How to Use a Spiritual Epiphany

Mar 28, 2013

This weekend, during our annual Brain Trust retreat, I had a spiritual epiphany.

Or more aptly, a spiritual epiphany had me.

It was a direct experience of true nature. A glory outburst. An infinity hallway of hearts with me walking smack down the middle.

You’ve had epiphanies like this, too. (Notice this is not a question.) Giving birth, standing under a waterfall in Utah’s slick rock country, crawling out of sweat lodge and into a pristine lake, understanding you have just met the person you will marry, reading Mary Oliver…

Moments – or hours or even, if you are very lucky, entire days – when you experience life wholly, untarnished by your stories, unfiltered by your perceived brokenness.

When you are present and presence.

We are all shown the truth of our existence even if we don’t always know it.

Here is what I must add: please do not try to do anything with these epiphanies. Please do not try to hold them tight or turn them into a story to trade with spiritual friends after yoga or as silent proof you trot out to yourself you are making spiritual progress.

Please do not trap these experiences, define them or even look at them too closely.

Because, my darling, here is the truth: these epiphanies are you. They are always present. We just forget we are these moments.

So when the grace of life comes to you, bow down. Open as fully as you can and then, open a little more, all the while whispering, “I can never leave this.”

You can never leave this. You just pretend to.

That is all you do with a spiritual epiphany, my friend – remember you can never leave.

And relax.

Tell me how that lands.

Love,

Jen

Jettison Self-Doubt and Lose the Itty-Bitty-Shitty Committee and Make Your Thing Now

From the national best-selling author of The Woman’s Comfort Book and Why Bother.

Made for writers, artists, mail art makers, knitters of sock puppets, creative entrepreneurs, photographers, Tarot readers, and anybody who needs to make stuff they love.

I’m not one of those creepy people who make it hard to unsubscribe or email you again nine years after you’ve unsubscribed. Giving me your email is like a coffee date, not a marriage proposal.