All Is Well
All is well, all is well.
Though everything is a mess, all is well.
~ Anthony de Mello
A friend of mine likes to say, “All is well.” Or even, “All is so well,” just to remind me of this truth.
It can be easy to disagree when we look “out” at everything that is showing up “out there”. In our lives. In the news every day:
“I’ve just been diagnosed with cancer.”
“I lost my mother last night.”
“My marriage is an absolute mess.”
“I’m about to lose my house if my finances keep heading in this downward spiral.”
“Are you kidding, Aly? Have you not noticed the war, injustice, cruelty–all the dissonance and hatred that’s going on in the world?”
“We’re destroying the planet. Mother Earth is sick and she may even be dying.”
I hear you calling back at me. I do. And going through any one, or even, God help us, a combination of these upheavals all at once can feel like hell.
I’m not saying to gloss over the very real feelings of grief, rage, confusion… despair. I’m saying acknowledge them. Feel them all the way. Do that. Follow it. Eventually it will lead to at least one small next step. One small action. And one small action at a time is good enough.
Sometimes, through that one small action at a time, we can even find purpose.
I’m saying you are actually bigger than any of these feelings are. Much bigger. Infinitely bigger.
I’m saying these emotions, these perceptions and the meanings they seem to carry with them, are passing through you. They’re not you. They’re a river that moves. Fresh experience. None of us are merely the sum total of what happens to us. You are more than the story you’ve lived.
I’m saying something in us always remains untouched. Beyond harm. But the story can be part of our spiritual path. As we get up off the bathroom floor (so to speak) of our profound despair, we may hear something. A whisper. A bit of guidance. I’m saying follow the whisper. Believe in the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, even if you can’t quite see it yet.
When I was sexually abused by my father from age five to to age eighteen–trusting him, subtly beginning to notice doubt and uncertainty, falling for things he told me, too afraid to rebel–did I feel untapped rage, anxiety, confusion, shame? Of course I did. You bet I did.
Many years later, as a 62-year-old adult, and with a lot of help, I started to weave all those feelings into a purpose by writing my story. I put it “out there” so others would know they weren’t alone. I began slowly to stretch out my hand to grasp someone else’s. And now I wonder if maybe that isn’t mostly what our pain is for to begin with.
In my book there is a quote I took from my journal, written 2018. (I’ve journaled a lot. Journaling has been a big part of what saved me.) I wrote:
Saturday, 31 March 2018
“Deep breaths. Opening. The little girl is learning how to play again. She is learning how to come out of hiding, to let herself be seen…heard. Have patience with her. Lots and lots of patience. Life is opening up…expanding. This is the world of possibility and infinite options. This is the world of testing boundaries and limitations that have appeared so real in the past.
Are you ready for that? Can you say yes to that?
What if everything we rebel against, resist, everything we are afraid of is actually guidance if we look at it with different eyes? What if whatever is happening right this very moment is asking us to look at the possibilities instead of the limitations?
What if it all really is all right and somehow in perfect balance, even if we don’t understand it?
(If you are interested in the book, you can find it here: Walking Out of Shame )