My spiritual journey started out as a solitary one. I was a child, alone, riding my bike to the nearest sanctuary: Fairbanks Baptist Church, just outside of Gainesville, FL. I was seven years old. I spent the next 27 years searching outwardly for God, finding distractions along the way. Distracting oneself is very easy, especially with technology, alcohol, and women. With technology, it has never been easier to connect with people and yet often we do so superficially, a kind of distraction. Like the awkward stage of a new relationship, people see our representatives on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Match.com… I am guilty of this, not because I intentionally sought to mislead, but because I had not taken the time to get to know myself. In fact, I have spent so much time building barriers to protect the “real me”, I could hardly be mad at myself for not knowing how to describe the “real me” on paper (see my bio). Twenty-seven years later, I am finally learning about myself. I’m breaking down inner barriers, and I’m no longer alone in my spiritual journey.
When I came to NextStage in February of 2016, I was seeking. That’s all, just…seeking. I skyped with Joseph and he would just look at me and wait for me to fill the silence with my nervous babbling. Now, I know Joseph was learning about me as I went on. Joseph listened. Joseph then asked me what I wanted. Not like, “What do you want from me?!?” But more like, “How can I help you?” or, closer still: “Do you want to be helped?” My answer was, basically, “I have no idea what I want…and of course I want to be helped!”
I spent the next several months wondering if Joseph would accept me as a student. Hoping he would. Feeling I would blow it in some way by being too needy or too much of a drain. At 34 years old, there was an absolute sense of urgency to work on myself. I have to be the best me I can be. I have a family that relies on me. I have subordinates who rely on me. I have customers who rely on me.
What about me? What about me?
This was an important lesson that Joseph helped me to learn. I can’t help others until I take care of myself first. It’s so basic, cliché even. Of course I knew that. I know I need to take care of myself. That I need to breath, eat, drink water, sleep, heal wounds, etc. But knowing and seeing in a spiritual sense – for me – are two different things. I had to see it to believe it. And I did, I saw it alright. I saw that taking care of my physical body is different than taking care of my intellectual body, is different than taking care of my spiritual body, is different than taking care of my emotional body. But Joseph did something that no teacher of mine has ever done before. He showed me where to look. He gave me tools and exercises to help me see. But he would not tell me what I would see or what I needed to see. I have had teachers who would tell me what the end game of each particular exercise was. Joseph doesn’t do that. He lets me find out for myself.
In one particular exercise I was completely unprepared for what I would see: a neglected child. Like a body deprived of oxygen, there was a child deprived of love. And when I say I saw it, I mean I saw it. I saw it right after I finished an exercise Joseph gave me, kneeling by my closet, staring back at me with big eyes. Skin the color of tarnished bronze, the face that looked back at me was wary, both fearful and curious. I never saw anything like it before.
I have spent so long shutting reality out, shutting it out. Not truly seeing the world. Distracting myself. I would distract myself even while doing something I thought was helping me do the opposite, like reading a spiritual book or practicing a meditation technique. I was still looking outside of myself for answers. This child was not a distraction though. What was this child trying to show me? Was it me or part of me? I saw the child with skin the color of tarnished bronze, but would someone else see that image? Would someone else be able to look at a picture of me as a young child and see the resemblance? What would someone else see? How could I look at the child objectively, when the image in my mind was subjective?
I am worthy of moving on. This is not a race. Keep Practicing. I am no longer alone.
