Inner
Work
“I don't
believe the inner work ever really ends, and sometimes I need a
vacation.”
Debra
Moffitt (Garden of Bliss: Cultivating the Inner Landscape for
Self-Discovery)
Oh, Boy! Truer words were
never spoken. I've said before, but it bears repeating, if you make
the decision to put your foot on the path of spiritual development,
there is no turning back. Once the journey begins, it can not be
scrapped. You will celebrate and take joy in it, but you will also wish
with all your heart for days of nothingness. I often ask my
analyst-friends when enough is enough—when do your get to say the
journey is finished, done, get off the train? They always give me
that side-eye look, and say, “When you die.” No, scrap that; it
doesn't end when you die—it just keeps going on the other side of
the veil. Forever.
This piece of art was
made in stages—just like the process of counseling or analysis.
First the quilt of reds, greens and yellows was created. Later, the
pin-wheels were added, and later still, the embroidered paths and
turn-backs. It was created over about a ten year period. At the time,
I was simply making art—but it never felt finished. I would put it
away for a while, then pull it out and add another layer of
complexity. Finally, all those disparate parts seemed to need tying
together, so I added the labyrinth-path. Finally, it was complete,
but it wasn't until the title, “Inner Workings,” came to me that
I made the connection.
Inner work is long and
arduous if you truly do it. It's not a happy holiday of
self-indulgence and grandiosity. Instead, it requires looking at
things about yourself and your history, your beliefs and your
mistakes, and raking over ground that you thought you had buried. The
reason for this is not to make you miserable, but to clear out the
basement of your psyche so that you can see how you got to where you
are and where you go from here. Therapy vacuums up things like blame,
shame, and unfounded over-confidence or self-loathing. It shines a
light on your humanity, and makes it easier, not only to forgive
others for their human-failings, but to forgive yourself. It's a
little like unpacking boxes you never knew were stored in your
mother's attic—your old prom dresses, your father's discharge
papers, some salacious photos of your parents taken long ago, a
lifetime's worth of letters, journals and confessions. Each item you
pull from the box sheds a new light on who they actually were and how
you came to be you. With every new revelation, you have to add or
subtract information you had always held true. It can make your head
spin, but when you're done, you have a much better picture of the
“real” you. The whole you.
I hope you check in with
your inner workings today. They are complicated and beautiful.
In the Spirit,
Jane
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