All Our Longings
By Chris Ng, Interim Executive Director
I love the summer mornings in New Mexico, where I live. I grew up in South Florida, where there is, maybe, a five-degree differential between the temperatures in the day and at night. But here, the morning air is cool and sweet, the light is soft, hummingbirds swarm our feeders and as the sun hits the mountains they glow in the distance. It’s worth getting up early for.
The summer afternoons, or course, are very different, particularly now as the earth cries out in extreme heat. The afternoon air is hot and dry even in the shade, the sun is intense, and there won’t be a hummingbird in sight. The earth bakes, and I bake with it. I long for the cool relief of night. I long for our summer monsoon rains, which haven’t shown yet this year. It is only July, but already I long for Fall.
In his book, Between the Listening and the Telling, author and storycatcher, Mark Yaconelli, writes about what he learned living in northern Wales for six months. “There is a sacred Welsh word—a word, the Welsh tell me, that doesn’t quite translate into English. The word is ‘hiraeth’ which ‘refers to a particular kind of longing. . . . A longing for a place or time the soul once knew.’”
It seems to me that the word “longing” describes much of the experience of living in these times. More than nostalgia, I think; it is a deeper yearning. Things are changing so fast in our lives and in our world that it can be overwhelming, and our responses to those changes are not always healthy or compassionate. Perhaps that is because, as a culture, we have become so disconnected from each other, from the earth, even from ourselves, that we have lost sight of what is at the root of that longing. Often we don’t even know we are longing; we feel restless, anxious, discontent. As Mark says, “We are longing but don’t know why. We are yearning for a life we once knew, but we can’t seem to remember where we left it.”
In spiritual direction we listen for those longings of the soul, and for what they might be telling us. We lift them up so they can be remembered and acknowledged. We create a space where they can be explored in the company of the Divine and a witness who listens without an agenda. It’s a gift of connection in a disconnected world; an experience of community, which may be our deepest longing.
Of course, the communal aspect of spiritual direction is most obvious in a group setting. In group spiritual direction our individual longings are held gently in a circle of others who share their longings in return. Together we listen for the prayer of the Holy in us for each other. I can think of no better definition of spiritual community. At the end of a group spiritual direction session, when we reflect back on our experience together, I am always in awe of what was revealed in us and through us. Sometimes it is as if we breathed together as one. It can be a moment of respite in our over-heated lives.
I am reminded of what the land teaches us: Go outside and look at a tree. It is a unique individual tree, like no other tree in the world. Yet, through the miracle (scientific process) of photosynthesis, it is constantly exchanging molecules with its environment. It is breathing in what it needs for life and breathing out what other beings, including humans, need for life.
Without that respiratory relationship, life on this planet could not survive. Take a deep breath. You and the tree are connected. Bend down and scoop up a handful of soil. Let it run through your fingers. The ground on which you stand is not simply inert matter. There is a whole web of life beneath your feet; plant roots and fungal threads, microbes and other tiny creatures that form a network of connection that work together for the survival of all. That tree is not just a unique individual tree, it is also part of something more, part of that web of life, that community. And so are we, though we humans often live as though we are not.
Perhaps this is our hiraeth, our soul’s longing to remember what once we knew: that we are the tree, unique individuals but not truly separate or independent, always part of something more, inextricably connected to all the beings who share this planet with us, connected even to the air around us and to the land beneath our feet. And if we listen, we can hear the earth’s cries of longing for us to remember too, and recognize the prayer of the Holy in us for each other.
Peace,
Chris
Chris Ng is an ordained minister of the United Church of Christ, church pastor, chaplain, spiritual director, a retired appellate lawyer, and serving as the current Interim Executive Director of Stillpoint. She serves on the Ghost Ranch faculty of Stillpoint and is the Stillpoint at Ghost Ranch program administrator. She holds a Master of Divinity, Juris Doctor, and Bachelor of Arts degrees and did her spiritual direction training through Stillpoint. She also studied the Taoist arts for more than 30 years. Having previously served churches in Southern Florida and Texas, Chris is currently called to pastor First United Church of Christ and Conference Center, Second Life, the only fully authorized church of a recognized Christian denomination that exists only in virtual reality. She lives in Northern New Mexico and also serves as chaplain and EMT with the Abiquiu Volunteer Fire Department.