This past week I got into a significant conflict with a neighbor. It began a year ago when my husband was training our dog, Ingrid to disc golf with him. He taught her to find the discs but not pick them up. Soon we discovered how much she loved it and what great exercise it was for her. He began playing with her in our backyard while also working on his put shots. Both he and Ingrid were in their happy place. Until our neighbor began to holler over the fence about the noise. Eventually, I got an angry text from her and I assured her we would do anything we could in our power to mute the noise.
First, we erected a netting system to keep the discs from hitting our shared fence and keep them from going into their yard. Second, we muted the sound of the chains with towels and sheets. Lastly, we were intentional about the time we were out there with our dog; not too early or too late. All seemed fine, until this last Monday. Even with all that we had done, it wasn’t enough for her. Three different times, I stood face to face with her at our back fence about the situation. I graciously stood my ground, attempting to assure her that we had done our best to meet her needs but we would not stop playing with our dog. It was completely discouraging and enraging because, for the last five years, we made every effort to know and love all the neighbors around us. And we have felt the love back, except for this one neighbor.
After the conflict ended, I spent three full days fighting off thoughts of vengeance, anger, anxiety, and hurt. The mental ruminations were in full force, flashing mini-movies along the screen of my mind of what I would do and say next if another incident occurred. I spoke with friends, got advice, Googled “Noise Ordinances in Portland” and have begun to document the conflict for future purposes. With all the action I took, I was still stuck, unable to shake the negativity.
Not Clinging or Resisting
My faith has been evolving at what seems like a rapid pace this year. Engaging in contemplative practices and learning about the mystics have been nothing short of refreshing. Teachers such as Richard Rohr, James Finley, Cynthia Bourgeault, and St. Teresa of Avila have been most inspiring but also challenging since it feels like a far cry from the traditional “quiet time” or “devotional” practices I aspired to within the Evangelical church. It has also been relatively effortless to comprehend and write about; I think my soul was ready to accept their teachings. One of the most helpful concepts learned in contemplative prayer is “detachment”. This idea can be explained in a number of different ways.
The practice of not over-identifying with a thought or feeling. In other words, not allowing your thoughts to cement your reality. Over-identifying is a losing battle because our reality is always changing. The ideas of others, of situations, and even of ourselves are in constant flux.
Witnessing or observing objectively (as on a screen) your thoughts and feelings. This is a practice of healthy separation. Removing yourself from the situation and even from your inner world for a moment to simply watch mindfully what is occurring.
Not clinging or resisting a thought or feeling. This is a practice of allowing thoughts and feelings to come and go. Not resisting because we all know that what we resist, persists but also not clinging, another way of saying over-identifying.
Richard Rohr explains this best in his little book “Just This”:
The real learning curve happens when you can admit that your’re having a thought or feeling and see that it’s empty, passing, and part of your own fantasy world that has no final reality except as a lesson.
Listen honestly to yourself. Listen to whatever thought or feeling arises. Listen long enough to ask “Why am I thinking this? What is this saying about me that I need to entertain this negative, accusatory, or lustful thought?”
You don’t have to hate yourself or condemn yourself for a thought or feeling, but you do have to let it yield its wisdom. Then you will see it is the wounded or needy part of you that wants these unhealthy thoughts. The Whole You, your True Self, does not need them, and will not identify with them.
I have read and underlined this piece multiple times before, letting it teach and transform my inner self. Yet when this conflict occurred, my mechanical consciousness, with its familiar and comfortable pathways, was more powerful than I ever imagined. After three full days of observing my thoughts, and welcoming my feelings while attempting to not over-identify with them, I was finally able to come up for air and accept the situation, and my feelings.
Furnace of Our Lives
Over those three days, I continued to ask for my thoughts and feelings to yield their wisdom. I practiced letting the hurt and anger ebb and flow, letting it wash over me like a cleansing stream, observing the ripples and waves as a student to a teacher. I prayed, walked the Grotto, journaled, and prayed some more. My mind hunted for wisdom as if I were about to win the lottery, only being satisfied with an aha moment of profound inner wisdom that would change my perspective in a flash of ecstasy. But it was more subtle than that because wisdom is the soul’s whisper underneath our shouting egos. I could have easily missed it if I clung to any one egoic idea of myself, the situation, or my neighbor. I came up with all sorts of creative narratives that temporarily soothed my woundedness but in the end, I had to let those go. The only wisdom that came was the gentle reminder that no matter how much I have learned or have attempted to live out, inner transformation happens only in the furnace of our lives. When we stand on the holy ground of our lives and feel the blazing heat of another’s humanity is the alchemy of change, singeing away the false self that loves to hold grudges. Until this happens, our inner work remains like unbaked bread which is unable to nourish ourselves or others. And I see now, how necessary it was to have times of quiet observing and prayer, letting the cool waters bring relief, stilling enough to mirror back my turbulent consciousness and eventually reveal the face of Divine Love who waits for us to find her.
❊ ❊ ❊
I don’t know what will happen in the future with our neighbor. I am sure more conflict will arise because not much has changed on the outside. What has changed, however, is my way of seeing. Though there are times I’d rather build a higher fence, that would only mask an interior problem with an exterior solution; our false selves have an uncanny ability to walk through walls. So instead, I light a rosemary sage stick and walk and pray, walk and pray along my back fence. I practice letting go of what I cannot control, feeling the embers of Divine Love purify my heart and watch the smoke rise.
May we all have the courage to stand in the furnace of our lives, letting it burn away our false narratives, and see the world through the eyes of Divine Love.
Much love,
Beautiful Colette. Hoping for peace between the fence line but glad for the scent of rosemary sage floating lightly in the air.
“wisdom is the soul’s whisper underneath our shouting egos.” I really loved the practical wisdom in this piece! Turns out “detachment with love” was not some weekly topic we stumbled into and resonated with, it’s a life long lesson to be learned in every season of life. So many beautiful layers here, love. Thanks for sharing your journey in such relatable and powerful ways. Love you!