Detachment

Like Unto God

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / Leave a comment

I’ve been at a place of frequently asking myself/the universe why?

  • Why do I seemingly have all these gifts in which very few are interested?
  • Why give me the gifts of vision, insight, knowing, and no audience with whom to share them?
  • Why give me the gift of prophecy – the ability to see the sign of the times and where things may be headed – when no one hears me?
  • Why give me the gift of seeing disorder (when things are out of order for an individual or a group’s higher good), along with the awareness of the remedy to that disorder when my insights are almost always ignored or rejected?
  • Why give me a platform on which I can share some of these insights while keeping my platform invisible?
  • Why give me wise counsel and the gift of teaching for the very few who are willing to hear and apply it?
  • Why show me the red flags while those who need them ignore my pleas?

When I find myself in these times of questioning, I often feel like a whiney baby asking my parent, “Why can’t I have what I want when I want it and I want it now?”

But I have also found that when I turn these kinds of quandaries inward, the answer usually appears – or at least what I need to hear in the moment to find comfort along with encouragement for continuing forward.

This morning as I wrote out these questions and hurled them out into the Universe, the answer came quickly and clearly:

One Who is Like Unto God.

“Hearing” these words, a deep peace came over me, along with an unfolding vision of what these words might mean to me in this moment. I share this in the event that you might find these words comforting as well.

“One who is like unto God,” brought me immediately to the story from Luke’s gospel (Lk 15: 11-32) of the “Prodigal Son.” Specifically, I was reminded of the father and his actions in the story. In summation:  

  • He saw and understood that his son needed this time of departure for his own growth.
  • He likely understood that his son’s efforts would fail and bring him disappointment.
  • He hoped that one day his son might return to the home where he was loved.
  • He waited and watched. Every day, standing at the gate, looking to see if his son was coming home.
  • When his son came home, the father didn’t punish or reprimand him. Neither did he say, “I told you so.”  Instead, he welcomed him home with open arms and held a celebration for his return.

In the story, the father represents God.  The son represents humanity. For us, the story of the Prodigal Son is an invitation to acknowledge the human need to seek out and explore who we are and our place in the world. It is also the reminder that the ultimate destination of that journey is (re)Union with God/Self. We are both the son and the father at different times in our journey. Sometimes we are the son boldly going out into the world despite the warnings of our family, friends, etc. Sometimes we succeed. Often, we fail. At other times, we are in the position of the father – watching and observing our loved ones (and the world) fumbling about in their journey of being human and we want like mad to share our wisdom, warn them of pitfalls, rescue them and save them from themselves. Our well-meaning attempts to intervene often blow up in our face, or our guidance is simply rejected.

For most of my life, I’ve been the son – going out into the world in defiance of the warnings and cautions delivered by well-meaning elders. Sometimes their warnings proved true. Other times I experienced freedom and liberation from these choices – albeit often with a fair amount of suffering. The human journey, no matter how perfectly we follow another’s, or our own guidance is not without suffering.

Now, when I hear the words “Like Unto God,” I am aware it’s time to be more like God. What I mean in being more like God, I mean this:

  • Watching and observing human beings being human beings.
  • Avoiding the temptation to judge the actions and decisions of others.
  • Allowing humanity to go along on its journey unhindered, even if it means toward their own destruction.
  • Staying out of the way – not interfering and not attempting to intervene.
  • Avoiding the temptation to fix, save, or rescue.
  • Remembering that humanity sometimes learns best through failure.
  • While staying out of the way, holding them all in loving compassion.
  • Being available as support and counsel when called upon without attachment to the outcome.

Ugh!  All these things are so difficult, especially when the individual(s) in question are those I love and care about. But the truth is, I’m not sure there’s any other choice. It is only our ego/false-self that believes we know what is best for another. (For God’s sake, we don’t even know what’s best for ourselves!)  While we may be able to predict the downfall of another’s decision, and the downfall does indeed happen, that doesn’t mean the failure wasn’t exactly what the individual needed for their own personal growth. While we might see and know, we will never be omniscient. While we may accept the invitation to “be like unto God,” we will never actually be God. It is this truth that keeps us humble in our humanly journey of being human and our spiritual journey of hoping to be more like God. In neither will we ever be perfect – which is the whole entire point.

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Hold the Line

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / 3 Comments

Hold the Line

Love isn’t always on time.

These are the words that keep dancing around in my head. As we are continuing to be witness to the collapse of the world as we have known it, these are important words to remember.

Love does not come in our time.  Love comes in “God’s” time. We are not in charge of the unfolding of current events. Instead, we are witnesses and Love-bearers.

As witnesses our job is to watch, observe, and hold space for all the many faces of grief we will experience in the face of the death-throes of the patriarchy. As Love-bearers, we are meant to observe the unfolding from a place of non-judgment and detachment.

Love is universal. All are made by and for Love. Even (especially) those we perceive to be living a life contrary to Love. Jesus said “Love thy neighbor,” and “Pray for your enemies.”  Our neighbors are those we perceive to be like us. Our enemies – well, we know who they are. We are called to Love them – one and all.

I know, easier said than done. When we watch humans being cruel toward each other, treating one another with disrespect, acting as if some are deserving of liberties and others are not, it is hard.

When it is hard, we are called to pray for ourselves.  “Help me in my unbelief.” “Forgive them, they know not what they do.” “Into your hands I commend my spirit.”  “Teach me how to Love.”

All are wounded seeking to be free. Some know they are wounded and are seeking their own healing. Most aren’t even aware they’re wounded and are simply acting out of those wounds.

Love one another. Pray for each other’s healing.

And don’t interfere. It is said “you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.”  The same is true of humans. The difference between horses and humans is that humans can’t even be led. All we can do is our own work of being Love in the world and being that Love more fully. Sometimes, our presence awakens others to the Love within themselves, and to the invitation to knowing that Love. Sometimes our presence pisses people off. Neither is within our control. It’s not personal. It’s none of our business.

Each of our names are written on the palm of God’s hands. Our lives are written in Her book. If you are reading this, you are here simply for the purpose of Love. Be that Love and live from that Love and that is all you need to know.

Hold the line. The Love that you are is always on time.

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Learning Not to Care

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / 3 Comments

(aka Cultivating the Fine Art of Detachment)

Life is a funny thing. First, we are taught that it is our job to care about EVERYTHING. Caring about EVERYTHING implies that it is our job to do something about it. Heaped on top of this caring is the whispered weight of responsibility. Not only is it our job to do something, it is also likely that the things that appear wrong are also somehow our fault. Blame adds to the pressure to do something about the wrong.

At nearly sixty, however, I’ve learned something new. It is more than likely that NOTHING is our fault. Therefore, it’s not our job to fix it. Furthermore, it’s not even our responsibility to care.

Wait! What? It’s not our job to care?

Yes, we have a human responsibility to care about ourselves, our loved ones, humanity, and the world. If we have a loving heart, we want the best for everyone. We want people to be happy, healthy, fed, clothed, safely sheltered, educated, and their medical needs provided for. We want people to have liberty, dignity, respect, and peace.

The sad reality, however, is that more often than not, there is not a damn thing we can do to guarantee any of this for anyone. Neither can we necessarily fix the wrong that prevents people from having all that is stated above. This is especially true when the individual is capable but unwilling to care for themselves. Furthermore, 99% of what we care about is completely out of our sphere of influence, and even if it is, it still may be out of our control.

As a Type 1 (Perfectionist/Reformer) on the Enneagram, this has been a truth that has been very difficult for me to come to. Not only have I had conditioning working against me, but I have also had the gift/curse of my unique temperament which gave me the lens through which I am hard-wired to ask “How could this be better.” Indeed, this gift makes me a fantastic trouble-shooter, source of counsel and guidance. This lens also left me with a seething resentment over all the things in the world that I can’t fix and all those who could utilize my gifts, but have refused my counsel.

Compounding the frustrated fulfillment of my gift and its resulting resentment, is the reality of emotional addiction. As it turns out, we can become addicted to negative emotional states in the same way that we can be addicted to alcohol or drugs. Spending time in, or even cultivating these negative emotional states have a similar impact on our brain chemistry as other addictions. Resentment, frustration, impatience, even rage were negative states to which I had become addicted, and I would even seek out situations to get upset about so that I could experience the “power” of these emotions.

Feeling these emotions, however, never fixed the frustration. Getting twisted up about someone else’s behavior, an injustice in the world, or the ignorance of humanity never gave me peace – only more resentment. Eventually I had to make a choice – remain in the ever-twisted world of seething resentment or find some way to experience peace. I chose peace.

The first step in choosing peace was to acknowledge I had an addiction. The second step was to recognize what all those inner feelings were actually saying to me.  They weren’t saying, “Go fix this thing.  It’s your job to fix it.  You know better than anyone else.”  Instead, they were showing me one of two things: a) a need of my own that wasn’t being met that I then had the responsibility to get met (if it was within my realm of control). b) all the things in the world over which I have ZERO control. Admittedly, a) was easier to accept than b).

When we feel powerless over something we cannot control, we will find anyway to find that power, until we can accept that it is really not within our control. One of the tactics I have found helpful (or mantras I’ve embraced) is to force myself NOT TO CARE.

I know this sounds harsh, but I am naturally a loving and caring person – especially as it relates to those I love and have care for. I want the best for them. I want them to be safe, cared for, healthy, happy, etc. But the reality is that no matter my efforts to share my gifts in a way that might be supportive, some/many are unable to receive these gifts. I can beg and plead all I want but until an individual (or a group, or a Church, or a political party, or a nation) wants to make a change, my words are dust in the wind.

To survive the frustration and angst over a) my gifts not being received and b) my complete lack of control over a situation, I have had to learn not to care. In the recovery world, this is called detachment. Detachment allows me to be an objective witness of what is unfolding around me without the compulsion to step in and offer my wisdom, expertise, advice, suggestions, etc. Detachment allows me to move beyond the frustration, irritation, or anger I might feel in the face of what I perceive as wrong and accept things the way they are. And OH MY GOD, my inner perfectionist/reformer HATES THIS!  But, it’s the only way I can experience peace. At this point in my life, I’m far more concerned about peace than thinking I have any influence over the state of our world, and I’ve discovered that this peace is a choice.

I can continue to allow myself to care so much about the world that I suffer the consequences of ongoing seething resentment and frustration, or I can learn not to care (cultivate the fine art of detachment) and live my life in peace. I choose peace.