Earlier this week we had a friend over who had recently watched the documentary series Inner Worlds, Outer Worlds. Her multiple references to the program over dinner inspired us to snuggle up between the ancient crackling fire and the modern flat screen TV to watch part one. Full-bellied and sipping cups of tea, the boys took it in with a mixture of perplexity and boredom until the violin scene. In this scene the camera showed a violin being played before a tray of sand and the sand responding to the frequency of the music by forming beautiful geometric patterns– familiar to anyone who’s seen a mandala or indigenous pattern on a piece of art. All of a sudden Gus was jumping up and down, covering his eyes and begging for it to stop.
I don’t like magic! Magic is scary! Shut it off!
At the time, I thought it was super cute and interesting, especially coming from the boy who still believes in Santa and begs to watch any scary movie his brothers may be watching. The next day the scene was still at the forefront of my mind and worthy of a mention to a close friend. Today I’m seeing the relationship between Gus’s reaction to the magic moment in the movie and my reaction to seeing and feeling magic in my life.
Often I feel chills as I realize the power of sending a wish, making a vision board and more recently creating my first altar of intention. The tingles come when I sense the universe is responding to a question I have posed or a request I have made. When I ask to learn something and the lesson-opportunity shows up quickly, or when I have a flash of insight and the lesson gets reinforced by a story in my newsfeed or a book recommended by a stranger, I feel connection to the universe. I sense the role I play in co-creating and conversing with her. Lots of times this whooshing feeling of connection feels empowering, supportive and delightfully playful, but other times I respond like Gus.
I don’t like magic! Magic is scary! Shut it off!
And then I do what humans do. I eat it, social-media distract it or busy it away until I feel I’ve landed back in my comfort zone (albeit a bit numbed and detached). Eventually, I am ready to crawl back out, so I make the wish, set the intention and the cycle begins again.
Awareness is the first step to change right?
I am hoping with awareness of my fear cycles I can begin to shorten the time I spend in the disconnected zone. Besides awareness, another catalyst for change is looking at things from a different perspective. As someone who has dealt with anxiety since my teenage years, I welcome a better understanding of fear. Recently I’ve been reminded of a long-forgotten interpretation of fear that is helping me to reframe my anxiety both around the sacred and the mundane, which I’m finding more and more to be one in the same.
According to Rabbi Alan Lew, the Old Testament speaks of two different kinds of fear.
Pachad: an overreactive, imagined and projected fear that sees danger and threats; the panicky lizard-brain fear for survival that often includes unconscious thoughts such as rejection could destroy me or I could combust if I step out of my comfort zone
and
Yirah – the fear that overcomes us when we suddenly find ourselves in possession of more energy than we’re used to, when we’re taking up more space than we’re used to and when we feel that we are in the presence of the sacred
I am betting that both 9-year-old Gus and myself are experiencing moments of the yirah type fear. We can sense that the sacred is being made known. This is weird and scary, so we want to stop.
But it’s also exciting.
Perhaps being able to more specifically name the fear as well appreciate that humans have been experiencing it for time unknown can help us ride the sensation of awe and connection with a little more trust.
And joy.
