I have a pretty fantastical story to tell. But first this caveat.
When you read the story, you may want to dismiss it. After all, I was a child with an overactive imagination when it happened(I’m a writer, so what did you expect?) And, I’ve been a bit of a mystic all my life. I’m not so much a miracles type, though I believe they can happen. More so, I do believe in mystery, myth, metaphor, God. Maybe I was born this way. Maybe my parents laid the groundwork. Maybe I’m a mystic because of this little moment that happened in the middle of the night, which at first scare the bejebus out of me, then transformed me.
I woke up heart racing, like out of a nightmare I couldn’t remember. I was still papoosed beneath the quilt on the top bunk. I had this habit of asking my father to pull the sheets and quilt as tight as possible over me and tuck them deep between the mattress and the open springs that supported the mattress. BTW, this open spring system was a horror show for most of my life because if I happened to be on the bottom bunk, inevitably my long hair caught in the springs. There was no detangling. One simply had to rip that chunk of hair out of the scalp because the springs always won. It’s why, when I was little I begged for the top bunk, in spite of my fear of heights. On the other hand, the top bunk was justifiably the safest when accounting for creepy beings that lurked beneath the bed at night. That said, being shrinkwrapped between my sheets ensured no beings could infiltrate and do whatever these unknown beings did to fulfill their evil urges.
So there I laid in the dark, panicked from some dream I didn’t remember. If I cried out for my parents, I’d wake my sisters. That would result in reproach. Clearly I could not climb out of the bed because something was in the room. That something, I rolled over to see, happened to be a brilliantly lit, ginormous hand hovering in the center of the room. My heart thudded, then my head said, in some kind of audible voice: That hand is God’s hand. It’s too big to be any other kind of hand. It’s okay. You are cared for.
Do I realize now that this is anthropomorphizing the Divine, a spiritual being? Yes. But I was a little kid. I best understood God through that person of the Son, e.g. Jesus. As I mentioned my parents laid a solid foundation by being super into church. They took us Saturdays and Sundays to a church of Jesus people types who spent three hours on Saturday nights eating together, doing a lot of singing and then listening to the pastor go line-by-line through books of the Bible. Then we showed up the next morning for more clapping, hand-raising, Kumbayah moments followed by another hour plus long “sermon.”
I hadn’t seen many pictures of Jesus, aside from those in children’s books. Our church was okay with felt doves representing the Holy Ghost (we did not use the word Spirit) but not pictures of the Lord or of the Father. So actually, I had no reason to believe the huge hand was Jesus’. It would be too large for a real man. Nor would it be God the Father’s because I knew the Father didn’t have a body, yet there it hung. And I felt peace. Since I was a fearful, anxious child, this moment contrasted with my usual experience in profound ways.
So maybe it helps you understand why I became a lifelong mystic, even if my understanding of the Divine has changed over the years.
And, being a believer helps make sense of the nagging feeling I’ve had about being a small part in a profound schema. Having faith doesn’t give me all the answers, but having a relationship with the Divine, having a sense that the Divine is personal helps me. I’m not innately warm, nurturing or personal. I’ve had to train myself to get out of my head and connect with other beings as they need. Otherwise, my sense of relationship behaves in the most one-sided, self-oriented way.
If hurt people hurt others, then maybe it follows that cared-for people can care better for others. For my example, I offer my husband. He grew up in a house where he was doted on. His mother was adored. His father was loved. My husband has a reservoir of warm affection that consistently overcomes whatever aggravations he feels. My dad grew up with that kind of love and humor. My mom grew up with some of it, but also some pretty German baggage, which is like some of the Slavic stuff, where self-sacrifice, suffering and stiffness are values.
That wonderful hand in the air and the voice that assured me carried me through most of my life. It assured me of love and care by filling a void humans couldn’t. I wanted that for my siblings, my children, or pretty much anyone I’ve loved. I wanted my kids to experience the sense of love and mystery of the Divine. I think it helps to have such an experience to connect all the dots of being alive and having consciousness.
But here’s the thing. It’s not something I can conjure or control. I pray for that to happen to those I love. But others have to have their own relationship to the Divine. Since I’m clearly such an enlightened, slightly-loveable, curious and interesting person, it follows that everyone should experience life just as I have, right? Ha!
It’s the first principle of the Tao, which I realized I need to dig into after I re-read The Tao of Teaching this spring. I re- read it to lead a discussion among teachers, but as I read, I thought about how I utterly failed to apply its wisdom in my role as a mother.
I realized that I needed to dig into the Tao Te Ching from several angles. First just read the original, translated, of course. Then also, because I’m an Orthodox Christian, which is more Eastern than the flavor of Christianity I grew up with, I should read Christ the Eternal Tao (Hieromonk Damascene.) And since I want to write about this from a mother-child point of view, maybe I needed to read The Tao of Pooh. Then I could share my thoughts. So here they begin. Use or lose, as one wiser colleague of mine says.
First of all, what is the Tao Te Ching? I should not assume you know much about it because I didn’t for most of my life. It means The Way. It’s one of a few ancient ways of wisdom from China. Confucius offered another. To be sure, I’ve quote Confucius often to my students, but I’ve had the Tao distinguished from Confucianism as such:
Taoism- It focuses on nature and the mystery of all things. If one sees oneself as a small part of all, one has a better orientation towards the rest of creation. It’s easier to be at peace. Peace and humility unify us. Taoism stresses rest (verbal irony in that sentence construction?), lack of ego, humility, selflessness, and dispassion. I like this because the Eastern Christian teachers often believed that pride is one of the greatest pitfalls of humans and humility is one of the greatest virtues. When we are humble, we are not at war within ourselves or with others.
Confucianism, the other Eastern (Chinese) system of wisdom, focuses on what it means to be human, as an individual in an ordered society. It can seem more hierarchical and more about teaching social order or the social contract. It too contains wisdom, but seems less about the sacred and mystery. But I am not an expert.
I value the wisdom of both. As an Orthodox Christian, I realize that I understand them through an outsider’s lens, yet much of what is within them offers another doorway to the wisdom of my own faith. Reading the Tao gives fresh language to metaphors that have been rendered cliches or stale due to misuse or overuse or misunderstanding. Familiarity has bred this in me. If I don’t allow myself to see with new eyes, it may prove the old adage true. I may fall into contempt towards my faith.
So that said, I’m going to look at my parenting through the lens of the The Way by Lao Tzu.
Tao (The Way) that can be spoken of is not the Constant Tao’
The name that can be named is not a Constant Name. Nameless, is the origin of Heaven and Earth; The named is the Mother of all things. Thus, the constant void enables one to observe the true essence. The constant being enables one to see the outward manifestations. These two come paired from the same origin. But when the essence is manifested, It has a different name. This same origin is called “The Profound Mystery.” As profound the mystery as It can be, It is the Gate to the essence of all life.Tao Te Ching 1
It brings me back around to that aforementioned mystical experience of my childhood and my will to impose this on my children. Because the first chapter of the Tao lines right up with the ineffable, uncontrollable mystery of God. He has so many names. How he brought about origins remains cloaked in mystery. In this Way, we have Father and Mother imagery (The Mother of God fits nicely into this. She becomes the means of one person of the Godhead becoming Incarnate.) In the Ineffable, or what the Way calls the “constant void,” we get essences or whiffs of what is infinite and unknowable. The “outward manifestations” are energies, where we see God at work. In life God is at work. But these are mysteries. I don’t get to prescribe to my children, or anyone. I can only hope they perceive these.
And this really bothers me. Turns out, I am not god. I have a long way to go to being transformed by the Divine. Another reason to meditate on it, I suppose.