The Underground Season
Maybe it's okay to be still.
I’ve been in something of a funk the last few weeks. Honestly, this is the longest stretch I’ve had in a long time of feeling disconnected—from my higher Self, from my own sense of joy.
And the interesting thing is, I don’t think it’s a mistake.
I could point to outside reasons: the war in Iran, the passing of my sister-in-law, the many friends who have had loved ones die recently—almost every day, hearing of someone’s deep loss.
But I know better than to stop there. I know that it’s never something outside of me that’s creating the heaviness. It’s my own perspective. The lens I’m looking through.
So I’m using everything I know and teach, and it is helping. But it’s also reminding me of something I don’t always want to remember: Sometimes the best we can do is to sit and wait.
Every year around this time, something in me grows restless. There’s this sense of pent-up energy, like I’m a plant underground just about ready to push up through the soil.
I can feel something new stirring. There’s movement. But it’s not time yet.
And that space—the in-between—creates its own kind of tension. My ego wants to take charge and get moving. And another voice says, quietly but firmly, not yet.
It’s not that the disturbances are causing the fear. The fear is creating the disturbance.
I realize what I’m being asked to do in moments like this is not to fix the world, but to release my grip on trying to control it.
That brings me back to something I wrote in The Only Little Prayer You Need:
We spend an enormous amount of energy trying to control our relationships, our jobs, our health, our finances, our To Do lists—essentially, the world around us. Not only is this exhausting, it keep us trapped in chronic fear that if we let up, things will fall apart. And what happens if everything does crumble around us? We feel guilty. We think we’ve failed. The spin cycle of fear goes into hyperdrive.
This is why pivotal moments of “letting go” often come at a time of crisis. We may face a life-threatening illness, divorce, bankruptcy, or other life-changing circumstance. Or may be we just get to the point where we realize we’re not large and in charge, and we’re weary from pretending we are. At these moments, we may finally turn to God and ask for help.
There’s a wonderful passage in A Course in Miracles about the reason we fight so hard for the illusion of control—and what we discover when we finally surrender. It says, “…you believe that without the ego, all would be chaos. Yet I assure you that without the ego, all would be love.”
Right alongside that, there’s another line from A Course in Miracles that I come back to again and again:
We don’t know anything about anything.
I take comfort in that line every single day.
Because yes—we have information. We have opinions. We have perspectives on what’s happening in the world. But when it comes right down to it—what things are for …why events happen … why people die … why wars are fought … why seemingly bad things happen to good people—we don’t have a big enough picture to truly understand.
And that brings me peace.
It doesn’t mean I ignore the world or stop caring. But it does soften my view. It’s so easy right now to slip into anger, frustration—even despair—over all the things we can’t control.
But that simple reminder—that I don’t know everything, that there’s something larger at work—gives me another place to stand. Not a place of indifference, but a place of trust. And sometimes, even when that trust feels just out of reach, it’s still the most peaceful place available.
So here’s another thing…this may seem completely out of the blue, but one of the greatest joys of writing is connecting seemingly unrelated thoughts, so here goes…
When Mama Cat (a stray who adopted us years ago) was still alive, she and Bubble (our younger tabby who showed up in a thunderstorm) used to play tag in the evenings while Bob and I watched TV in the family room.
Bubble would hide behind the oak door, waiting. And when Mama Cat walked into the room, he would do leap right over her and swat her with his paw. You’re it.
Now that Mama Cat is no longer with us, I’ve become Bubble’s playmate. When he gets in a playful mood, I run around the dining room while he hides under the table. And when I come by, he darts out in front of me.
There’s no leaping or swatting anymore, but you can tell he loves the element of surprise.
Apparently … I have become a cat.
And somehow, even that—this small, slightly ridiculous moment—reminds me:
I don’t have to figure everything out. I don’t have to control everything. My ego mind’s insatiable drive to make sense of it all, to have answers for everything—it’s never going to be satisfied. And what a relief that is.
Instead of trying to solve the whole world, I can return to something much simpler. I can come back to my Self.
So if you’ve been feeling a little heavy, a little disconnected, and you’re not sure why, you may just be in that underground place. Something is gathering and getting ready. And it’s okay if it’s not time yet.
You may be right on the edge of something becoming visible. Just like a hosta that’s about to pop out of the ground. Or just like Bubble’s tail when he “hides” under the table.
It’s okay to be still. It’s okay to run around the dining room. It’s okay to not have the answers.
Today’s heaviness will give way to the light again, guaranteed. Because you will always come back to your Self eventually. And the light will be there, waiting for you as always.
With blessings,
Deb
Hey! (I’m saying that in a very peaceful way:)
I’m thinking of three things I want to do through the rest of the year that I think might be helpful, and I’d love your input.
I’d like to devote one Substack column a month to answering your questions about anything related to writing, spirituality, A Course in Miracles, and life. Would that be helpful? Please let me know in the comments or drop me a line at deb@debraengle.com.
I’m thinking of offering my InPowerment program again this summer. I had a great response when I offered it for the first time last fall, and some of the people who took it have been asking for me to do it again. If you’re interested, please get in touch or say so in the comments section.
Once The Writer’s Miracle Method comes out October 13, I’ll offer live Zooms five days a week so we can do the 30-day program together. This means that, every weekday for the month of November, you can hop on a Zoom with me and others for about 20 minutes, and we’ll go through that day’s Miracle Meeting together. I’ll lead you through that day’s guided meditation live, along with the journaling prompts. I’ll help you start your day with your Higher Self as a basis for your writing so you can get past any fears that keep you stuck. You can pre-order the book here. And I’ll get details to you as we get closer.
And don’t forget the Beginning Memoir class that starts Tuesday, March 31. If you want to write your story, where do you start? How do you structure it? How do you decide what to include and what to leave out? How do you keep going? I’m really good at helping you with all those things so you can get your story out of your head and onto the page. It matters.
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A NOTE TO MY READERS: I write “A World of Your Own” as a member of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative, which is led by Julie Gammack, of Des Moines. I’m honored to be part of this group, featuring the diverse voices of more than 70 professional writers and journalists across the state of Iowa. I encourage you to check out their columns.
This is such a comforting post, Debra. Thank you.
Looking forward to your book coming out. We all need to hear this.