Yielding to what is

I recently came across an article posted on www.opentohope.com. It was written by Bryon Katie. Maybe you know of her. She's published extensively on the topic of surrendering to "what is." As I understand it, Katie posits that our personal reality consists of self-made stories played out in an otherwise impersonal universe, which, in turn, creates our own version of hell.

In the article I refer to here, Katie says things that resonate with me and things that do not. For instance, she talks about God and "reality" as being synonymous.

"I call reality 'God,' she says, "because it rules. It is what it is and it is so physical. It's a table, a chair. It's the shoe on your foot. It's your hair.It's so clear, it's solid. It's completely dependable." And here is where it gets tricky. "You don't get a vote in what it does, and it doesn't wait for your opinion or your permission. You can trust it completely."

While this is a Zen-like position to take, I find it somehow lacking and alien to my belief that God is an infinite abstract power, a force of pure love. And out of that love, he created all living things (including those shoes and chairs). We think we have strayed from this love. We believe we are guilty. And because we believe we are guilty, because we believe we are separate, we project onto the world the terror we carry inside. As we begin to recognize and accept the unity of all life, we will begin to see that we are all a part of God. He is not the trees out there. We are not separate puppets. We are one.

That said, let's look at what else Katie has to say because some of it makes sense to me. "The past is the past," she says. "It happened, and you can't do a thing about it. So why, she wonders, create a heap of anguish about what you cannot change. Accept it and ask yourself, "Where can I go from here." According to Katie, anything else is insanity.

"If my child has died, that's the way of it," she writes. Any argument with that, such as lamenting -- 'She died too soon.' 'I didn't get to see her grow up.'-- brings on internal hell. "This is crazy," she says. "Her death is a reality." And no amount of arguing can change that. "Punishing yourself can't change it, your will has no power at all."

At this point in my reading I wanted to scream, "Hey, lady. Do you have any idea what you are talking about? Have you lost a child!!" The only thing crazy here is that this woman thinks she can speak to an issue she can't begin to understand. That's not a judgment on my part. It's true. Unless you have lost a child, honey, you ain't got a clue. Am I right?

After several readings,however, I started to see the truth of what she was presenting. Punishing myself can't change the fact that my only child is no longer present, that she died a horrible, painful death. That apparently happened (although A Course in Miracles tells us unequivocally that "There is no death. The son of God is free."

What I can do, says Katie, is to turn self-punishing thoughts around and find three earnest reasons why Crista's death is equal to her not dying -- three reasons why her death may be better for her and for me in the long run. What a radical idea. Better for her? Better for me? That's matriarchal sacrilege. Isn't it?

Then I remembered the last birthday card my beloved Crista gave to me. It was May 3. She was very sick at this point (she died on May 25). Her handwriting, once a graceful flourish, was small and shaky--the hand of a child. It read:

Mom, Someone must have known we should walk this journey together. There's no one I'd rather walk it with..

With that memory came the "knowing that passeth understanding," that Crista left this earthly performance exactly when she was supposed to go. I believe this is true, although that doesn't mean for a nanosecond that the understanding of it lightens the sadness I carry in my heart. I miss my girl. But I am now able to grasp her leaving, sure that her exit is part of a greater plan for all living things.I don't know what that plan is. I just know there is one.

I believe, as does Katie, that our perception creates our world. I also believe that as we open ourselves up to the power of God, our perception of this world will change and we will begin to see what God sees, joy and grace and love beyond the wildest imagination. Katie calls it, a mind surrendering to itself. "When [the mind] is not at war with itself," she says, "it experiences a world that is completely kind."

So maybe, as grieving parents, we can begin to see things differently. Maybe we can gather the courage to ask ourselves that oh-so radical question: Why is the death of my child equal to or better than her not dying? And maybe, just maybe, as we begin to understand God's infinitely wondrous plan for his entire sonship (all living things), the response we get will quiet our fears and quicken our hearts.