When I dreamt, I found the spaces in between…

I recently attended a workshop with a well known researcher, writer and visionary in the altered states psychology sort of realm, you know, in line with other sorts of methods like holotropic breathwork and guided meditation and such. I attended in part as someone who’s on a path to self-discovery and is curious about different methods to help individuals attain greater self-awareness. But honestly, I also attended largely in part as a cultural critic (it’s what I do, after all). I mean, sure I’ve got a pretty strong Buddhist practice these days, one that I find incredibly powerful, and I’m interested in how others find similar states of self-understanding. However, I have a great deal of both skepticism and honest curiosity about some of this new agey sort of self-reflection. So I attended, and (mostly) kept the snark in check (I won’t even tell you the title of this workshop, it’s seriously laughable and provides entertainment for me almost daily). I introduced myself as a Buddhist, a student, and a thinker. They had fair warning, right?

A fair portion of the workshop was a talk about progressive movements, altered states, connection with spirituality, and most importantly, consciousness-raising, examples ranging from feminism to the environmentalist movement. It was a great talk by a great academic. Lots of stuff I already knew, but was a wonderful way to establish some sort of connection with this thinker. Awesome.

And there was the guided meditation, which, while nice, had no context, and I wasn’t particularly sure why we were doing it. Neither did my partner. We were both fairly nonplussed by the experience. Harmless, but not particularly enlightening.

But then there was the participant who believed that the Archangel Michael was cosmically sending her chants to sing in the shower, chants to Jesus and God and the angels and that he was speaking directly through her. And our dear sweet academic presented an example of spiritual healing about a healer in Hawaii who has spent time energetically cleansing Washington, DC (okay, maybe there’s some merit there) and the graves of supposed cannibalistic Hawaiian tribal leaders (uh…). And the very talented musician who had us stand in a circle singing chants from South American tribes in order to channel their forest spirits (while swaying back and forth, eyes closed, no less). It took so much energy on my part to keep my eyes from their tendency to roll (I swear, I’m trying, peeps).

Okay. So people have different ways of understanding the world around them. They have a whole plethora of methods to make sense of the unexplainable, to create connection between themselves and the divine or nature, to create meaning in their lives and live well by that meaning. Who am I to judge? I pray to rocks, right?

But I am judging. I left that workshop laughing, giggling at the madness of humanity, and also happy to have heard some smarts from this academic, at the very least. But I also left feeling very uneasy, having to sort out what I was judging, why I was judging, and if it was okay that I was doing so even though it wasn’t being done meanly. And after much thought and conversation on the ride home, I decided that yes, in fact, I have both the right and the responsibility to judge. Yes, I said the responsibility.

I’m making judgement on what matters. What matters when we live in a fucked up world full of poverty, genocide, rage, corruption, apathy, and a whole slew of -isms. What matters when we, as supposedly progressive thinking humans, need to decide where we put our energy regarding how we heal the world, ourselves, and those around us. I’m all for personal spirituality, connecting with nature, the divine, love, whatever you want to call it, however you want to conceive of it. Whatever it is that makes you a better human, that allows you to be solid and grounded and complete. However, I fear that there’s an enormous potential for losing sight of the suffering that’s going on this world and of what kind of energy is needed to help alleviate some of this suffering. That it’s so easy to lose sight of actual change and healing, versus the infinite creative ways we can convince ourselves that we’re making change. To be blunt, I’m sorry, cleansing the graves of cannibalistic Hawaiian icons is probably not really what we need right now in our world of limited resources, energy, good hearts, and creative minds.

What you do matters. What you say matters. When you tell me and others about humans who spend their time energetically healing dead people (and not only tell me, but use it as an example of positive social change) you are telling people that it really doesn’t matter how they decide to help the world, that only their intentions matter, that if they feel good about what they’re doing, then it’s just as important as those consciousness raising circles of the feminist ’60s and Rachel Carlson’s enormous contribution of the “Silent Spring” to the environmentalist movement. I try to avoid cliches, but you know the one about intentions and hell…

I judge because I seriously fear that we are so privileged that a) not only will we take our privilege and run with it in the name of good (which can have its benefits overall), but that b) we’ll wind up forgetting that we are privileged and consider what we’ve got (in the name of Spirituality) to be a free pass to act like assholes. New age, kind, warm, spiritual assholes, but assholes nonetheless.

It’s my responsibility to judge, because if I don’t, who’s going to hold others accountable. Who’s going to be able to straddle the need for spirituality and meaning in one’s life with the understanding of a need for outright change, passion, and revolution in this country and in the world. And not in the white hippie “I’m so counter-cultural look at me go” way, but in the very real, cross-cultural, messy, political, social way. You know, the way that matters…