 A
Dark Night of the Soul: Perspectives and Opportunities
Dear Friends and Colleagues,
As often happens
with this newsletter, this month’s issue is in response
to a thought-provoking question from a reader. Here is
the question:
“Denise, I
appreciate the spirit of your last two issues and the
perspective of rethinking criticism and failure, as well
as your suggestions in prior issues on how to keep on
keepin’ on when the going gets tough. I have heard you
speak before and appreciate that you are an eternally
optimistic person. I admit to playing devil’s advocate,
but do you see that sometimes there is enough tragedy or
suffering in a person’s life such that you cannot put a
pretty coat of paint over it and make it better with a
simple change in perspective? Would you agree that not
every dark cloud necessarily has a silver lining?”
This is a great
question deserving of deep reflection and considered
response. I am grateful for the opportunity to speak to
this issue as I think it is shared by many who feel that
their own difficult and painful circumstances are often
made light of or diminished under the pretext of
“positivism”. We’ve heard it before: “In the face of
difficulty, just buck up, pull yourself up by their
bootstraps, think positive, and get on with your life!”
Anyone who has ever met with grave misfortune, true
heartbreak, or great personal tragedy knows how hollow
and empty these words can sound, if not downright
offensive.
As I carried this
query for the last month, rolling it over like a stone
in the pocket of my mind, I came to think if it not as
any common rock of a question, but as an absolute gem.
Please receive this article as a most humble offering of
thoughts and ideas from someone who is simply enthralled
with the question, as opposed to an academic response
from someone qualified or well-schooled in Psychology.
From one human heart to another is the spirit in which I
offer these musings.
And while I admit
to being an optimist, the thoughts I offer here are not
coming from the place in me that is eternally hopeful,
cheerful and optimistic. I am writing to you now from
the shadowed part of my heart that knows grief, has been
broken more than a few times, and has housed its share
of despair. Without denying the darkness, I believe
that a dark night of the soul can carry its own
luminosity, both beautiful and hard-won. I also believe
that certain opportunities are uniquely availed to us in
a dark night. As the term implies however, an
opportunity is an invitation, not a given, which must be
seized and perceived in order for it can bestow its
benefits. I have summed up these musings in two key
points and six opportunities that offer the possibility
of light in the midst of a dark night.
There is a
difference between a challenge and “a dark night of the
soul”.
Life is full of
loss and difficult transitions, in fact, everything we
are, everything we know, changes as regularly as the
seasons. Some of those losses are predictable and
expected, and although we do not necessarily enjoy them,
we somehow have the fortitude to ride them out without
having the rest of our lives disrupted. At other times,
however, a loss or a crisis can happen upon us with no
warning, our lives irrevocably changed in ways for which
we are not prepared. I am referring to those things that
we consider tragic, as in the unexpected death of a
loved one, the abrupt end to a primary relationship, a
crime committed against us, a natural disaster,
unanticipated illness or injury, or an unforeseen change
in one’s livelihood. Such times can be so devastating
and long-lasting that it might be considered a “dark
night of the soul”, a phrase originally coined by the
great Spanish mystic and poet John of the Cross in a
poem by the same title in the 1500’s.
For the purposes
of this article, I am using the term to refer those
times in our lives when the rug is pulled up from
underneath us, when it feels as if the thread of our
lives has unraveled like lace. I am referring to those
times when we are at an impasse mentally, emotionally,
physically and/or spiritually and it feels as if all we
can do is keep our head above water, when simply
breathing seems a chore. At those times, I would agree
with the reader who posed the question above, that much
of the advice and suggestions offered in contemporary
books and workshops on surviving and managing transition
can feel like a band-aid approach, where, in fact, a
tourniquet is more in order.
Asking vital
questions is one way to uncover the potential
opportunities of a dark night!
Where I beg to
differ with the reader, however, is the idea that
someone can be in such dire circumstances, that
perspective can serve no real purpose. I believe it is
particularly in times of great tragedy and personal
suffering that perspective is most needed and can be
most valuable! However, the point of view I am talking
about is anything but simple, and unlike applying a
pretty coat of paint over the wall of pain or loss, its
purposes are anything but superficial. Rather, I think
the posture and position that best serves us in
difficult times is quite rich and multi-layered,
embracing the mysteries and complexities that accompany
human suffering.
We know that pain
can have a most paralyzing affect, but it can also help
us unearth our strengths, mine our inner resources, and
realize our hidden powers. It’s easy to think the best
of ourselves when things are going great - it’s when we
must walk our talk in the midst of difficulty that we
find out who we are and see things we might ordinarily
overlook. We become less certain of what we think we
know, but as our humility grows, so does our capacity to
love. By asking vital, life-affirming questions, we can
gain the kind of perspective that, together with the
gifts of time and grace, can help wounds to turn to
wisdom, pain to illumine possibility, and despair to
flower into the smallest bud of a new dream.
That being said,
with each of the six potential opportunities discussed
below, I offer a complementary question that can be
posed during a dark night. We don’t ask the questions
with the expectation of ready answers, but to gives our
minds and hearts a constructive place to focus while
awaiting healing. Obviously we are not going to engage
in questions like these while in the immediate throes of
a tragedy or a loss, but rather, after the proverbial
dust has settled and the long wait for healing begins.
Then, taking Rainer Marie Rilke’s advice, “we live in
the questions and, in time, grow into the answers”.
1. A dark
night can deepen self-knowledge and self-trust.
While in many
situations in life we feel the extent to which we are
social animals, a dark night is not one of them. M.
Scott Peck describes it as a “requisite solo
experience”. In thinking about this, I liken it to the
experience of parenting. We can read all of the latest
and greatest books on parenting, but it is by listening,
watching and responding to the needs of our particular
child, that they teach us how to be parents! In a
similar way, I learned during a period of grief in my
own life, that while the stack of books I poured through
gave me vague, abstract notions about the “process of
grief”, I survived and got through my dark night by
listening, watching and responding to the needs of my
own heart.
Because we are
the only ones who are privy to our deepest fears, our
darkest secrets, our truest loyalties, and the extent of
our love, we are the only ones who can know and feel the
depths of our own losses. We can seek guidance of
counselors and friends, read every book on the subject,
and tune into Dr. Phil, but at the end of the day we are
left to our own best devices. With that being true, a
dark night of the soul presents us with an extraordinary
opportunity to deepen our sense of selfhood and
self-trust. We know that people come and go throughout
our lives for a variety of reasons and circumstances –
of all the people in our lives, we are the one who is
there to stay. It is in a dark night of the soul that
we can come to appreciate our own company and practice
self-compassion in a most unusual and extraordinary
way.
Question:
How do I learn from my own heart how to heal, and in
so doing, grow in self-trust and self-respect?
2. A dark
night can summon and strengthen our inner resources.
Life, with all of
its joys and sorrows, invites us to become a person of
deeper heart and soul. Pushed to the edge of what is
familiar and reliable, we have to stretch our thinking
about how life works and who or what controls it all. A
dark night is often referred to as a spiritual
experience because it sorts out the essentials from the
illusory, the real from the false, and the mundane from
the fundamental. Thomas Moore in “the Dark Night of the
Soul” writes, “Suffering invokes more of a spiritual
attitude than a psychological technique, requiring a
transcendence of our situation and a vision of things
that is far more expansive than our circumstances
imply. It asks for a degree of strength and imagination
that can come only from a spiritual point of view. The
most precious gift of a dark night is the sheer edge and
heft of the soul, and one’s presence as a person of real
substance.”
We probably learn
more about the depths of our inner strength from periods
of pain and confusion than from times of comfort. It
is easy to be armchair philosophers with our spiritual
theories and idealism, but in the wake of a broken heart
and in the fires of real life experience, we discover
the true grain and texture of our courage, our
resilience and our faith. It is in a dark night that we
face the big questions and play witness to the
painstaking mysteries taking place in our hearts.
Feeling the full weight of life and loss, we face and
admit to its complexity, and in Jung’s terms, “honor its
shadows” – all of which summons and strengthens our
spiritual resources.
Question:
What
am I learning about the depths and breadth of my
courage, my faith, and my resilience?
3. A dark
night calls upon us to see and bring new meaning to our
lives or to the situation.
Martin Buber
taught that all of our existence is waiting to be
hallowed by us, made holy with the infusion of purpose
and meaning. The question is whether this could
possibly include times of loss, grief or personal
tragedy. But it’s when the world stops making sense to
us that we are called to bring some sense to it! There
may be no inherent meaning in suffering, but we can
choose to bring meaning to the situation. Meaning is
the manna of human existence. When we feel lost, that
is how we become found; when we feel despair, that is
how we find hope.
It was the need
for meaning that gave the parents who lost children to
drunk driving the impetus to develop MADD (Mothers
Against Drunk Driving). It is the need for meaning that
in part accounts for the countless stories of “survivors
turned volunteers/advocates ” who find healing and
redemption by working with fellow survivors of crimes
like rape or domestic abuse, illnesses like HIV or
breast cancer, or conditions like homelessness or prison
reform. It was the need for meaning that led a friend
of mine who grieved the passing of her best friend to
make the changes in her life that she knew would make
her friend most proud!
Undertaking a
cause or reaping deep personal lessons as a result of a
loss or a tragedy does not necessarily make the event
less heartbreaking, but it does infuse light, beauty and
purpose in a situation where they were lacking.
Obviously the
meaning in suffering (or in the wake of a tragedy) does
not come to us in finished, ready-made form; it has to
be found, earned, crafted, created, received and
embraced. We grow into it little by little, step by
step, day by day – and in our own time! I think that’s
why it doesn’t work for other people to hand us
convenient, off the rack notions or ideas as to “why”
something unforeseen has happened, and what it should
mean to us in the end. Perhaps in the same way that
only the heart that is broken can do its own healing, it
is only that heart that can find its own purpose to
continue beating. In short, it’s an inside job. Some
may feel that the fact that we have to remake, create or
bring meaning to our own situation makes it less real or
authentic. To the contrary, I think it is the mustering
of our courage and the gathering of our spirit to even
seek meaning in difficult circumstances that lends it
incredible beauty, realness, and potency!
Question:
What
possible meaning or sense of purpose can I derive from
this experience?
4. A dark
night compels us to rise about ourselves, realizing that
we are bigger than our circumstances imply.
Notice, by
choosing to seek or bring meaning to an experience, we
necessarily become observers to the situation. When an
experience is made useful to us, it also made more
bearable. We know how to contextualize and direct its
impact. Viktor Frankl rightly reminds us in Man’s
Search for Meaning, “Facing a fate we cannot change, we
are called upon to make the best of it by rising above
ourselves and growing beyond ourselves.” From this point
of view, I think a dark night compels (forces?) us to
take part in our own personal evolution, carrying us to
new levels of maturity, if we cooperate. In order to do
this, however, we are asked to muster not only the
courage, but the sheer audacity, to be a “witness” to
our experience rather than its victim.
While it never
feels like it during times of crisis, we are not our
circumstances. Within every story and event, there is
the person in the story. The person comes from the
Latin per-sonare, which means “sounding through”. We
can allow our experiences to sound through us without
becoming those experiences. We are changed, yes, by our
experiences, but we need not be defined by them. We
need not “retreat into something less” by succumbing to
the heartache when there exists the possibility of
“growing into more” by bearing witness to the
heartache. We need to take care not to identify more
with the wound than with its healing.
I remember being
gripped by the following suggested from Norman Mailer
while earnestly seeking solace in the dark night I
mentioned earlier. He wrote, “In each moment we can
decide to grow into more or retreat into something
less. One is always living a little more or dying a
little bit.” We all know people who are more molded by
their triumphs than by their tribulations, whose lives
are more shaped by what they love and value than what
they fear and resent. We also know in whose shoes we
would rather walk. To some extent, I believe that this
is a choice we make. While in the throes of a dark
night it is a most grueling exercise, the question that
must take residence in the broken heart is this:
Question:
Who do
I wish to be in the aftermath of this grief, and to what
extent can I use this experience to be more, not less,
than who I was before this event?
5. A dark
night invokes gratitude, shedding light on all that is
not lost.
In my book, The
Wholehearted Journey, I write, “There is a wonderful
Nigerian proverb that states that no matter how dark,
the hand always knows the way to the mouth. What a
great way to remind us that no matter how awful our
circumstances are, we have inner reflexes, impulses and
natural gifts that will keep working for us. Even in
our lostness or loneliness, our lungs will continue to
fill with air. Even in our despair or disappointment,
the moon will rise and stars will shine, even if behind
the clouds. It makes no difference how horribly we have
blown it, how tangled a web we have woven, or how
hopeless the outlook, – there will always be rich
reserves available to us from the bounty of a generous
world.”
It is said that
tragedy, heartbreak, or illness can concentrate the mind
wonderfully. No kidding. The point, of course, is not
the misfortune, but the light that misfortune can shed
upon our lives. When we have been ill, a respite from
pain is a welcomed blessing. When we have lost a loved
one, our appreciation of those remaining becomes acute.
In the midst of struggle, we would be wise to anchor
ourselves in that which has become that much more
precious to us due in part to our angst… like friends
who are with us in our grief, physical health in the
midst of emotional turmoil, or the gift of imagination
when we are physically incapacitated. Just as ginger
can lose its bitterness when baked in bread,
difficulties in one area of our life can be leavened by
other areas of our lives. It can be very comforting to
take stock of all that remains in our life after a great
loss, especially those things that we might have easily
overlooked when we all was still right in our world.
Question: How
does this misfortune shine light on other parts of my
life for which I am immensely grateful?
6. A dark
night invites awareness to the many perspectives we hold
in a situation and a choice to the one we lend credence
to.
In her book,
Welcome to Your Crisis, author Laura Day suggests that
as human beings we are not one solid, cohesive whole,
but that we each comprise an inner community of ways of
seeing, being and responding to our circumstances.
Among those perspectives she includes the wounded one
who reacts emotionally, the historian who bases his/her
feelings on old experiences that have little to do with
the situation at hand, the intellectual who leans on
information and statistics, the idealist who holds a
vision of how things should be, the pessimist who is
expecting the worst, the transcendent who can take in
the larger view of life without getting stuck in the
present crisis, and the intuitive who has a sense of
what is to come and can assimilate these various ways of
responding to the situation.
I am sure if we
were to stop and think about it, we could each identify
our own cast of inner characters who bring their unique
brand of perspective to situations in our lives. Far
from pointing to some lack of continuity in our ability
to respond, I think this point of view sheds light on
the beautiful complexity, intricacy and versatility of
the human response to difficult life experiences. What
is important, however, is to realize the degree to which
we have a choice as to the perspective we most heartedly
embrace during a time of crisis. While every
perspective is valid in that it springs from our genuine
felt experience, clearly some points of view are going
to be more helpful to us than others. That is what
makes questions like the ones I have offered here
valuable – they invite and entice the perspective from
those parts of ourselves who can serve us in the most
positive, life-affirming way and take the focus away
from the part of ourselves that responds in a more
despondent, despairing, or self-defeating way.
Question: Which part(s) of me am I listening and giving credence to, and
what other perspectives might be more helpful?
In summary, dear
readers, writing this article has been a very difficult,
valuable, and affirming experience. Difficult, because
it gave rise to painful memories from past dark nights.
Valuable, because it prepares me for inevitable future
losses. Affirming, because it reminds me, in the words
of John O’ Donohue, “Life itself is the great sacrament
through which we are wounded and healed. If we live
everything, life will be faithful to us.” What a
comforting notion, that even as life empties our cup, it
will fill it again. For that, in this season of
thanksgiving, I raise my glass!
Cheers, my
friends!
~ Denise
© Denise
Bissonnette, November 2007 (If not used for commercial
purposes, this article may be reproduced, all or in
part, providing it is credited to "Denise Bissonnette,
Diversity World - www.diversityworld.com." If included
in a newsletter or other publication, we would
appreciate receiving a copy.)
Read Denise's
previous (October 2007) newsletter...
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