By Rivka Gevurtz
Myths, Fairy Tales, Scriptures, Memoirs – they are all about how we make meaning of our lives. We humans are distinct from our animal relations in this one way – other beings have pain, joy, rage, connection – but only we mythologize our lives and try to find common threads with the lived experiences of others.
As I say in Love, By Any Name, a life’s story is a framing of one’s own myths (or those held about us by others) to make meaning of life’s liminal moments, both joyful and painful. Myths traditionally have a perspective, with villains and heroes. In real life, though, there are few true villains, and even those have a backstory that explains why they do the things they do. Ask any reporter or detective and they will tell you that no two people they interview will shape the story they experienced (from their unique perspective) in the same way.
This is even more true for folks who have experienced some form of trauma. The elements of an experience that deeply impacted one person, causing them to freeze in that moment, may not have even phased someone else. We see this in families, where one child will have a vivid and painful memory, while a sibling may not even recall it, let alone be impacted by it.
We see this too in spiritual communities. One adherent may take great comfort in a rigidly structured religion. For another person those same boundaries may have caused immense pain. Even though I am no longer a Catholic, hearing “Silent Night” sung in German brings loving memories of my grandpa’s rich voice. For someone for whom the holidays were fraught with judgment or abuse, may be unable to abide any carols, let alone other traditions of the season.
For those of us who were rejected by family and faith, the alienation from our communities also bears the rejection of a God who is supposed to be All-Loving. How we frame our memories can take on mythic proportions wherein the villains and heroes are part of our own families, even casting ourselves as “bad” if the church and their version of God say we are.
As a spiritual director I have found that how we retell our stories, on the road to healing, makes all the difference. In many spiritual traditions the story of the prophet, guru, or godhead is told through a story that takes on a quest or journey. The point of the story is to find meaning in the journey – and that is also true for each of us. Whether our own story reads like The Odyssey or The Passion, it is about making meaning of the trials and lessons in our own lives.
The Christian spiritual practice of lectio divina invites us to read a story (a scripture) and then enter into that story by exploring how it speaks to our own life. We are listening for what wisdom resonates with our own lived experience.
When we walk a labyrinth, we are following the footsteps of the pre-patriarchal goddess Ariadne between this world and the underworld. We are journeying from the Wilderness experiences of Moses or Jesus into the Holy of Holies. We are leaving behind constraining thought patterns and opening to curiosity.
The Shinto practice of Forest Bathing – or the simple act of gazing at stars or ocean waves – can make space to listen deeply to the world around us and within us.
As archetypal traditions and psychologies note, every character in our stories, including the villains, represent some aspect of ourselves. They might take the voice of the disapproving parent or pastor, or our own petulant internal child. And this is why holding our personal mythologies with compassion is a spiritual practice in and of itself.
Having our stories witnessed by another – be that by a therapist or a spiritual director – is the first step toward healing. Just as with healing of the psyche, healing of the spirit takes time to allow for the meaning-making of the story of our life to become clear and allow us to chart a new path.
Today, when so many people either did not grow up with religion or left a religion due to wounding, it can be hard to find the spiritual tools – the rituals and the scriptures – from which we can make meaning and define our relationship with ourselves and Higher Self.
Which spiritual tools help us find meaning, and which are merely entertainment or spiritual bypass? Can we be curious about the accuracy of the “truths” we tell ourselves? Where does the painful memory constrain our spirit, and what form of creativity opens up space for our own still, small voice?
What parts of your story speak to my experience? When I first started writing Love, By Any Name, it was about making meaning of the journey that my beloved and I shared as a queer couple who were navigating the pressures and oppressions of religion and politics, while also coming to terms with the tensions between our own spiritualities, identities and values. We discovered that through sharing our lived experience with other people it changed the hearts and minds of those who previously rejected lesbian and trans people. We also discovered that sharing our experiences with other queer folk gave them hope that their lives were also meaningful and deserved to be held as sacred gifts.
Just as writing the book was a long journey, so too has been the journey that led to the forming of Shelter For The Spirit, where I do my work as a spiritual director and community
chaplain. Along the way, I’ve been privileged to companion other folks who are on their own meaning-making journeys. Some do that through a faith tradition, and some do that through other forms of spirituality. For all, they are examining what their own life and spirituality (however they define it) can teach them about how to live with compassion and integrity.
Ultimately, the goal of our meaning-making is to help us find within ourselves the spirit of resilience, the divine gift which nurtures hope, as we face the challenges this life presents to each of us.
