Читать книгу Riches, Loss and Redemption: One Woman's Journey - Marti Eicholz Eicholz - Страница 5

Thanksgiving and Christmas were just around the corner, so the festivities of the season occupied much of my time.

As I found myself getting ready for my first Thanksgiving holiday with my new family, Robert, Bob and Alan, I thought about all of the bounty of the past year. I fell into a more reflective mode, mulling over the blessings I had received throughout the past 12 months. I was grateful for my excellent health, for my wonderful husband and family, for the sense of purpose that continued to develop within me as I grew older, for having everything I needed to be comfortable and the constant stimulation I felt in my new surroundings. Thinking about these blessings was a terrific way to jump-start my spirit into a state of well-being.

Alan was pleased with the Thanksgiving dinner. He was so delighted that he wanted me to fix that kind of dinner for some of his friends. That recognition and request could not have made me more delighted and accepted.

Coming from Indiana, I often experienced dark, cold days in winter. The sun would shine less, blessing the Southern Hemisphere for six months. The days would grow progressively shorter with each passing week. This changed with the winter solstice December 21, the shortest day of the entire year, and the days would begin to grow longer. This lengthening seemed imperceptible at first, because the weather was often gloomy and wet. I didn’t see much of the sun during this time of year to tell whether it was here for an instant or two more than it was yesterday.

Ancient people were much more in tune with these celestial rhythms, however, and many traditional cultures feared that the sun would disappear forever during winter. What proof was there, after all, that the days wouldn’t just keep getting shorter and shorter forever, until humankind lived in a permanent darkness? So they created sacred rituals in the depth of winter, to encourage the return of the sun.

We see this in almost every culture around the world, except for those located near the equator, where seasons do not vary throughout the year. The further north (or south) you go from the equator, the greater the importance of an equinox celebration. This is because ancient people understood the connection between light and life itself at a visceral level. Without light: starvation, cold and death.

Now living in California, yes, there were mild minor seasonal changes, but the sun shined almost every day, bringing incredible light into one’s world. What a blessing!

Giving thought to our first Christmas together and the snow of winter in Indiana, I thought having a frosted Christmas tree would be the right tree to decorate and celebrate the season. The boys had never had one. We giggled about it and my unique ways of doing things.

I loved this time of year. I was a December baby. Christmas was not, all about candles, gifts, and food to me. It was a time of reawakening my spirit.

Christmas Day would soon arrive. December 25^th was called Birthday of the Unconquered Sun in the Mithraic tradition, an ancient Persian cult that flourished in the late Roman Empire, and which was a serious contender to Christianity during the first centuries after Christ. December 25^th was also the date of a Greek festival honoring Helia, the sun god. Norsemen celebrated the birthday of their Lord, Frey, on the darkest days of the winter, known to them as Yule. Yule was celebrated with Yule logs, gifts, lights, mistletoe, holly, carols, feasts and processions—all before the advent of Christianity. Even Christmas trees derived from the tradition of the “pinea silva,” pine groves attached to pagan temples of the Great Mother goddess throughout pre-Christian Europe. Hannukah, the Festival of Lights, is also an age-old equinox celebration, memorializing a triumph of the Maccabees over the Syrians in 165 BC, during which time oil for holy lamps in the temple was miraculously resupplied. We see in the eight-day candle lighting of Hannukah a motif carried through in countless traditions: the offering of manmade light to honor universal light, which is making its way back to us to rescue us from winter.

No discussion would be complete without mentioning the Christmas story. First, we have an angel telling a virgin that she will conceive, and she submits to God’s will for her, even though this will mean considerable personal difficulty for her. She is engaged to be married, and her fiancé surely would have a hard time believing that this baby is coming from the Holy Spirit. And she will face a great deal of embarrassment in the village, where pregnancy outside of marriage isn’t exactly accepted.

What’s the message for us here? That we say, “Yes” to spirit’s urgings for new life, even when they’re outside of our ordinary expectations. We step outside of our mindset and open up to a new possibility, even when it looks crazy, even when it’s inconvenient, even if we feel unworthy, or young, or inexperienced, like Mary. We step up to the plate, and we say, “Yes.”

Then we go on a journey to a faraway place, in Mary’s case to Bethlehem, where she and Joseph are required to register for a census. They travel in hardship, because they’re not wealthy people, and besides, imagine how it must have felt to ride on the back of a donkey when you’re nine months pregnant! And when they reach their destination, there’s no place to get a good night’s sleep, just a stable, fit for animals, not humans. And in this most humble of places comes the long-awaited birth, a new baby who will be called the Light of the World.

Thinking about this Christmas metaphor, I thought as one searches for inner light, it requires a similarly uncomfortable journey. As we become pregnant with a new vision of ourselves, it becomes harder to move in our accustomed existence. Any advancement makes a difference, just like a pebble thrown into a pool of water. The ripples have an impact, far beyond what we perceive as our small circle of influence.

The Star of Bethlehem symbolizes this concept. A special baby, or a new idea, is born, and even the stars in the heavens react. An unusually bright star appears in the sky, leading shepherds and wise men to the stable where the baby is lying. A light exists where none existed before, and it’s so brilliant that people far and wide can’t help but notice it, and follow it, to find out what extraordinary event it marks.

After our Christmas Eve dinner and sharing gifts, the four of us, (Robert, me and the two boys), attended midnight services at the local Presbyterian Church. The church was crammed. Each pew had no wiggle room. The blind pianist captivated attention, warmed hearts, and lifted spirits. The music from the orchestra and chorus brought tears to my eyes. It was special and reminded me of another time witnessing great vocals and realizing the time, energy, dedication and talent needed to accomplish the sound and the mood. A well of gratitude rose up within me and filled me up. Candle light, the quiet meditative time to connect with the spirit within let me know that Jesus was still nestled in my heart. My heart was so full of love. I had much love to give to this community, to my new marriage, to my new family and every living creature around me. At the close of the service you just wanted to bear hug everyone within your reach.

Back at the apartment, we poured a glass of wine, turned on the music, lit the tree and savored the glorious moment. The tree lights sparkled so beautifully, reminding me the way a child’s face brightens when receiving an unexpected smile, or the delight of opening a gift that had been selected with great care and love.

This was a time to celebrate the light in our hearts and lives, turning to that spark of spirit inside and letting more of our special light shine. We can use this light as a guiding force to bring new joy into our experience. Light is the manifestation of love in our lives. We need to acknowledge it, recognize it, so we experience more of it.

I was reminded of a song from my childhood, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine, every day. I’m gonna let my little light shine.” The song continues about the light that shines is the light of love. It shines not only on me, but also on you. It lights the darkness. The light is bright and clear. This light is there for all times, every day of the week. What a beautiful concept!

There are several sources in the Bible that the theme of this song may have originated. In Matthew 5:16, “Let your light shine before me….”, in Luke 11:33, Jesus said, “No man, when he hath lighted a candle, putteth it in a secret place, neither under a bushel, but on a candlestick, that they which come in may see the light,” and in Matthew 5:14-15, “Ye are the light of the world….”

I’d like to tell you a story, a very ancient story, given to us by the philosopher Plato in his essay, “The Republic.” This story about the nature of inner light has been discussed for centuries, and still holds a mother lode of wisdom for us, particularly during this season of celebrating brilliance and illumination.

Imagine a group of people living in a subterranean cavern, with a long entrance open to the light on its entire width. Inside the people have their legs and necks fettered from childhood, so that they have to stay in the same spot, able only to look for-ward, and prevented by the fetters from turning their heads. Behind them is a low wall, and behind the wall, a huge fire.

People, animals and the regular flow of life all pass between the wall and the fire, so that shadows are cast onto the cave before the prisoners. Sometimes the shadows make muffled sounds from behind the wall. Sometimes they don’t. The prisoners, having seen only shadows their entire life, naturally believe that these shadows are the real thing. When they hear a cow mooing, they associate it with the dark two-dimensional shape of a cow. Human voices would be associated with faceless black silhouettes. A dreary existence, but the poor prisoners would know no better.

Then imagine that one of these prisoners is unchained and forced to turn around and lift up his eyes to the light. He’d feel terrific pain due to the dazzle and glitter of the light. And furthermore, he’d be unable to recognize the objects that created shadows. Ask him to identify a pig in real life, and he wouldn’t be able to. If someone told him that everything he had seen since childhood was all an illusion, he would argue vehemently. For what basis would he have for explaining his new, light-filled reality?

If he came out of the light, his eyes would be so dazed that he wouldn’t be able to see any of the things that we normally consider to be real. Instead, he would need a period of getting used to his new situation. At first, he would most easily discern shadows. And after that, he might learn to recognize people’s likenesses in water. Then, finally, he could ascertain the form of things themselves, directly, and eventually go on to contemplate the appearance of celestial beings, like the stars, moon and sun.

Plato goes on to remark that the freed prisoner would, of course, feel pity on his former comrades—and would endure virtually anything, even slavery, rather than living beneath the earth in darkness again. Yet if he were forced back into the dark once more, everyone would make fun of him, and say that his vision was ruined. They might even try to kill him, for changing their perception of reality.

The first time I read Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, I was struck by what a fresh and lively story this was—how totally applicable to the modern world, although it was written more than three centuries before Christ. Yet how well it describes out inner quest for enlightenment, and the subsequent discomfort we feel when we try to reconcile the new things we see and learn with our former sense of reality.

First, look at how Plato positions us all in a shadow-state, where we are unable to look either to the right or the left. This is a wonderful metaphor for an inflexible mindset, where we accept the attitudes and platitudes that have been handed to us, and we fail to ask whether there might be a more complete reality.

Isn’t this how we are sometimes, taking ideas for granted? We go along with the status quo. We fail to ask how things might be different or unique and instead feel that there’s nothing more for us to do than simple continue on with the way they are or letting situations continue without questioning.

Often we assume that there are preordained rules, perhaps even a fate already written for us up in the sky someplace, and there’s no room for independent thinking. Far from it—independent thinking often is viewed as “radical”, “revolting”, “revolutionary,” or even dangerous, as it upsets the apple cart. I knew very well this kind of thinking. Much of my early years were spent avoiding and resisting mind molding manipulations.

Why would anybody allow themselves to become calcified into a temperament with too much obedience to rules and regulations without carefully consideration and thought? I knew why! Fear! When you think of those prisoners in Plato’s cave staring at shadows on the wall, don’t you get a spooky, haunting feeling of fear? With an overabundance of fear, we avoid questioning, because we are afraid of what we might find out. We obey all the rules, because we’re afraid of what the consequences might be. We allow ourselves to become too regimented, and too inflexible, because we lack the courage to do anything else.

After reviewing this ancient story, especially at this time of year, I asked for an increase in my inner light, giving me more independence and courage. I vowed not to see things from a limited standpoint, but be willing to actually perceive the world around me in a completely different way.

Robert and I did not participate in an organized church, but we were full of love and we had lights that could shine for each other and everyone we met. We wanted our hearts to be open and attuned to the manifestations of light in our lives.

We rang in the New Year with much anticipation. I had always cherished the genesis of a new era. My intention for improvement was a major factor in helping me not feel bored or restless. I did understand that every day brings completely new opportunities for growth, exploration and discovery. Nothing but the power of my own inertia decrees that I would be the same person as yesterday. So would the dawning of this New Year bring me--sameness or exhilarating adventure? Well, I guess it depended on my attitude. For several months I had been experiencing seemingly a never-ending newness. Each new morning had offered me a chance to try again, aim higher, put forth more effort and come armed with fresh objectives to do my part in contributing to making our lives happier and healthier. I did feel alive. I believed this continuing feeling of newness was magnificent evidence of the power of life itself, ever-changing, ever-transforming, and ever-flowing. I was open to this incredible gift of a New Year.

We had scheduled several business trips and I was Robert’s travelling side-kick. And I didn’t mind. Robert and I travelled well together, knowing where to be and not to be at the appropriate time, being attentive to the other’s needs and wishes and participating where and when it was requested. This gave me an opportunity to view and witness new and different situations, styles and learning to adjust to various conditions.