Back to the Higher Thought Game
“Name 3 spiritual goofs.“
I’ve always loved this question, which was conceived by my Higher Thought game co-creator, Jill Scheintal.
But I’ve found that when it arises, people are often not entirely sure what it means. Is a spiritual goof a person, like, say, a failed guru?
No. We mean “goofs” as in “mistakes,” but we like the word “goofs” better because it has a softer edge, whereas “mistake” sounds too ominous or irreversible. Jill and Susan and I are of the view that, in the spiritual realm (whatever that is), there are no permanent mistakes, only little errors in judgment that will, in time, be forgiven and set right within the context of a more comprehensive understanding, and maybe even, hopefully, a little humor.
But leaving aside for the moment the question of whether or not everything is ultimately forgivable (another Higher Thought question) this raises the conundrum of what constitutes a “spiritual” error versus any other kind.
Jill and I never discussed this at length, but I think (and I believe Jill and Susan both might agree) that “spiritual” matters are those that pertain to our fundamental orientations, assumptions, and values in life – many of which are unconscious, which is largely why they lead to so many goofs.
So, for example, I would not deem an unsuccessful business venture a spiritual goof per se. An unsuccessful marriage … maybe. An overblown sense of self-importance … definitely. But not to get caught in the weeds here. You can define “spiritual goofs” however it makes sense to you. Here are three of my favorites:
Goof #1: Confusing someone’s gift with who they are as a person
Many years ago, my friend Dan Cohen told me, “Don’t confuse the gift with the personality.” Dan was referring to a very specific situation in the moment (and I’m not sure he’d even remember having spoken the sentence had I not reminded him dozens of times over the years), but in fact these are helpful watchwords to live by. So often I do equate people with their gifts, particularly when their gifts are extraordinary. And I think this is a very natural and common spiritual goof.
I guess the most obvious example of this is when an eloquent and insightful spiritual teacher who writes life-changing books turns out to be a jerk in real life. I was quite taken by Marianne Williamson’s first book, A Return to Love (though I never got round to reading any of her subsequent ones). And simply on the basis of that experience, I deemed her a wise “evolved” soul, and donated to her first presidential campaign to help keep her “in the game,” figuring it could only help things to have someone like her around.
I only learned years later – both through news stories (for example, on the Politico website) – and through the first-person account of a friend who had interviewed Williamson multiple times and witnessed her up close – that she is prone to violent and abusive rages, and that people in her immediate orbit are downright scared of her.
Closer to home, I came to know someone many years ago whose singing and songwriting I loved and admired. Not only were the melodies (and the voice!) beautiful, but the lyrics had a unique way of penetrating to the emotional heart of things with precision and sweetness. I would even call a few of this person’s songs “visionary” which is not an adjective I ascribe lightly.
Yet, over the decade or so that I got to know this individual personally – and had many opportunities to talk to them, often one-on-one – I never once felt truly connected, because this person was chronically indirect with me. They always spoke in a weird, coded sort of way, with allusions and hints and insinuations rather than straightforward expressions of feeling or fact (quite different from their song lyrics). I actually came to dislike them, though I still love their music. The gift remains a gift. The personality, I have no use for at all.
Goof #2: Framing people by their worst moments
This is sort of the polar opposite of Goof #1 above. I read somewhere that we are biologically programmed to recall danger and unpleasantness far more prominently than joy or safety, and that this tendency derives from some prehistoric self-protective mechanism in the human psyche. It may have helped our ancient ancestors to survive in the wild, but it has unfortunate ramifications for our personal relationships in the modern world.
I’m not going to get specific here, but I’ll say this. I am blessed with a good number of relationships in my life that have a long history. In all of them, there have been instances when I have felt let down or even betrayed or abused. Sometimes, in my imagination, it takes a small bit of effort to counterbalance those bad memories by reminding myself of all the generosity, care, love, and inspiration I’ve received from these same individuals, without which my life would essentially suck.
Strangely (or is it strange?), I scarcely remember any of my own misdeeds or little betrayals. Perhaps my friends could remind me if I asked them, but I’m not asking.
Anyway, this particular spiritual goof – characterizing people in our minds by their deficits or their worst moments – is apparently instinctual to some degree, but it’s effectively counteracted by thoughts of gratitude, and that’s probably at least partially why so many people talk about “gratitude practice” these days.
For the record, I personally don’t have a particular gratitude practice. I don’t keep a gratitude journal or try to remember three things I’m grateful for when I get up each day, though either of those habits might be a fine idea. But I do tend to notice how shitty it feels to entertain resentful thoughts about people I love, so when I notice I’m doing that, I bring to mind reasons to be grateful to whomever I’m thinking of, which is always easy to do, though not automatic.
Goof #3: Capitulation to the big SHOULD
“Should” comes in so many forms. Of course we’re all familiar with “You should do such-and-such because it’s the right thing!” Sometimes this imperative operates in the background of consciousness and we don’t even think to question where the criteria for what’s “right” originate from.
I know, for myself, I’m sometimes driven by a sense of obligatory “virtue” without even stopping to ask, “Well, who says I have to do this? By what standard am I feeling compelled to make this choice or perform this deed?”
A friend of mine is dying. Not a close friend, but someone I’ve known a few years through other friends. This person has been ill the entire time I’ve known them, and has entered the hospital multiple times. My relationship, such as it is, with this friend, has been primarily (almost exclusively) defined by their needs. Like many of this person’s other friends, I have helped this person out in various logistical ways. I largely haven’t minded, though sometimes the help I volunteered to provide turned out to entail much more time and energy than I’d originally anticipated, and I felt inconvenienced and quietly annoyed.
I have not had a significant (to me anyway) emotional connection with this person, or a substantive history of friendship. Nonetheless I was among the recipients of an email they sent out last month to an unknown number of people (we were all bcc’d) whom they referred to as their “close-knit circle of friends.” The email was gracefully worded and moving. The person was choosing Death with Dignity within several weeks and was asking for our support in the interim, with company and various practical support. The email contained a link to sign up for two-to-three-hour slots of time to be with this person whilst perhaps also performing some small chores or errands.
I felt conflicted. Of course, I thought at first, I will sign up for a slot or two. This person is about to die! How can I not respond? What sort of person would ignore such a request?
But I hesitated. For one thing, my prior experience with this person led me to believe that any task or slot of time I signed up for would be stretched. In the past when I’d provided help to them, nothing had ever turned out to be as simple as it seemed it would be at the outset.
I also knew that this person had a wide network of friends, including three very close ones who would be present with them when they “transitioned” from this life. What I didn’t know was just how many people were actually included in the “close-knit circle of friends” who’d received the email, and whether or not this person was truly in dire need at this time for logistical help from a relatively peripheral friend like me. I asked the friend who’d originally introduced me to this person what she knew in this regard. (She herself was offering quite a bit of her love and time and attention to the person.) She could not say for sure, though she did offer that she had been surprised to learn that So-and-So had also received the email.
Within myself, I struggled mightily with the situation. Some part of me felt it was a solemn call of duty to honor this person’s dying request. But who exactly, besides this person (with their email) and my own conscience and possibly my heart (and I’ll get to that in a second) was issuing the call? God? Well wait a minute – who the fuck is God again? Which God?
In the end, I elected not to overrule the resistance I felt in my body. I concluded that anything I had to offer this person which did not proceed from my heart – that is to say, anything that was impelled strictly by guilt and the big SHOULD – would not be of real service to either of us. It would in fact be a desecration of their sacred final journey, as well as a dishonor to myself.
This has been a hard place to land, but landed I am.
I feel I should mention that big SHOULDs don’t always feel nearly this heavy or consequential. Sometimes they’re relatively trivial, which makes them even more elusive to be aware of.
I was in the final phase of a bad five-day cold last Sunday. My godson Mikiah offered, over the phone, to bring by soup and/or groceries, but I declined because I still had enough food to tide me over another day or two (though not all my accustomed items and ingredients) and I didn’t want to see anybody while I still felt under the weather. Mikiah said gently, “Just remember there is some wisdom to receiving help.”
I knew he was right of course. A Course in Miracles teaches that “to give and to receive are one in truth” and I’m convinced this is true. So in accepting his generosity, I would also be affording him an opportunity to give. It would, in a sense, allow a particular form of love to flow gracefully between us. And no doubt, whatever soup he brought would be both tastier and healthier than anything I had left on hand to prepare for myself after five days of illness-enforced isolation. Plus it would be super convenient to get even just a few of my staples restocked, like bananas, broccoli, and facial tissue.
And it’s always great to see Mikiah, who wouldn’t love me any less for my low energy and disgusting snot production. Besides, he’d probably only “visit” for a second or two to hand me the food.
So all common sense, emotional maturity, and spiritual wisdom were ganging up on me to say, “You SHOULD let your godson help you out this evening. It’s the best thing to do for both of you. Come on.”
But my illogical, immature, spiritually checked-out body had a different agenda for some reason.
I complimented Mikiah on his lovely phrasing (“Just remember there is some wisdom to receiving help.”) and the elemental truth he had so effortlessly and poetically articulated. I told him truthfully that I was even writing it down so as not to forget it, and I might even use it in my next newsletter!
He asked, with a chuckle in his voice, knowing the answer already, “So is that a yes?”
“No,” I said. “But I’m open to more quotable aphorisms that come to you spontaneously.”
(Apt, pithy words flow naturally from Mikiah. For example, years ago, we took a walk shortly after Trump had withdrawn the United States from the Paris Climate Accords. I said to Mikiah, “My heart is burning today because I so want you to have a world at least as beautiful and livable as this one when you get to be my age.” And he replied without missing a beat: “And I so want you not to worry so much about things that are out of your control.”)
Goof #4: Bonus goof!
Actually the very first goof that came to mind when I pondered the question is one I’ve made over and over again countless times in my life, usually in the midst (or immediate aftermath) of a wonderful mushroom or acid trip, and occasionally in other moments of illumination (I don’t remember what those have been, though I’m certain there must have been some – seriously!).
It’s the assumption, the certainty, that I will never lose the clarity and depth of perception that I am experiencing right then, that it’s mine now forever, and it will light my path for the rest of my life, and my heart will never close again, and I’ll never again be unhappy or caught up in negativity or pessimism or narrow-minded thinking, and (of course!) I’ll never again defile my body with unwholesome food.
It’s the idea that I can simply “hold onto” an enlightened state just by “remembering” it.
Yeah, well. Hasn’t happened yet.
I’m dubious about the whole notion of final realizations anyway. But that’s for another discussion.
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