Faint Outlines of a New Possibility
In this work of tending our souls, we are fulfilling our most essential task — we are loving the world.
I met with an astrologer last week who, in one sentence, loosened a door that had been sealed tightly for years. Before I was fully awake on Sunday morning, the door cracked open.
Unbeknownst to me, my entire life had been lined with an infinite strand of tiny fairy string lights, a vast web of homing beacons.
That morning, electricity surged into one of the constellations within that immense web:
The faith my parents introduced me to years ago, which has been fertilized by other wisdom teachers and mentors
A tender and transformative conversation with my son
Long walks in the forest
A Spotify Playlist, resonant songs that have been calling me into what I must do
The unconditional my spiritual director mirrored to me in a moment I couldn’t access it
The nourishing wisdom of an audiobook I’ve feasted on for nearly two years
Other souls engaged in the conscious work of holding our planet
Spiritual practices and life rhythms that have strengthened my capacity to be compassionately co-present to the suffering of my finite self and the infinite, indwelling “I Am”
Like a great chorus, in a moment of tremendous pain, these teeny, tiny lights clicked on and illuminated what had eluded me. I could see.
I saw that what once protected me is now inhibiting connection. The unconscious survival strategies that kept me safe for a season have become toxic. They now must be courageously and appreciatively welcomed, compassionately disarmed and integrated.
It was tender and heartbreaking, but Love held me up from the inside. I was safe enough to bear what I saw – strong without bracing and soft without shrinking — this seeing made space for me to access choice.
I turned toward connection, resourced my nervous system, and made plans to return to what I saw and take responsibility for the ways my pain had spilled over onto others.
Exhilarated and exhausted, I laid down for a nap.
Earlier that week I had been singing along with Quaker chants while I folded clothes and sorted through long-neglected piles of paperwork.
As I awoke from my nap, there was a song singing within me, gifting me with words for my experience.
"I saw that there was an ocean of darkness and death,
but an infinite ocean of light and love,
which flowed over the ocean of darkness.
In that, I also saw the infinite love of God,
and I had great openings."2
The crack in the door that morning had revealed darkness, but as I pushed the door open further, light encircled the darkness. The infinite love of God enwombed me, neutralizing my shame. Forces of evil were face-to-face with the Source of all Love.
I was swimming in mercy, “as in an endless sea.”
Tears and undreamt of lightness made space for remorse and sorrow as I saw the ways I have transmitted my pain and added to our collective pain body. My heart aches recalling the terrible sweetness of it.
That afternoon, I opened an email and found these words — more language for what had just transpired.
If we utter aloud the word mercy,
standing, each of us, by an open window
anywhere we are in the world,
then the word mercy will carry on the soundwaves
onwards and unceasing,
through the air of the wounded world.
And maybe, when it takes flight into deed and kindness,
justice and effort, it will effect a healing,
a hope and a blessing.
It may call the homeless home,
it may coax to hope the betrayed and broken,
it may ease the burdened earth.
Listen for it, the repeated word mercy, on this Mercy day,
Listen for its neighborly dialects and global idiom.
Imagine those who, like you, are saying it aloud, and those who need to hear it, today…the word…mercy.
One word, one deed of justice, one kind effort at a time.
Creator God, sustainer of life,
Jesus, our companion Word, Spirit,
who, like the air, inspires,
Give us the simple daring this day
To say and to be Mercy.— Mary Wickham, RSM
It’s clear to me that other humans were uttering “mercy” at windows I would never know of, and this had called me home. I’m moved by the exquisite care, an elaborate construction that had been preemptively woven together for this moment of homecoming.
It’s also clear to me that this moment was not an arrival or an attainment.
What I’ve shared here is one scene in an ongoing story of becoming — a moment when I tasted an incrementally more concentrated experience of “being-ness,” an inner stability from which I have more access to choice, a deepening felt-sense familiarity with surrender, and more capacity to respond to present-moment invitations, in service to the whole.
We are alive, friends. It’s painful and exquisite.
There is so much darkness. It’s real. Death is all around us. Unaddressed pain has mixed with power and fragmented us, but we are encircled by a Love that is permeating the darkness in the most creative ways.
The world will not be saved from the outside in, no matter how brilliant our plans are. Though it can certainly make a difference in the short term, a change in the White House won’t save us. No amount of money will save us. Nor will religion or science. No one is coming to do this for us, but there is help.
Love has not abandoned us. We are made of this Love. We are connected by this Love. Love’s creative provision comes right to us, beckoning us to notice and see, to soften and yield.
Becoming is a slow process. We can’t force it, but we can practice paying attention. We can tend this aliveness and consciously engage with what fragments us. We can strengthen our capacity to be present to pain and
In this work of tending our souls, we are fulfilling our most essential task — we are loving the world.
In the ongoing alchemy of our lives through our persistent conscious work, we become pixels of Love to encircle others in their unbearable moments – none of us is exempt from the heaviness, and none of us is the singular source of light.
Each of us must walk on our own path, but we don’t have to walk alone. Love is weaving webs of fairy string lights around us, illuminating what once was imperceptible — faint outlines of new possibilities.
Could many tiny moments of restoration inside of and between many interconnected beings lead to flourishing for the whole?
We’ll never know unless we try.
*Cynthia Bourgeault’s work has so deeply shaped my life and work. It’s recognizable and worth attributing as a source, even when I’m not quoting her directly.
*This post was also published on Substack. You can listen to me reading that essay here.
