, which it can be, there are fascinating studies that point to our fear of snakes as a critical component of human evolution. One study was conducted where infants between six and twelve months of age, who had never encountered a snake or spider, either in real life or pictorially, were exposed to a series of slides. There were images of trees, and rocks, and flowers, and other insects, yet whenever a slide of a snake or a spider was shown, there was a distinct dilation of the pupils in each of the infants, that didn’t occur in response to any of the other slides. This pupil dilation is a direct response to the Parasympathetic Nervous System being activated, or in other words, the "fight, flight, or flee" trigger. 

How could it be that infants, with no previous cultural conditioning, were afraid of snakes? Epigenetics certainly comes into play, as we now know that phobias and emotional trauma can be passed down through the generations in our DNA. So it’s reasonable that if Grandma Gina was terrified of snakes, that her decedents may carry shades of that terror. 

But other research supports the idea that this fear of snakes goes much further back than Grandma Gina, that it’s actually in the human gene, because if it wasn’t perhaps we would not be alive to even have this conversation. It’s our fear of snakes, as part of the greater drive for self-preservation, that kept our species on the winning side of natural selection. This is why our eyes are forward-facing, and why we’re adept at tree climbing, to mention two examples of how we’ve stayed one step ahead of our venomous predators. 

So we fear snakes because we don’t want to die. Evolutionarily, that fear of death and instinctive self-preservation has kept us alive and allowed us the most advancements as a species--but only physically. 

Because we don't exactly know what happens after we die, most of us tend to delay finding out as long as possible. I'm a big fan of being alive. That also means I’m a big fan of self-preservation. But the catch is that it’s not just our genetics that are fighting desperately to stay alive—so does our ego. In fact, maybe the ego is a direct result or natural byproduct of physical evolution. As our brains grew bigger and our genes grew more durable, we suddenly had the luxury of philosophical thought, because we weren’t fighting endlessly for each daily meal. We learned how to subsist, which freed up space in our mental capacity for existential reaching: Who am I? Why am I here? Where am I going after I die? 

And along with that existential reaching, came it’s wicked step sister—existential answers. The idea that we can answer these questions is egotistical. How so? Because the ego thrives on false identities and the stories we tell ourselves. Were we ever supposed to be able to answer them? Are we kidding ourselves when we think we have? 

When we attempt to answer these important questions, instead of respecting them as questions, we create a persona, an alternate reality, an egoic state. And that egoic state learns to fight as vehemently for life as our own genetics. We love to live behind the illusion of who we think we are, why we’re here, and where we’re going. This is the heart of religious struggle and warfare, cultural division, racism, and elitist thinking. On a personal level, it’s the heart of mental illness, where reality is fractured and we no longer live on the same plane as those around us. 

Letting go of the egoic illusion is the way we experience spiritual maturation and self-actualization. 

What is critical for our long-term physical survival—the fear of death—is the antithesis for our spiritual survival. We are a living paradox, asked to self-preserve in our biological make-up, and simultaneously asked to die egoiclly over and over again. Eve’s fall was the metaphorical egoic death. Christ’s crucifixion and the narrative of the atonement was the metaphorical egoic death. That’s what every spiritual guru and book of scripture is actually pointing to. 

Our task is immense. We have to overcome our own inherent biological drive to stay alive and willingly die in order to spiritually come alive.

In biology class you learned that evolution is the process by which different kinds of living organism are believed to have developed from earlier forms during the history of the earth. Darwin espoused, quite convincingly, that this is made possible through the process of Natural Selection. When three key components are in place, evolution occurs:

1. Variation
2. Differential Reproduction
3. Heredity

Take an example of beetles, where some are bright green and others are dark brown (variation). Birds swoop down and gobble up the bright green beetles because they’re so easily spotted along the dirt floor, which creates an imbalance in numbers (differential reproduction). This means the brown beetle population is now outnumbering the green beetle population, and therefore producing more brown beetle babies (heredity). And just like that, certain species go extinct while others continue to evolve. Eventually, certain desirable traits that promote survival continue to get passed along, while less favorable traits (such as bright green beetle pigmentation) get nixed (unless you’re a jungle beetle where green becomes the camouflage and brown is so yesterday).

But what does this look like on the spiritual plane? Is natural selection still happening where spiritual evolution is concerned? In physical natural selection, we’re talking about various organisms—the first key component. But in spiritual evolution, those various organisms are housed in the same host: you, me, and all of us. You have within you the green beetle of narcissism coexisting with the brown beetle of empathy. Which one will win? Which beetle (or more poetically, which wolf) will you feed? Both are vying for life, after all.

In this regard, spiritual evolution is a harder undertaking because we actually have to choose it. We have to instigate it. We have to allow it. This is not the case for physical evolution. We could hardly prevent it even if we tried. It’s an incredibly slow moving ordeal that takes eons of time to carry out, which is why we will never complete the human taxonomy charts. The branches of extinct species that had to have occurred in order for the modern homo sapien sapien to even be what it is today is beyond measure, and would likely require a terrific algorithm to represent. Incalculable species died in order for us to be alive, and we have been millions of years in the making. 

Is spiritual evolution just as tediously slow? Yes, and no. Yes, because spiritual evolution is inseparably linked to physical evolution. In other words, it’s only possible because of the other, as we mentioned before--existential outreaching is a luxury. So in all reality, our millions of years of physical evolution has been leading us to the potential of spiritual evolution. In reality, the quantifiable answer to “Where am I going?” is "You’re going, you’re evolving, that’s the point."

And in the same breath we can answer, no, spiritual evolution is not so slow if you recognize that it’s not a one time occurrence and there’s no stopping place. It’s achievable every day, in your lifetime, and it will never stop. It just is.

We must be be willing to let an incalculable number of our egoic faces and identities die in order for us to evolve spiritually. And to do it, we must overcome our fear of snakes, the great snake—the Cosmic snake. You know her by many names: Chi, Holy Spirit (being "reborn"), Tao, Ruach HaKadosh, Divine Energy. But my personal favorite is Kundalini Shakti. She is the energy of spiritual maturation that lives within all human beings. In my next essay, we will explore the nature and process of spiritual maturation through the lens of Kundalini Shakti.

Together Forever

One of the greatest conversion points for investigators to the Mormon faith, and what is most beloved by longtime members, is the axiom "families can be together forever." They describe how this doctrine brings immense comfort and peace, knowing that they will be with their loved ones beyond this life.

I have vivid memories of singing a hymn by the name Families Can Be Together Forever in church, repeating the lyrics, "I have a family here on Earth. They are so good to me. I want to share my life with them for all eternity," and feeling a little panicky. Maybe all the other children in the congregation, singing with bright smiles and eager voices, came from happier families than mine. Maybe I was truly an anomaly to want to be far, far away from at least one member of my family in particular, and the possibility that I was tethered to them for eternity felt...well...terrifying.

It's a strange contrast of emotions to understand as a little girl, because though I felt keenly desirous to get away, I was equally and intensely obsessed with belonging to them. They were my everything. And my church taught me to uphold the family above all else. The whole purpose of our existence was to be born into a family, raise a family, and return to Heaven still intact as a family. That's a tall order, but one for which orthodox Mormons anxiously and devoutly strive.

I felt comfort in knowing that though my childhood home life was dysfunctional, hopefully I could get lucky with my own husband and kids. Maybe eternity wouldn't seem so scary if it were with someone I handpicked. That gave me something to strive for.

So when I met my husband, and we began to speak of getting sealed in the temple, I felt an unexpected anxiety come over me as I contemplated what it meant to be sealed for time and eternity. Our relationship was blissfully straightforward, loving, and all around good. So why the hesitation? If I loved him, and he loved me, why would an eternal marriage be something to hesitate about?

On one hand, it's a big deal to commit to one man for my entire life, that shouldn't be underestimated. But I'm also being asked to commit to this same man for all time and eternity. Is it even conceivable for a young, twenty-two year old girl, which I was at the time, to make a decision with such eternal ramification? Is it conceivable for anyone, of any age or degree of wisdom? I loved my soon-to-be husband more than I had ever loved anyone, but this wasn't about love--this was about breaking my brain over the incomprehensible commitment of eternity. A pledge of that nature somehow seems to me now inappropriate, maybe even a little bit naive.

We were married civilly, then sealed in the temple after four years of marriage. We made what we believed were eternal covenants. Yet, we never stopped questioning what all of it really meant. And somewhere in my deepest pondering a vision opened up where future-me appeared, thanking present-day-me for asking these hard questions. She said to me, "You have no idea how small and little this one lifetime is. You have no idea what eternity actually is. Stop putting off life for some imagined future. Stop trying to preserve relationships as they are now. Let your relationships evolve naturally. Let them grow together or grow apart as they will, but trust me to know what's best for me when you are me. Focus on what you know."

What do I know? I know that we are born, we live, we die. Maybe "til death do we part" makes the most sense after all--til the death of our relationship, then shall we part. Are we giving each other enough room to grow? To allow people to come together for a time until certain lessons are learned, or contracts are fulfilled, and then they can choose to move on? Do we actually believe in agency, or do we believe in iron-clad "sealings" that hold us bound to one another? Are we willing to acknowledge that we have no idea what happens after we die? To think that our family units just carry on in the same way in the next life is suddenly quite extraordinary. If we focus too much on preserving the family unit, are we undermining the importance of the individual journey and the profound beauty of choice? If we spend all our lives trying to belong to our family, could it be to our own detriment?

I sometimes imagine a preexistence where all of us chose to come to Earth through our specific family lines in order to gain certain opportunities for our personal growth. Maybe there was something about the unique DNA combination of our two parents that enticed us. "Yes, I'll take a bit of that artistic expression, some of that psychosis there, and oooh, yes, a heap of that anger management issue! And don't forget to throw in that sense of humor and sex addiction!" Perhaps there was something significant that we hoped to learn from each genetic inheritance.

But there's also the other theory, that maybe we didn't choose any of it, and it's just how the chips fall, based on nothing but happenstance and luck (or no luck). But either way, I'm less and less convinced that our current family arrangements as we currently define them are binding and eternal.

By stepping out of the family-centric doctrine and recognizing the remarkable uniqueness of each family member, something amazing starts to happen--everyone is set free. We come to realize that parents do not own their children! Our duty as parents is to raise up our children to the best of our abilities, passing along any tidbits of wisdom we may have gained along the way, doing our best to love them unconditionally--and then we let them go. We recognize that they were simply on loan to us. They came through our family line. They booked passage through our loins. We gave them a fleshy, temporary visa. But we did not create their souls. The best thing we can do for them is validate their existence exactly as they are, remind them that they are exactly who they are for a reason even if they look and act differently than their social or family culture supports, and stand by their side no matter where their path may take them. We must set them free to find themselves, to follow their unique path, to go wherever life takes them, without any rigid expectations of how they're supposed to cross the finish line.

But how unromantic and unfeeling, I hear you say.

I'm not ruling out the possibility of eternal relationships and family arrangements altogether. I'm just ruling out the madness of trying to preserve our present family relations as they are now and project it into an unknowable eternal context. Families are so important. We're not meant to walk through this life alone. There is so much potential good that comes from family life, but too often we use the structure as a means to own, coerce, control, and perpetuate our ego, creating co-dependency and suppressing self-actualization. Instead, families should provide structure, in order to promote healthy boundaries, develop self-confidence, promote emotional maturity, and encourage self-actualization--in an ideal world, anyway.

I love the idea of souls, and with it, the idea of soul families. This idea purports that our souls will resonate with individuals from all different family lines and walks of life, that our true soul-family extends far beyond genetics. I lean into this idea. I even suspect I've met some of them, some who are members of my genetic-family and many more who are not. I hope I will be with the people I love in the next life.

But essentially, I don't spend too much time defining the "next life." I hope there will be me, and you, and all sorts of people to love, and all sorts of learning and growth to aspire to. I'm happy leaving it with that. I prefer hope to knowledge. Give me ambiguity over doctrine any ole day of the week. And until I cross that bridge, slipping off my "mortal coil," I'm going to take advantage of every moment of mortality afforded me.

But this whole line of thinking would have been inconceivable to my young orthodox Mormon mind as I sat singing that simple hymn, feeling heavy with the weight of the "together forever" doctrine on my heart. I was taught that our families fate was the end all and be all. If I wanted to be with my family forever, every one of us had to opt in to the Mormon path. Otherwise, the Plan of Happiness would quickly devolve into the Plan of Suffering. It was everyone in, or everyone loses. How bitterly ironic that the doctrine that allows for families to be together forever is the very same one that splits them apart, thrusting loved ones into disparate "degrees of glory," aka eternal separation.

And because of my debilitating fear of being eternally separated from those I love--and certainly not wanting to be shunned in my current existence--I towed the line, not even conscious of what I was doing. I did everything I could to belong, to be accepted, to be found worthy of their estimation.

As my faith and theology expanded beyond the boundaries of Mormon orthodoxy, I began to feel incredible and profound peace in my relationship with and understanding of God. But suddenly, my temporal sense of belonging was cracking. I was on the verge of being rejected by the only people in the world I've ever cared about.

But I did it anyway. I fell down the rabbit hole and let myself unravel. In that moment, at rock bottom, when my worst fears were realized and I was shunned and rejected by those I loved most for not conforming, a most unexpected thing happened. I found freedom. That unquenchable hunger for belonging that had possessed me all my life was suddenly pacified. I felt full. I felt whole. I belonged to no one but me.

As I listened to President Nelson's address, "Come Follow Me," at the April 2019 conference, he shared a very personal and tender story of his daughter who lay on her death bed. He wept as he recounted their final exchange, how he comforted her by saying: 

"You married in the temple and faithfully honored your covenants. You and your husband welcomed seven children into your home and raised them to be devout disciples of Jesus Christ, valiant Church members, and contributing citizens. And they have chosen spouses of that same caliber. Your daddy is very, very proud of you. You have brought me much joy!"

He concludes his remarks with:

"The anguish of my heart is that many people whom I love, whom I admire, and whom I respect decline His invitation. They ignore the pleadings of Jesus Christ when He beckons, 'Come, follow me.' I understand why God weeps. I also weep for such friends and relatives. They are wonderful men and women, devoted to their family and civic responsibilities. They give generously of their time, energy, and resources. And the world is better for their efforts. But they have chosen not to make covenants with God. They have not received the ordinances that will exalt them with their families and bind them together forever."

For the ten percent of Mormon families (and that's a generous estimation) who his message applies to, where everyone has chosen the Mormon covenant path, it truly is a Plan of Happiness like President Nelson describes. But for the sweeping majority of families I know, and belong to personally, where all it takes is one single person to choose a different path, it has become the Plan of Suffering. Their current peace is stolen from them based on their perception of a distant unknowable eternity--it causes families to bleed. The President of the Mormon church believes that God is weeping for those "wayward" ones. Well if there is a God who weeps, I believe he's weeping, like me, over this theology and the suffering it's needlessly causing.

What is eternity?

For me, it used to mean the perpetually distant future, the far away and unattainable tomorrow, our inconceivable and unknowable fate. No beginning, no end. One continuous round. A clock that never runs out of batteries. Time just goes on and on. But this kind of eternity is madness making! It inflames my procrastinator, my apathetic nature, my long-sufferer and endurer-to-the-end. It perpetuates a lifestyle of "just get through, because everything will be better in the end."

Now I realize that eternity is right now. It exists outside the realm of time. Eternity is found the moment you step out of the past and let go of the future. Eternity is only found in the present, which is why it never comes, and it never goes, thus allowing it to never begin, and never end, because it's always here, constantly, permanently, forever.

If "I love you for eternity," doesn't equate to "I love you right now," then it doesn't add up to anything but misery. We either love right now, or not at all. That's romantic. That's full of feeling. Try it for yourself. Go to someone you love right this moment. Grab them by the shoulders. Look deeply into their eyes. Now say these words: "I love you right now. I choose you right now. All we have is right now. Let's make it count." That's an eternal love that I can comprehend!

So in this profound and paradoxical way, families really can be together forever. When agency truly rules the day, you may just find yourself choosing to be together in the forever-present because you actually want to be, because you're happy, because you're both opting in moment to moment to moment, but not because you're obligated to one another. Not because your hands are tied. Not because you think it will get better down the road.

But if you, like so many, find yourself trapped in perpetual forward movement, putting of living in your profound yearning for the future, for the after-life, for everything to be made right eventually, all while suffering, drowning in loneliness, wishing time would pass so you could finally be happy...you'll miss it. It's passing you by. It's all an illusion.

If you, like so many, find yourself in torment over loved ones that have chosen a different spiritual path, outside of the Mormon tradition, and you grieve over the empty chairs at your Heavenly table, ask yourself if this is indeed still the Plan of Happiness, or has it morphed into the plan of suffering? And what is the cause of that suffering? A fixation on belonging to the family before first learning how to belong to oneself. A belief that you own your children's spiritual journey. A notion that there is only one right path for every single soul. A claim that loving relationships can only transcend time if certain religious ceremonies are performed. A misunderstanding of the purpose of life and the nature of eternity.

I'm willing to accept that President Nelson is right. It could be that I have threatened my eternal fate by challenging the doctrine of saving ordinances. I'm open to that. What if I don't make it to the Celestial Kingdom, and I'm separated from my orthodox loved ones for all eternity? Then there's one thing we can agree on--this life is precious. So let's take advantage of the time we have left.

Celebrate now. Love now. Be with those you love now. Let the rest take care of itself.

The problem with Sin

In my youth I interpreted the pursuit of a righteous and good life to mean the shunning of evil and the avoidance of sin. I was given a very lengthy list of those sins, by my parents, my community, my religion, and even by myself (I'm a recovering perfectionist). It included everything I should wear, say, eat, and think. It also included everything I shouldn't wear, say, eat, and think. This list was far more comprehensive than the big Ten, which were also stressed, but ultimately, I was deemed a "good girl" when I followed that list and I was deemed a "bad girl" when I strayed from it (which wasn't very often because of my feverish need to be perfect). And in those times I was made to feel ashamed for sinning and indulging in evil.

It's the list of sins that becomes problematic, because it becomes a measuring rod by which we judge ourselves and everyone else around us. We know we are on the "right path" when we've successfully avoided anything on the list, and we know we're "straying" when we do anything on the list. And I can therefore determine whether anyone else is on the right path or straying from the fold. Then we use the list to keep everyone in line, to create a standard by which to determine one's worthiness.

This creates a rigid definition of sin: doing anything from the "don't do" list. But a closer look at the Hebrew etymology of the word sin gives us a much broader context: Sin, or "hata," derives from archery and means "to miss the mark." Perhaps your arrow hit the target but missed the bulls eye, or perhaps it missed the target entirely, so therefore you've "sinned."

What does this look like in real life? It would depend on how each person defines their own personal "mark." Is hitting the mark perfection, defined as never making a mistake? Then the list approach is likely suiting your needs just fine. Is your bulls eye to gain experience and develop your godly attributes? Then, like me, you're questioning the modus operandi and looking for a broader context in which to live.

If we understood and defined sin as the Hebrew's did, then we might see how problematic the list approach truly is. In that model, missing the mark means we are not drawing closer to God. But in my own life, the times I've felt closest to God are the times that I strayed. I haven't found God in perfect living and in wrapping myself up in bubble wrap. I've found him by using my faculties, doing my best to make difficult decisions, and navigate my way through this confusing life. Isn't it natural and good to get messy? Isn't it part of the process to lose your way, so that you learn how to make your way back? Isn't it built into nature to experience birth, death, and rebirth?

It's when we act in direct defiance to what we already know to be true that we potentially miss the mark--when we disconnect from our intuition and inner wisdom. When someone chooses something that someone else might deem as "sinful" who is to say that they are not on the "right path" for them?

I look at a beloved family member who, as a young teenager, got into drugs. He would disappear for days, live on the streets, would punch holes into the walls of his home, would lash out in rage at his parents, dropped out of school, and was eventually put into an addiction recovery program through the legal court system. By all traditional standards, this boy was a "sinner." He was marking off box after box on the grand checklist of "sins." And yet, years later, he's several years sober, he's engaged to be married, he's a budding entrepreneur, and he's wise beyond his years. He descended so low and deep, and at such a young age, that to pull himself out of that pit absolutely transformed his life. He is changed on the soul level.

Did he miss the mark? Or was it through his waywardness that he found himself and hit the bullseye? Some would say, "Yes, you can make lemonade out of lemons, but wouldn't it have been far better for him to have learned those life lessons some better way?" Of course. It would have been far better for him, and his parents, and everyone that loved him, to never have to wonder if he was dead or alive, to wonder if he would overdose and be found lifeless in the streets, to wonder if he'd live out the rest of his life as an addict. But the moment he chose it, the moment it began refining him. We shouldn't seek waywardness, but when we do, our wayward path becomes THE path.

It was Phil McLemore's incredible article The Yoga of Christ that validated my inner struggle with "sin." He illuminated the parable of the Prodigal Son for me. We have done ourselves a great disservice to interpret that parable as we do, applauding the life of the elder brother who stayed loyal to his father, who stood by his side, who worked the land and tended to the animals. By all accounts, he did everything right, he played by the rules and was a very good boy. But do we fail to realize that despite all of his do-gooding he was very, very far away from his father and from his potential? He was filled with anger, fear, jealousy, and insecurity, as evidenced by how he reacted to his brother's return. How could his father celebrate his brother's return and kill the fatted calf for a sinful wretch? Where was his prize? Where was his salvation?

But this parable was never intended to inspire us to be like the elder brother, but rather to be warned of him. It was to show us the path all of us must take in order to self-actualize, to discover our fullest potential, to be reunited with God and to hit the mark--and that path requires what may look like waywardness but what is really, in all actuality, just living your life. We are all of us the younger brother, prodigal sons and daughters, on a long and arduous journey of self-discovery. It's not until we have shed everything and have found ourselves eating with the swine that we begin to yearn for God, to yearn for Self, recognizing that the real birthright was never forfeited. That's when we stand tall, brush the dust from our knees and start our journey home. We have no more pride and want only to be home again. So we go, despite the elder brother's pointing finger.

Now hold on, am I encouraging everyone to eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die? Is the list completely null and void? Should we all just do whatever the hell we want, because it will eventually lead us back home? Am I saying there are no absolutes, that sin doesn't exist?

I believe it's what Thich Nhat Hanh said in his most eloquent and inspiring little book True Love, that it's not so much a world of Right versus Wrong, or True versus False, or Good versus Evil--it's about Big Brother and Little Brother. There are parts of us that are wise beyond our years, mature, full of grace and insight. While there are simultaneously parts of ourselves that are young, careless, naive, undisciplined, even reckless. Do we want to banish Little Brother because he causes us pain? Because he makes choices that yield unpleasant consequences? That's what many of us here in the western world have been taught to do, and it ends up looking a little bit like the madness of Jekyll and Hyde. Instead, we must love Little Brother, nurture him, pull him close, wrap him in our arms until he can grow up and merge into Big Brother.

I intend to teach my children a much smaller version of "the list" that I was taught in my youth. They will still be learn the Ten Commandments because, to me, they are common sense, reap positive consequences, foster a functioning community when practiced, and promote an ideal worth striving for, but it won't be framed in the context of "sin." But as my children come of age and start moving out into the world, start spreading their wings--our conversations will have to change and evolve. I hope I will able to say this to them:

"Don't go seeking the toughest of life's lessons, or intentionally forsake what wisdom you have gained. Life has a way of bringing you to rock bottom without any effort on your part. Just know that when you end up at rock bottom--because you will--God will be there. That is where God is found. And you will see "the mark" so clearly, in a way you've never seen it before, and you'll run for it, and you'll hit it. You'll never hit the mark by clinging to the list in fear. Instead, once you've dusted off your knees and have found your way back, then you can pick up the list, clarify it, and follow it out of love and wisdom, but never out of fear or a mistaken sense of achieving perfection."

We must stop viewing our unpleasant, dark, or painful experiences in life as interruptions or detours from the "right path," or worse yet, as detestable qualities that should be cut out of us, discarded, and avoided (like sin). This makes life feel something like a maze--an endless wandering, feeling terrified at the prospect of getting lost, making the wrong turn, and being stuck with no way out...(does the ole' hymn Choose the Right come to anyone's mind?)

Instead, recognize that soul-level enrichment and growth comes from integrating the dark and light within us, marrying our shadowside to our godliness. Life is much more like a labyrinth; The choice you are being asked to make in this life is not one of "Right" or "Wrong," it's "Am I willing to keep walking?" We are here to gain experience and you cannot misstep, because there's only one way to go--forward.