Passion transformed

I looked at myself and felt real shame — disgust, in fact — for the pathetic self-absorption and self-pity I had wrapped myself in. I began to grapple with myself. What happened to me? What have I done to myself? And then I sought sanctuary in Our Lord’s infinite compassion and mercy. I cried out to God, who is the Source of my being. I began to pray as fervently, though imperfectly, as my impious self could muster. I cried out to Him in anguish every single day. And then He answered! He began to tell me what really went wrong, and the most amazing thing about this was the fact that I understood Him with such great ease. It really wasn’t complicated at all.

You cannot — in fact, you never must — rely on anyone to get you excited about life, for you are making him the single source of your passion. You have to become the source of your own passion. Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. For as long as you live, with the exception of your Creator, you have to become the source of your own aliveness. You must make your life live! Search for your own passion and begin by moving away from the quick fixes and contact highs you derive from people and situations on the outside, and redirect your awareness within, for only your own passion can truly satisfy and never be stolen from you. It was this feeling springing from my gut, this passion in my heart that would nourish me for as long as my heart throbbed with life. I realized right then and there that I was beginning to find my passion. I was on the cusp of a new beginning, a beginning to find myself.

What is it that makes us go looking for ourselves everywhere except where we are? I read somewhere that when the season of your life is right, your migration will begin — the migration into the very depths of your being. You must dare to turn the key and enter what has been called the inner sanctum of your soul, where old wounds can be healed and devastation and grief turn to joy. You have to begin to undertake what has been called the “great quest.” And you can stumble and fall, get knocked down but not knocked out. Still, you’ve got to rise all the time, for this is your journey to salvation.

The great mythology professor and author, Joseph Campbell, believed that our lives are like mythic journeys following the oldest plot — the quest. The “hero” is the one who receives the “call,” goes on the adventure and brings back the “message.” So you start out in the dark. You don’t know where you’re going. Strange little helpmates come along — a fairy, a goblin or a gnome, perhaps, or an old woman begging in the parish courtyard. They give you clues and talismans, and you continue. Of course, you will run into danger because no one else has ever taken this particular journey before. But all the stories tell us that where we stumble, there may we find our treasure. In the Arabian Nights, for instance, someone is plowing a field and his plow gets caught. He digs down to see what it is and finds a ring. With the aid of the ring he discovers a cave with all the jewels in it. In other words, whenever your life seems hardest, there is the chance to find deeper and greater powers within yourself.

A dear friend of mine, author of Human Involution, one of the most powerful and compelling books I have ever read on human life, refers to stress, to strain, even agony, as the miracle workers. According to him, most of the time the reference to stress is negative: how it debilitates and enfeebles man, how it makes him vulnerable to sickness. But what most of these references neglect to say is that stress, properly managed, is also one of the most effective ways of enhancing one’s capabilities. “The annals of war,” he writes, “are rich with the tales about men who, quiet and self-effacing in ordinary life, are suddenly transformed into implacable fearless warriors when faced with superior odds in the thick of battle.” Simply stated, whenever your life seems hardest, there is the chance to find deeper and greater powers within yourself.

And so, my journey continued. I went on. I had encounters with monsters and demons who symbolized my limitations. As each of these was conquered, my consciousness was enlarged and my possibilities were expanded. I got to the point where my demons, which could be terrifying, got smaller and smaller, and I got bigger and bigger. I became so aware that this was my journey. This was my life. I was the “hero.” This was the right reason of my life to make that migration … a migration into my inner self. I had to take this journey away from self-absorption. I had to undertake the “quest,” the quest to be able to move out of that world where I was alone with myself and my mantra, and whatever else it was that I had been using to control the world by closing it out.

I threw myself into the convulsions of the world. I learned that I had little enough time. I didn’t realize until I was running out of it how little time I had. I knew that I had to make the most of myself, which was doing what meant most to me.

I began to realize the absolute truth that the way of the world is no great river of experience, but neither is it a blind alley of hopelessness. It’s just this street that goes someplace. My quest should take me there. There is no canoe. There is no metaphor for my life. There is only one woman living life with the earth under her and the sky overhead, and worlds of possibilities existing between the two.

During the Eighties, when this transformation was beginning, a dear friend gave me Professor Campbell’s book, The Hero’s Journey, which, according to him, was the author’s most compelling book. The story endures because it entertains and inspires. I thought of it many times after I read it, as I undertook my journey to the larger world. Everyone is aware of the standard plot … the hero is called to a path of trials and sufferings. He survives a series of ordeals and returns to the community carrying a gift, a message from which everyone can learn. This is indeed the journey of my life — the journey of life itself. It is a mystery and a challenge, and in the process I have discovered many things of utmost value about myself, which I never thought was possible.

I found out that my transition and transformation occurred when my eyes opened, when I was no longer blind to the world around me. The transformation and migration happened when I became fully aware that life isn’t a wonderland, but rather full of options that, though difficult, can be exciting to undertake. They say this migration cannot but lead to the attainment of self-esteem. That’s when passion for the world begins to express itself. This true passion for life, for the world around, is born of commitment. The deeper one’s commitment, the more intense is one’s passion, and the more alive one feels. When one commits oneself to something one believes in, this commitment is the mechanism that triggers the passion … the passion from our inner self.

The journey, the quest, goes on. I see it plainly now … that life is absurd and meaningless unless you bring meaning to it, unless you make something of it. It is up to no one else but you to create your own existence. The soup of civilized life is a nourishing stew, but it doesn’t keep bubbling on its own. You’ve got to put something back in the pot for the people in line behind you.

Riding on the cusp of life’s new beginning, I began to understand why it is true that dying is no big deal. Living is the trick. I learned from actual experience as my passion for my world strengthened, many truths that I had only read about or listened to. You must never despise the acquisitions of knowledge, for however much the map of learning changes, you will find yourself in your forties, fifties and sixties living off at least some of the intellectual capital that you acquired when you were younger.

Courage became as tangible and concrete to me as I could ever hope for it to be. I learned that courage is the most important of all the virtues because without it I could not practice any other virtue with consistency. I learned the importance of developing courage, the courage to love in an era, in a time when love is almost synonymous with distrust, abuse, misuse, and ill will. I learned to love my country with an intensity and a courage that surprised me.

I began to know what hope really and truly is, how important a dream is to one’s life. There was this man named Victor Frankl who was a renowned Viennese psychologist before the Nazis threw him into a concentration camp. He wrote about those days and was quoted by an American judge whom I met when I was in Connecticut on a visit. “Look,” Frankl had said, “there is only one reason why I am here today. What kept me alive in a situation where others had given up hope and died was the hope and the dream that someday I would be telling you how I survived the Nazi concentration camp.”

According to my friend, Frankl had the great gift of being able to brilliantly project himself. Frankl said, “I have never been here before. I have never seen any of you before, and I have never given this speech before, but in my dreams, I have stood before you in this room and said those words a thousand times.”

(To be continued)

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