No	birthing	of	anything	new	can	occur	without	a
dying	of	the	old. You’re	carefree	before	becoming	a	parent,	in	a	way	you	will	never	be	again. But	you’re	
satisfied,
	having	become	one,	in	a	way	you	never	could	have	been
before. And	that’s	where	our	generation	is	now. We’re	no	longer	carefree. But
we’re	something	else	instead. We	are	grown-ups	in	the	deepest	sense,	and	that
is	new	psychological	territory. You	can’t	remember	the	day	when	you	crossed	over	the	border	from	who
you	were	to	who	you	are,	but	you	definitely	did. The	lightness	of	your	youth
is	gone,	perhaps,	but	so	is	your	youthful	suffering. Mature	angst	is	preferable
to	youthful	angst;	it	seems	less	tortured	somehow. You	know	too	much	now	to
either	laugh	
or
	cry	the	way	you	used	to. You	see	things	from	a	differentperspective,	and	with	that	new	perspective	has	come	a	new	sense	of	self. On
some	essential	level,	you	have	birthed	a	new	you. There’s	little	in	life	more	satisfying	than	the	feeling	that	at	last	you’ve	taken
ownership	of	yourself. You	don’t	have	to	be	afraid	anymore	that	some	part	of
you—some	fractal	not	yet	integrated	into	your	personality—is	going	to	trip
you	up. You	feel	at	last	like	you	
inhabit
	yourself. You	finally	went	into	all	the
rooms,	turned	the	lights	on,	and	settled	in. How	interesting	it	is	that	the	spirit	should	begin	to	open	up	as	the	body
begins	to	shut	down. It’s	very	humbling	to	watch	the	body	age. The	arc	of
human	history	is	coded	into	our	cells:	our	bones,	muscles,	organs,	and
reproductive	systems	are	all	moving	into	a	different	mode	at	midlife,	in	an
unmistakable	drive	toward	hopefully	distant	but	eventual	death. Yet	there	is
much	we	can	do	to	enliven	the	body—including	enlivening	the	mind. We	can
in	many	ways	transform	the	forces	of	death	into	renewed	and	sanctified	life. We	can	treat	our	bodies	not	as	things	that	are	slowly	failing	us,	but	as	our
partners	in	rebirth. If	we	identify	only	with	the	material	world,	then	age
creeps	into	us	like	an	unwanted	guest	who’s	come	to	stay. But	if	we	identify
also	with	our	spiritual	existence,	then	our	attitude	toward	the	body	becomes
one	of	deep	appreciation	and	gratitude. It’s	the	house	our	spirit	lives	in,	after
all. When	we	walk,	bike,	do	yoga,	lift	weights,	eat	correctly,	take	herbs	and
vitamins,	or	do	whatever	we	can	in	order	to	treat	the	body	well,	we’re	not	just
staving	off	death;	we’re	affirming	life. With	every	stretch	of	the	body,	we	help
stretch	the	mind. With	every	stretch	of	the	mind,	we	help	stretch	the	body. And	one	stretch	at	a	time,	we’re	renewing	them	both. According	to	spiritual	literature,	the	body	will	be	with	us	for	as	long	as	it
serves	the	function	of	the	soul	for	us	to	remain	here. When	I	was	a	younger
woman,	I	took	my	body	so	for	granted. In	midlife,	I	feel	so	grateful	to	it	for
working,	and	to	God	for	giving	it	to	me. There’s	something	about	having	less	of	something—less	energy,	less	time,
less	whatever—that	creates	a	poignant	shift	in	our	sense	of	its	value. The
body	
is
	a	miracle,	after	all. It	seems	to	me	that	with	age	should	come	a	greater
willingness	to	treat	it	lovingly,	and	with	care. Your	body	deserves	some
kindness	after	all	it’s	been	through. And	probably	you	do,	too. Dear	God,
Resanctify	my	body,
that	it	might	be	blessed.Pour	forth	Your	spirt
into	my	flesh. May	every	cell	receive	new	life,
and	my	physical	self	be	healed	and	whole. Amen
Chapter	Three
T
HE	
N
ICK	OF	
T
IME
Y
ou	arrive	at	midlife	having	collected	some	important	clues	about	yourself. The	mission	now	is	to	discover	what	they	mean. Many,	if	not	most,	of	our	personal	issues	begin	in	childhood,	most
specifically	within	our	family	of	origin. Young	adulthood	is	often	the	time	of
a	big	escape,	as	we	seek	to	evade	our	issues	by	evading	our	families. Ultimately,	we	come	to	realize	that	only	by	facing	those	issues	head-on	can
we	escape	their	consequences	throughout	our	lives. My	own	family	has	been	a	complicated	puzzle	with	some	oddly	shaped
psychological	pieces. For	years,	my	primary	response	to	whatever	discomfort
I	experienced	there	was	to	go	live	elsewhere	and	not	return	except	for	a	quick
hello	every	few	months. I	don’t	think	I	could	have	done	otherwise,	given	who
I	was	when	I	was	younger. But	having	reached	another	stage	in	my	life,	I	now
realize	that	everything	I	went	out	into	the	world	to	find,	everything	I	thought
my	family	didn’t	have	or	couldn’t	show	me,	was	pretty	much	right	there	in
front	of	me	all	the	time. Our	family	is	usually	a	microcosm	of	the	world	we’ll	encounter,	whether
we	travel	great	distances	or	barely	stray	from	home. The	lessons	to	be	learned
in	life	have	to	do	the	fragility	of	the	human	heart	and	the	nobility	of	the
human	spirit;	the	suffering	involved	in	simply	being	human	and	the	struggles
to	survive	the	experience;	the	joy	and	laughter	when	our	children	are	well;
and	the	tears	and	sadness	when	love	and	lives	are	over. I	never	had	to	leave
home	at	all	to	learn	this. But	if	you’d	told	me	that	30	years	ago,	I	wouldn’t
have	believed	you. Whether	your	childhood	was	good	or	not	so	good,	it	lives	in	your	cells. It
laid	down	tracks	of	thought,	and	thus	behavior,	that	have	run	your	life	for
decades. If	you	were	appreciated,	you’ve	attracted	people	who	appreciate	you. If	you	were	unappreciated,	you’ve	attracted	people	who	don’t	appreciate	you. You’ve	subconsciously	been	drawn	to	individuals	and	situations	that	mirror
pretty	perfectly	the	drama	of	your	childhood.In	the	words	of	novelist	William	Faulkner,	“The	past	is	not	dead. In	fact,
it’s	not	even	past.”	Until	we	address	the	deeper	drama	of	our	past,	we	are
bound	to	reenact	it. The	more	we	ignore	our	childhood	wounds,	the	more	they
fester	and	grow. Until	we	heal	the	child	we	used	to	be,	the	adult	we	want	to	be
doesn’t	stand	a	chance. We	can	help	release	the	drama	of	our	childhood	by	redefining	whose	child
we	are. We	are	products	of	our	family	of	origin,	to	be	sure. But	who	is	that,
exactly—our	mortal	parentage,	or	our	immortal	one? It’s	an	important	issue
because	we	inherit	the	riches	of	whomever	we	think	sourced	us. We	might
have	inherited	limitation	and	fear	from	our	mortal	parents,	but	we	inherited
miracles	and	love	from	God. Our	worldly	parents	might	have	been	wonderful
people	or	they	might	have	been	scoundrels,	but	the	larger	point	is	that	they’re
not	who	created	us. Superman	was	only	
raised
	by	those	nice	people	in
Kansas. As	long	as	we	think	our	biological	parents	fundamentally	sourced	us,	we’ll
feel	the	need	to	distance	ourselves	from	them	because	on	some	level,	we
know	it’s	not	true. When	we	see	that	in	fact	they’re	simply	fellow	souls	who
gave	us	a	tremendous	gift	by	bringing	us	into	this	world,	then	(hopefully)	did
their	best	to	take	care	of	us	and	raise	us	right,	we	realize	the	significance	of
the	debt	we	owe	them. Understanding	that	God	is	our	true	Father/Mother,	and
all	humanity	our	brothers	and	sisters,	counterintuitively	delivers	us	to	a	more,
not	less,	respectful	attitude	toward	our	biological	family. Knowing	more
deeply	who	they	are	in	our	lives—and	who	they	aren’t—frees	us	to	love	them
more. Many	people	today	never	experienced	an	appropriate	break	from	their
parents,	remaining	in	the	psychic	grip	of	childhood	long	past	the	time	when
adulthood	arrived. In	the	absence	of	a	healthy	rite	of	passage,	perhaps	you
subconsciously	created	for	yourself	whatever	drama,	however	painful,	would
force	you	into	a	more	mature	mode	of	living. Today,	we’re	all	being	forced	to	grow	up. Both	individually	and
collectively,	we’re	being	challenged	by	the	universe	to	match	our	talents	with
compassion,	our	intelligence	with	humility,	and	our	intellect	with	wisdom. The	grace	period	of	youth	is	over	for	all	of	us. We	are	children	no	longer. We’re	at	the	front	of	the	line. A	
COMMON	RITE	OF	PASSAGE	AT	MIDLIFE	IS	THE	DECLINING	HEALTH,
	or	death,	of	our	parents. Those	who	brought	us	into	the	world	are	usually	the	ones	to	leave	it	first. They	welcomed	us	when	we	got	here;	now	we’ll	wish	them	farewell	as	theymove	on	to	the	next	phase	of	their	souls’	journey. When	I	was	younger,	I	couldn’t	bear	the	thought	of	my	father	dying. And
that	was	a	persistent	terror	throughout	my	earlier	years. How	would	I	continue
to	exist	if	he	were	not	here? Yet	the	anticipation	of	someone’s	death	is	often
far	worse	than	the	feelings	we	experience	once	it’s	happened;	I	found	that
Daddy’s	having	died	was	far	less	excruciating	than	the	
fear
	that	he	would. With	my	father’s	passing,	and	then	with	my	sister’s,	I	never	felt	that	my
immediate	family	dwindled	from	five	members	to	three. Rather,	it’s	as	if
there’s	a	photograph	of	five	people	in	my	head,	and	two	of	them	are
negatives. But	the	picture	is	the	same. They’re	still	my	family. My	father	was	a	profoundly	charismatic	person. Yet	with	that	came
shadows,	as	is	often	the	case. With	him	taking	such	a	starring	role	in	the
family	drama,	who	else	had	a	chance	to	play	as	large	a	part	as	we	might	have
otherwise? I’ve	noticed	something	similar	with	my	daughter,	how	she	herself
has	handled	a	situation	where	the	parent	is,	shall	we	say,	less	than	a	shrinking
violet. I’ve	always	felt	that	she	made	a	preverbal	decision:	She	could	either	let
Mom	be	the	star	here	and	simply	accept	the	role	of	background	player;	or	she
could	come	out	blazing	in	the	first	act,	making	it	very	clear	to	everyone	that
this	would	be	an	ensemble	drama,	thank	you. Lord	knows	she	chose	the	latter. And	I	say,	
Good	for	her. What	that	means,	I	hope,	is	that	she	will	have	plenty	of	experience	starring
in	her	own	life	long	before	I	leave. I’m	thrilled	to	applaud	her. Yet	in	my	case,
and	in	the	case	of	many	people,	we	don’t	really	have	an	experience	of	starring
in	our	own	lives	until	at	least	one	parent	has	left	the	stage. That,	perhaps,	is
why	nature,	in	its	obviously	impeccable	wisdom,	follows	a	common	pattern
by	which	the	parent	usually	dies	first. It’s	not	until	you’re	in	the	generation	that	will	be	leaving	next	that	you	feel
the	full	weight	and	power	of	being	the	star	in	your	own	life. So	it	is	that	while
we	feel	the	sadness	of	our	parents’	aging	and	grieve	for	them	when	they	pass
away,	we	also	know—as	my	father	used	to	tell	me—that	death	is	part	of	a
greater	mystery. When	I	think	of	him	now,	I	smile	at	the	thought	that	he’s	no
longer	an	old	man. Someone	told	me	once	that	when	you	die,	the	spirit	goes
back	to	being	35. Of	course	it’s	preposterous	to	think	that	anyone	really
knows	these	things. It’s	sort	of	like	the	question	“If	someone	I	love
reincarnates,	does	that	mean	they	won’t	be	there	to	meet	me	on	the	other	side
when	I	arrive?”	Who	the	hell	knows. I	think	there’s	some	sort	of
multidimensional	reality	that	lets	my	father	reincarnate	as	one	of	his	great-
grandchildren	this	year	and	at	the	same	time	head	the	welcoming	committeefor	my	mother	years	from	now. It’s	that	“same	time”	thing	that	makes	it	all
possible. There	
is
	no	time! Either	way,	this	I	know:	After	he	died,	I	
felt
	my	father. I	could	have	sworn
he	said	to	me,	very	slowly,	“Oh,	
that’s
	who	you	are!”	Clearly,	he	had	not	fully
seen	me	when	he	was	here. But	once	he	was	gone,	I	felt	that	he	could. And	I
can	feel	he	does. As	much	as	he	did	for	me	as	a	father,	there	were	limits	to
what	he	could	do	because	there	were	limits	to	what	he	could	see. But	his
dying	didn’t	end	our	relationship;	we’ve	simply	entered	the	next	phase	of	it. And	what	he	gives	to	me	now,	in	the	purity	of	spirit,	more	than	makes	up	for
what	he	withheld	from	me	when	he	was	living	on	Earth. My	father	didn’t
simply	get	old	and	then	die. In	the	end,	after	his	death,	he	became	even	more
of	who	he	is. And	so	did	I.
Dear	God,
Please	heal	my	relationship	with	my	parents. Whether	they’re	on	Earth
or	have	passed	beyond	the	veil	of	death. May	only	love	remain	between	us. May	I	not	be	broken	by	their	weaknesses,
but	may	I	be	strengthened	by	their	strengths. May	they	be	at	peace,
and	so	may	I. Help	me	to	forgive	them,
and	please	forgive	me. Amen
I
N	YOUTH,	WE	ENCOUNTER	OUR	PSYCHIC	DRAGONS;
	by	midlife	(if	they’re	still	around),	it’s
time	to	slay	them. It’s	the	time	for	a	major	commitment	to	heal	whatever
childhood	wounds	remain. There	can	be	no	spiritual	victory	without	this. It’s	not	as	hard	to	heal	from	these	patterns	as	we	sometimes	think,	once
we’re	honest	with	ourselves	about	(l)	what	they	are,	and	(2)	who’s	100
percent	responsible	for	them. A	wound	that	might	have	been	inflicted	on	youyears	ago	by	someone	else	has	turned	into	a	character	defect	that	is	all	yours
now. To	the	extent	that	we	project	responsibility	for	a	dysfunction	outside
ourselves,	we	cannot	change	it. Wherever	the	wound	came	from,	however
many	years	ago,	its	healing	lies	not	in	the	past	but	in	the	present. Your
subconscious	will	continue	to	trigger	the	wound	for	as	long	as	it	takes—a
fifty-year-old	experiencing	a	five-year-old’s	pain—until	you	allow	it	to	be
healed. When	the	Bible	tells	us	to	pray	like	a	little	child,	it’s	not	just	because	of	the
faith	of	a	child. It’s	also	because	of	the	pain	of	a	child. The	most	powerful
way	to	bring	healing	to	a	wound	is	to	pray	that	God	take	it	away. God’s	healing	is	not	just	something	He	does	
for
	us;	it’s	something	He	does
through
	and	
with
	us. Only	when	we	are	willing	to	reach	for	higher	thought-
forms	do	we	have	the	power	to	nullify	lower	ones. This	process	is	larger	and
more	powerful	than	psychological	insight. “I’m	needy	because	my	parents
abandoned	me;	the	right	partner	will	understand	that!”	is	a	sentiment	that
starts	with	an	insight	but	then	uses	it	to	imprison	rather	than	to	release. In	fact,
your	perfect	partner	in	such	a	case	would	not	be	someone	who	“understands”
and	acquiesces	to	your	needy	behavior. It	would	be	someone	who	tells	you
lovingly	but	firmly,	“Get	over	it.”
What	is	the	spiritual	solution	to	such	an	issue? To	pray	for	a	miracle. “Dear
God,	I	act	so	needy	that	it’s	destroying	my	relationships. Please	heal	me	and
show	me	another	way	to	be.”	The	change	we	are	looking	for	is	always	a
change	within	ourselves. And	the	change	will	come. I’ve	noticed	that	as	long	as	I’m	willing	to	
be
different,	something	or	someone	arrives	to	show	me	how. The	healthy
behavioral	pattern	you	never	developed	as	a	child,	having	been	too	hurt	or
traumatized	to	do	so,	will	be	modeled	by	someone	who	was	
not
	hurt	in	that
particular	area	as	a	child. Seemingly	out	of	nowhere,	he	or	she	will	appear	in
front	of	you. And	slowly	but	surely,	you	will	learn	to	behave	as	you	would
have	wished	to	behave	but	were	too	wounded	to	know	how. At	midlife,	the	name	of	the	game	is	change. We’re	living	at	a	moment	of
quantum	possibility	now,	not	just	in	terms	of	our	physical	age	but	in	terms	of
the	history	of	the	world. It’s	as	though	the	universe	is	splitting	in	two—which
perhaps	it	is. Those	who	want	to	continue	on	the	downward	course	of
dysfunction,	irresponsibility,	entitlement,	narcissism,	domination,	and	fear,	go
here;	those	who	wish	to	break	through	to	the	highest	possibility	for	life	on
Earth,	go	there. We	can	choose	to	die	to	who	we’ve	been	until	now,	and	stand
in	the	light	of	a	new	sense	of	self.Neither	we,	nor	the	world	we	live	in,	will	go	much	farther	down	the	road	in
our	current	state. We	can	either	let	go	gracefully	of	the	people	we’ve	been,
becoming	ever	more	transcendent;	or	we	can	let	go	angrily,	our	lives
becoming	bitter	and	chaotic. Every	moment	is	an	opportunity	to	exhale	old
energies	and	breathe	in	new	life;	to	exhale	fear	and	inhale	love;	to	exhale
littleness	and	inhale	magnitude;	to	exhale	grandiosity	and	inhale	grandeur. Rebirth	is	a	gradual	process	of	giving	embrace	and	welcome	to	the	person	we
really	wish	to	be. Take	a	good	look	at	your	life	right	now. If	you	don’t	like	something	about
it,	close	your	eyes	and	imagine	the	life	you	want. Now	allow	yourself	to	focus
your	inner	eye	on	the	person	you	would	be	if	you	were	living	this	preferred
life. Notice	the	differences	in	how	you	behave	and	present	yourself;	allow
yourself	to	spend	several	seconds	breathing	in	the	new	image,	expanding	your
energy	into	this	new	mold. Hold	the	image	for	several	seconds	and	ask	God	to
imprint	it	on	your	subconscious	mind. Do	that	every	day	for	ten	minutes	or
so. If	you	share	this	technique	with	certain	people,	the	chances	are	good	they’ll
tell	you	that	it’s	way	too	simple. It’s	up	to	you	what	you	believe. Dear	God,
Please	impress	upon	me
the	vision	of	whom	I	am	meant	to	be. Reveal	to	me	the	bigger	life
that	You	would	have	me	live. Undo	the	forces	that	keep	me	bound
that	I	might	serve	You	more. Amen
I	
THINK	MOST	OF	US	HAVE	A	DREAM
,	a	secret	aspiration	we	never	admit	to	anyone
else	for	fear	of	being	laughed	at. Yet	the	dream	remains	an	image	in	our	heads
that	never	really	goes	away. At	midlife,	you	start	to	wonder	why	that	picture	has	never	completely	left
your	mind. It	occurs	to	you	that	perhaps	it’s	your	destiny,	planted	in	your
brain	like	a	little	yet	powerful	seedling. You	begin	to	wonder	if	the	dream	is
still	there	because	you’re	supposed	to	live	it. Perhaps	your	subconscious	istrying	to	send	you	a	message	about	something	very	important	indeed. At	my	talks,	people	often	ask,	“When	am	I	going	to	know	what	I’m
supposed	to	do	with	my	life?”	For	me	personally,	the	question	has
transformed:	The	only	way	I	can	know	what	I	should	be	doing	is	if	I	focus	on
who	I	should	
be. That	doesn’t	mean	there	aren’t	magnificent	things	we’re
supposed	to	do,	but	God	can	only	work	
for
	us	to	the	extent	that	He	can	work
through	us. Putting	our	focus	on	being	who	He	would	have	us	be	is	the	only
sure	way	we’ll	ever	come	close	to	doing	what	He	would	have	us	do. Once	we’ve	reached	a	certain	age,	we	tend	to	recalibrate	our	expectations. We	expect	less	from	the	world	once	we’ve	seen	it	up	close;	we	know	that	no
one	is	perfect,	including	ourselves. And	that’s	when	we	gain	an	even	greater
appreciation	for	the	place	where	perfection	does	lie. The	grandiosity	of	the
ego	diminishes,	and	the	grandeur	of	the	spirit	is	revealed	at	last. Having	truly
seen	the	world,	we	can	see	that	it	is	tarnished;	having	finally	glimpsed	God,
we	can	see	that	He	is	not. Having	seen	the	juxtaposition	between	the	two	is	a
prerequisite	if	we’re	to	say	to	Him,	“Please	use	me;	I	am	yours.”
The	part	of	your	life	that’s	over,	with	all	its	joy	and	tears,	was	spiritual	boot
camp. It	was	gestation	time	for	the	life	that	lies	ahead	of	you	now. The	secret
dream	you’ve	carried	forever,	denying	its	reality	even	to	yourself,	has	refused
to	go	away	and	is	ready	to	be	born	at	last. A	few	times	in	my	life	I’ve	heard	a	voice	in	my	head	as	clearly	as	if	a
person	standing	next	to	me	were	talking. Once,	during	a	period	that	I	thought
was	so	dark	I’d	never	get	over	it,	I	heard	these	words:	“This	is	not	the	end. It’s
the	beginning.”
And	it	was. N
EW	LIFE	EMERGES	NOT	FROM	STRATEGY
	but	from	character. Before	realizing	this,	you
might	think	that	making	plans,	devising	blueprints	for	your	future	or
whatever,	are	the	keys	to	the	path	ahead. But	our	real	keys	to	victory	are
internal. Your	state	of	doing	must	be	matched	by	the	state	of	your	being,	or
the	incongruity	will	sabotage	even	your	most	brilliant	plans. It’s	been	fascinating	over	the	last	few	years	towatch	the	high	and	mighty	in
business	and	politics	fall	precipitously—not	because	their	plans	didn’t	work,
but	because	their	character	flaws	undercut	those	plans. Whether	the
microphone	caught	them	making	racist	comments	or	their	greed	overcame
their	common	sense,	who	they	were	as	people	made	all	the	difference—more
than	their	résumés,	their	degrees,	or	even	their	past	successes. If	you	fail	atthe	art	of	being	human	and	staying	human,	you	recklessly	court	disaster. Yet
how	do	we	cultivate	the	betterment	of	our	humanity? What	is	the	how-to	of
personal	transformation? What	I’ve	learned,	to	the	extent	to	which	I’ve	been	successful	at	any	of
this,	is	that	the	path	of	right	living	is	walked	one	moment	at	a	time. Whether
you	show	up	for	life	as	a	jerk	or	a	saint	has	little	to	do	with	belief	or	theology;
it	has	to	do	with	personal	integrity. We	aren’t	transformed	in	our	hearts	by
mere	belief,	because	belief	isn’t	
of
	the	heart. The	heart’s	transformation	is	not
attained	through	the	mind—it’s	attained	through	surrender,	authenticity,
forgiveness,	faith,	honesty,	acceptance,	vulnerability,	humility,	willingness,
nonjudgment,	and	other	characterological	values	that	have	to	be	learned	and
relearned	continuously. We	might	skip	some	lessons	at	school,	but	we	can’t	skip	any	of	the	lessons
of	life. They	will	find	us. If	a	lesson	is	up	for	us	and	we	don’t	learn	it	now,
then	it’s	programmed	into	the	universe	that	we	will	just	have	to	learn	it	later. It’s	said	in	
A	Course	in	Miracles
	that	it’s	not	up	to	us	what	we	learn,	but
merely	whether	we	learn	through	joy	or	through	pain. But	by	midlife,	we’re	destined	to	learn. Whatever	parts	of	you	are	blocking
the	emergence	of	the	highest,	best	you,	have	simply	got	to	go	now. And	one
way	or	the	other,	they	will. Allowing	the	pain	of	personal	growth	to	be	a	crucible	of	your	spirit—the
alchemical	grail	through	which	the	metal	of	your	former	self	turns	into	gold—
is	one	of	the	highest	callings	of	life. Pain	can	burn	you	up	and	destroy	you,	or
burn	you	up	and	redeem	you. It	can	deliver	you	to	an	entrenched	despair,	or
deliver	you	to	your	higher	self. At	midlife	we	decide,	consciously	or
unconsciously,	the	path	of	the	victim	or	the	path	of	the	phoenix	when	it	is
rising	up	at	last. Growth	can	be	hard,	and	laboring	a	new	self	very	difficult. Growing	older
just	happens;	growing	wise	is	something	else	again. And	by	a	certain	point	in
life,	most	of	us	
have
	been	hurt. We	
have
	been	disappointed. We	
have
	had
dreams	die,	and	find	it	hard	to	forgive	ourselves	or	others. The	challenge	of
age	is	not	to	skip	life’s	disappointments	but	to	transcend	them. We	transcend
them	by	learning	the	lessons	they	taught	us,	however	painful,	and	coming	out
on	the	other	side	prepared	to	create,	with	God’s	help,	a	new	life. Dear	God,
May	my	spirit	be	reborn,that	I	might	be	a	better	person. I	give	You	my	shame
over	whom	I	have	sometimes	been,
and	my	hopes	for	whom	I	wish	to	be. Please	receive	them	both. Amen
N
OT	THAT	ANY	OF	THIS	IS	EASY. The	ego	has	no	intention	of	allowing	us	to	grow	more	radiant	and	spirited
as	the	years	go	by. It	has	no	intention	of	allowing	us	to	experience	ourselves
as	fully	empowered,	joyful,	spiritual	beings—not	if	it	can	help	it. Its	plan	is	to
destroy	that	dream—not	just	by	breaking	our	bodies	but	by	breaking	our
hearts. From	its	headquarters	deep	in	our	subconscious	minds,	the	ego	magnetizes
and	manifests	our	nightmares. It	fabricates	false	testimony	to	our	guilt	and
guile,	finding	ways	to	shame	and	humiliate	us,	shape-shifting	into	insidious
forms	to	taunt	and	ridicule	us	at	every	turn. We’re	lured	into	the	black	hole	of
self-doubt	and	self-loathing,	as	problems	both	secret	and	not-so-secret	began
to	loom	on	our	horizon. With	every	passing	year,	we	lose	courage	along	with
muscle	tone. Yet	this	is	nothing	more	than	the	game	of	life	as	it	must	be	played	by
everyone. None	of	us	get	to	avoid	the	night,	however	hard	we	seek	to	prolong
the	day. And	the	night	has	its	own	set	of	lessons. At	a	certain	point	in	life,	it’s
simply	our	destiny	to	have	to	face	ourselves:	to	be	shown	everything	not
healed	within	us,	challenged	to	either	transform	our	wounds	or	to	begin	to	die
from	them. If	you	feel,	when	looking	back	on	your	life	so	far,	that	you’ve	wrestled	with
primal	forces	and	not	always	won,	be	assured	that	you’re	pretty	much	like
everyone	else. It	is	a	rare	individual	who	reaches	midlife	without	a	lot	to
grieve. And	whether	or	not	your	tears	are	acknowledged—whether	or	not	you
give	them	the	chance	to	actually	fall	down	your	cheeks—there’s	no	question
that	they’re	there. Arrogant	in	our	modernity,	our	generation	thought	we	were	invulnerable	to
ancient	myths	and	archetypes. We	thought	we	could	avoid	the	descent	into	the
psychic	underworld	…	until	we	realized	that	no	one	can	and	no	one	ever	does.And	there	is	a	reason	for	that. The	underworld	of	personal	pain	and	crisis,
while	difficult,	is	the	inevitable	breeding	ground	for	the	strengths	and	talents
we	were	born	to	embody. Our	problems	transform	themselves	into	our
medicine	when	we	learn	to	face	how	we	created	them	to	begin	with. This
spiritual	medicine—often	so	bitter	tasting	when	it	is	going	down—will	one
day	be	seen	to	have	been	that	which	saved	your	life. From	divorce	to	illness
to	bankruptcy	to	whatever	other	form	of	loss,	you	finally	come	to	realize	that
your	crisis	was	in	fact	your	initiation	into	the	fullness	of	your	self. Having	faced	the	fire	of	your	initiation	and	survived	its	heat,	you	can	now
serve	others	in	a	whole	new	way. By	being	a	living	testimony	to	life
transformed,	you	carry	in	your	cells	a	sacred	knowledge,	and	in	your	mind
and	heart	a	sacred	fire. It’s	not	the	fire	of	youth	but	the	fire	of	Prometheus,
who	emerged	with	the	light	that	would	light	the	world. It’s	a	light	that	you
could	
only
	have	gotten	from	having	faced	some	version	of	your	personal	hell,
and	now	you	are	inoculated	to	the	fires	that	rage	around	you. Sometimes	only
fire	can	put	out	fire,	and	such	is	the	fire	that	now	burns	in	you. This	is	not	the
fire	of	your	destruction	but	of	your	victory. It	is	the	fire	of	your	middle	years. Chapetr	Four
G
OD	
O
NLY	
K
NOWS
A
t	a	certain	point	in	life,	almost	everyone	is	haunted	by	the	ghosts	of	his	or
her	regrets. There	are	things	we	did	that	we	wish	we	hadn’t,	and	things	we
didn’t	do	that	we	wish	we	had. From	family	we	neglected	to	friends	we
abandoned,	from	ways	we	acted	irresponsibly	to	opportunities	we	wasted,
situations	that	seemed	unclear	to	us	while	we	were	going	through	them	seem
very	clear	in	retrospect. And	during	the	years	when	we	were	carelessly	dismissing	what	we	later
came	to	see	as	the	most	important	things	in	life,	we	kept	crying	out	woefully
that	we	were	looking	for	
meaning. All	that	time	we	were	starved	for	meaning,
we	were	lacking	it	for	no	other	reason	than	that	we	weren’t	
ascribing
	meaning
to	the	situations	right	in	front	of	us! Meaning	isn’t	what	a	situation	gives	us;
it’s	what	we	give	to	a	situation. But	who	knew? It’s	horrifying	to	recognize	that	you	didn’t	always	treat	life	with	the	respect
it	deserved. And	for	the	’60s	generation	now	settling	into	midlife,	that’s	a
common	realization. In	shattering	some	outworn	notions	of	morality,	we
frequently	shattered	some	eternal	ones	as	well. This	is	not	to	repudiate	the
outrageousness	of	that	era;	in	many	ways,	it	was	a	creative	explosion	in	us
and	in	the	world. Yet	there	was	a	shadow,	as	there’s	a	shadow	to	most
anything. And	at	a	certain	point,	facing	your	shadows	is	the	only	way	to
dispel	them. That	particular	dark	night	of	the	soul—facing	our	self-loathing	for	the
mistakes	of	our	past—is	like	an	entry	ticket	into	a	revitalized	midlife. Sometimes	decades	of	experience	have	to	be	forgiven	before	we	can	feel	free
to	move	on. Many	of	us	have	sent	or	received	letters	or	made	calls	expressing
things	like,	“I’m	so	sorry	I	hurt	you;	I	was	such	an	idiot	in	1985.”	Regardless
of	how	much	discomfort	we	have	to	go	through	to	get	there,	it’s	gratifying	to
feel	we’ve	released	enough	of	our	past	to	make	room	for	new	growth. Some	people	wonder	why	the	energy	in	their	life	seems	not	to	be	moving
forward—when	in	fact	the	only	thing	holding	them	back	is	their	own
unwillingness	to	face	the	issues	that	still	need	to	be	faced,	the	shadows	thatstill	need	to	be	owned,	and	the	amends	that	still	need	to	be	made	in	order	to
free	their	energy	and	restart	their	engines. As	long	as	we’re	stuck	internally,
our	lives	will	be	stuck	externally;	the	only	way	to	go	wide	in	life	is	if	we	are
willing	to	go	deep. It	doesn’t	matter	if	the	problem	happened	decades	ago;	the
challenge	is	to	face	it	and	deal	with	it	now,	so	in	the	decades	ahead	you’ll	be
released	from	the	karmic	trap	of	having	always	to	reenact	past	disasters. Once	again,	what	might	appear	as	a	slowing	down	of	our	jets	is	often
anything	but. Internal	work	is	sometimes	done	more	easily	while	sitting	there
thinking	than	while	busily	running	around. A	frantic	schedule	helps	us	avoid
taking	a	deeper	look	at	ourselves,	but	by	midlife	such	avoidance	simply	does
not	and	cannot	work	anymore. Slower	lifestyles,	candles	and	soft	music	in	the
house,	yoga,	meditation,	and	the	like	are	often	signs	of	an	internal	regreening. We	are	focusing	on	changes	that	support	our	deepening. I	know	a	woman	who
started	therapy	in	her	80s. Her	coming	to	understand	so	much	about	her	life
until	this	point	served	more	than	just	herself. It	affected	conversations	with
her	children	that	affected	their	relationships	with	
their
	children,	on	and	on	in	a
never-ending	pattern	of	miracles	unleashed	by	a	deeper	understanding	of	self. B
Y	MIDLIFE,	MOST	OF	US	HAVE	A	LOT	OF	IMPACTED	EMOTIONAL	PAIN. That	pain	can	poison	our
system	or	leave	it. Those	are	pretty	much	our	only	two	choices. Sometimes	depression	is	to	the	soul	what	fever	is	to	the	body:	a	way	to
burn	up	what	needs	to	be	burned	up	so	that	health	can	return. Some	dark
nights	of	the	soul	last	months	or	years,	while	others	just	last	a	night	or	two. Either	way,	they’re	part	of	a	mystical	detox	of	our	accumulated	fear	and
despair. Any	thought	not	reconciled	with	truth	remains	in	our	psychic	
“in-
box,”	put	in	the	trash	but	not	yet	deleted	from	the	computer. Whatever	energy
isn’t	brought	to	light,	surrendered	and	transformed,	stays	in	the	dark—an
insidious	force	of	constant,	active	attack	on	both	body	and	soul. Even	if	you’ve	lived	a	pretty	good	life,	unless	you’ve	lived	it	in	some
isolated	mountain	village	where	everyone	around	you	was	nice	all	the	time,
then	you’re	probably	carrying	some	pain	around. In	your	30s	and	40s	you
were	so	busy	that	you	were	able	to	keep	distracted,	but	sometime	around	your
50s	or	so,	that	pain	demands	to	be	heard. It	
will
	be	heard. And	it’s	far,	far
better	to	hear	it	in	your	head	and	in	your	soul,	than	from	your	doctor	when	the
test	results	come	back	and	unfortunately	they	do	not	look	good. Turning	on	the	TV	these	days,	one	feels	bombarded	by	advertisements	for
sleep	medications. It’s	understandable,	of	course,	that	people	who	have	to	get
up	for	work	the	next	morning	will	do	anything	necessary	to	get	a	good	night’ssleep. But	there’s	a	deeper	story	here,	of	people	seeking	help	in	their	efforts	to
handle	the	monsters	that	often	emerge	from	their	psyches	very	late	at	night. Some	of	those	monsters	
need
	to	be	let	out. They	need	to	be	freed	from	the
caves	they	live	in. They	bring	messages	of	pain,	it’s	true,	and	yet	the	pain	they
bring	is	often	important	pain. If	you	don’t	feel	the	guilt,	how	will	you	ever
reach	your	motivation	to	make	amends? If	you	don’t	feel	the	self-loathing,
how	will	you	ever	reach	the	motivation	to	act	more	responsibly	next	time? If
you	avoid	the	pain,	you’ll	miss	the	gain. Just	suppressing	the	monsters	only
makes	them	larger. Allowing	them	out—and	allowing	yourself	to	finally	face
them—is	the	only	way	to	make	sure	that	they	will	ever	go	away. It’s	not	always	fun	to	face	your	past—not	the	whitewashed,	historically
revised	version,	but	the	real	backstory	you	don’t	look	at	daily	because	it
would	make	you	cringe	so	much	if	you	did. It’s	not	really	about	what	you
don’t	want	others	to	know;	the	actual	events	probably	weren’t	any	worse	than
what	others	have	been	through	in	their	lives. Compared	to	others,	you	might
not	have	even	done	so	badly. But	wherever	you	didn’t	live	up	to	your	personal
best,	shame	remains	like	an	underground	toxin. You	live	with	regrets	that
haunt	you,	perhaps	rarely	during	the	day	when	the	ego’s	illusionist	worldview
holds	sway,	but	during	those	nights	when	no	pill	or	drink	or	amount	of	sex
can	keep	them	from	you. They	move	through	locked	doors	in	your	mind	as
though	they’re	ghosts,	which	they	are. And	no	amount	of	“Go	on	now,	go!”
can	shoo	them	away. Only	the	rigorous	work	of	taking	a	fearless	moral	inventory	will	do	that—
the	bravery	to	respect	your	conscience,	to	know	that	if	something’s	up	for
review,	then	it’s	best	to	review	it. And	that	can	be	difficult. In	the	words	of	the
ancient	Greek	playwright	Aeschylus,	“He	who	learns	must	suffer. And	even
in	our	sleep	pain	that	cannot	forget	falls	drop	by	drop	upon	the	heart,	and	in
our	own	despair,	against	our	will,	comes	wisdom	to	us	by	the	awful	grace	of
God.”	Numbing	yourself—while	sleeping	or	waking—will	not	erase	the	pain;
only	forgiveness	and	love	can	do	that. Then,	through	the	alchemy	of
atonement	and	grace,	the	ghosts	will	go	back	to	the	nothingness	from	whence
they	came. And	they	will	be	no	more. The	past	is	over,	and	you	are	free. Dear	God,
Please	forgive	me	the
mistakes	in	my	past. May	neither	Inor	anyone	else
be	bound	by	them. Please	God,
may	I	begin	again. Amen
O
NE	OF	THE	MOST	PERNICIOUS	OF	THE	EGO’S	TAUNTS
	at	midlife	is	the	nagging	fear	that
we’re	“running	out	of	time.”	Yet	time	expands	when	our	consciousness	does. Our	enemy	is	not	really	time,	but	our	
false	thinking
	about	time. In	the	Bible	it	states:	“And	time	shall	be	no	more,”	but	rather	than
foreshadowing	the	end	of	the	world,	perhaps	this	indicates	the	end	of	our
experiencing	time	the	way	that	we	do	now. The	years	after	50,	if	lived	well,
are	
longer
	than	those	between	20	and	50. In	fact,	we	have	more	time	than	we
thought. The	key	to	stretching	time	is	to	go	deeper	into	the	present. When	we
do,	we	find	something	wonderful	there:	choices	we	didn’t	realize	we	had	in
the	days	when	we	were	moving	too	fast	to	see	them. By	a	certain	point,	most	of	us	have	experienced	enough	of	the	world	to	no
longer	be	naïve	about	it. We	know	what	it	gives	and	we	know	what	it	takes
away. We	have	memories	of	joy	and	we	have	memories	of	sorrow. Our
challenge,	in	both	cases,	is	to	not	dwell	in	the	memories. As	long	as	there’s	life,	there’s	the	possibility	of	love. And	where	there	is
love,	there	is	always	hope. No	matter	what	the	mirror	says,	no	matter	what
your	doctor	says,	no	matter	what	the	establishment	says—there	is	hope. It’s
tempting	to	feel	at	times	that	you	blew	it	in	the	past	and	there’s	nothing	you
can	do	to	redeem	yourself. Or	that	the	cruelty	of	the	world	defeated	you	and
you	can’t	rise	back	up. But	the	miracle	of	midlife	is	that	nothing	that
happened	before	this	moment	has	any	bearing	on	what’s	possible	now,	except
that	what	you	learned	from	it	can	be	fuel	for	a	magnificent	future. Miracles	are	available	in	any	moment	when	we	bring	the	best	of	ourselves
forward. It	isn’t	the	amount	of	our	years	that	will	determine	the	life	we	live
now,	but	the	amount	of	our	love. Our	future	isn’t	determined	by	anything	that
happened	20	years	ago,	30	years	ago,	or	even	10	minutes	ago. It’s	determined
by	who	we	are	and	what	we	think,	right	here,	right	now,	in	this	moment. Almost	every	hour	of	every	day,	we’ll	find	ourselves	in	a	situation	where	we
can	be	now	who	we	weren’t	before,	because	we	
know
	now	what	we	didn’t
know	before. And	from	this	newness	in	our	being	springs	fresh	opportunitieswe	could	never	have	imagined. God	specializes	in	new	beginnings. I	had	an	experience	once	that	depressed	me	greatly. I	felt	wounded	by
something	in	my	past	and	fairly	hopeless	about	my	future. Around	that	time,	I
moved	into	a	house	on	the	water,	where	I	had	a	view	of	the	sunrise	each	day
that	was	more	gorgeous	than	anything	I	had	ever	seen. Every	morning’s	sky
looked	like	a	Japanese	woodcut	that	had	come	to	life,	with	black	branches
slowly	turning	deep	green,	ebony	sky	turning	hot	pink	on	top	of	the	branches,
and	a	beautiful	bright	turquoise	below. I	had	never	experienced	nature	as	such
a	deeply	spiritual	thing	before. It	was	so	extraordinary. I	felt	for	sure	that	I’d
been	led	to	that	house,	and	to	that	bedroom	view,	as	part	of	my	healing. Every	day	my	eyes	would	automatically	open	as	the	sun	began	to	rise. I’d
lie	there	and	not	just	look	at	the	dawn;	the	dawn	would	
enter
	me. The	imprint
of	sunrise—of	a	new	day	following	the	darkness	of	night—made	its	way	into
my	cells. And	one	morning	it	was	as	though	I	heard	the	voice	of	God,	telling
me	as	I	witnessed	the	dawn	that	“Such	is	the	work	I	will	do	within	you.”	I	too
would	experience	a	new	dawn	after	the	dark	night	of	my	soul. God	would
give	me	a	new	beginning. I	knew	it	then. And	as	I	closed	my	eyes	and	drifted
back	to	sleep,	I	thanked	Him	with	all	my	heart. And	my	heart	was	healed. I
’M	OFTEN	AMAZED	WHEN	WATCHING
	Olympic	ice-skaters.Someone	who	has	practiced
something	thousands,	literally	thousands,	of	times,	gets	in	front	of	a
worldwide	TV	audience	in	the	most	important	competition	of	their	lives,	and
makes	a	fall	that	could	ruin	all	their	dreams	in	one	split	second. How	many	of
us	would	just	completely	fall	apart	at	that	point? But	not	them. They	keep
going. They’ve	got	another	triple	axel	to	do	1.2	seconds	later. They	simply
cannot	allow	their	future	to	be	determined	by	the	past. And	that’s	not	just	a
physical	skill. It’s	an	emotional	skill,	a	psychological	skill. It’s	a	skill	that
anyone	who	wants	to	make	a	passage	into	a	prosperous,	creative,	and	exciting
second	half	of	life	needs	to	develop. It’s	not	simply	that	“what’s	past	is	past.”	It’s	bigger,	somehow	holier	than
that. It’s	that	what	has	happened	until	now	was	a	set	of	lessons—often
extraordinary,	often	painful. Yet	all	that	was	ever	going	on	was	that	you	were
being	given	the	chance	to	become	the	person	you’re	capable	of	being. Some
lessons	you	passed,	and	some	you	failed	and	will	have	to	take	again. Some
you	enjoyed,	and	some	you	resisted	and	might	have	hated. But	they’ve	left
you—if	you	choose—a	better	person,	a	more	humble	person,	a	more	available
person,	a	more	vulnerable	person,	a	wiser	person,	a	more	noble	person. And
from	that,	all	things	are	possible. A	youthful	body	is	wonderful,	but	it’s	not	allit’s	cracked	up	to	be	when	you’re	not	who	you	should	be. And	once	you	are,
the	cracks	in	your	body	can	have	a	beauty	of	their	own. You	don’t	have	to	be
young	to	be	fabulous. Yet	how	do	we	do	emotionally	what	those	ice-skaters	do	physically? How
do	we	get	up	again	when	life	has	thrown	us	down? How	do	we	get	over	the
past? Without	forgiveness,	it	cannot	be	done. O
NE	NIGHT	
I
	WAS	LYING	IN	BED,	NEARING	SLEEP,
	and	I	realized	that	I’d	been	taken	to	some
dimension	I’d	never	experienced	before. I	say	“taken”	because	it	just	seemed
to	happen. In	this	place	I	knew	I	was	older,	and	I	couldn’t	have	entered	if	I
were	not. But	there	was	a	light,	a	luminescence	that	was	clearly	something	I
couldn’t	have	known	until	this	point. I	knew	then	that	if	I	could	live	in	this
place	on	a	consistent	basis,	I	would	never	see	it	as	a	lesser	world. It	wasn’t	a
booby	prize;	it	was	clearly	a	reward. It	wasn’t	as	though	I	was	carrying
baggage;	it	was	as	though	I	had	received	a	gift. “Oh,	this	is	what	age	is!”	I	said	to	myself,	relieved	that	it	was	so	wonderful. But	a	response	came	clearly:	“Well,	not	for	everyone.”	I	was	visiting	an	inner
domain	that	was	not	a	given. It	had	to	be	chosen. It	was	revealed	to	me	in	one
of	those	momentary	gifts	of	grace,	perhaps,	but	only	as	an	enticement,	a
demonstration	of	what	was	mine	to	earn. Before	the	present	could	start	to
shine	like	that,	I	would	have	to	learn	to	forgive. It’s	fairly	easy	to	stay	loving	and	serene	when	others	always	act	the	way
you	want	them	to,	but	that’s	not	a	realistic	picture	of	life. Everyone’s
imperfect,	everyone’s	wounded,	and	most	of	us	have	been	somewhat	scathed
at	one	time	or	another	by	the	casual	cruelty	of	others. Forgiveness	involves	faith	in	a	love	that’s	greater	than	hatred,	and	a
willingness	to	see	the	light	in	someone’s	soul	even	when	their	personality	has
harbored	darkness. Forgiveness	doesn’t	mean	that	someone	didn’t	act
horribly;	it	simply	means	that	we	choose	not	to	focus	on	their	guilt. In
focusing	on	it,	we	make	it	real	to	us,	and	in	making	it	real	to	us,	we	make	it
real	
for
	us. The	only	way	to	deliver	ourselves	from	vulnerability	to	other
people’s	behavior	is	by	identifying	with	the	part	of	them	that	lies	beyond	their
bodies. We	can	look	beyond	others’	behavior	to	the	innocence	in	their	souls. In	doing	so,	we	not	only	free	
them
	from	the	weight	of	our	condemnation,	but
we	free	ourselves	as	well. That	is	the	miracle	of	forgiveness.Forgiveness	isn’t	just	about	being	
nice
—it’s	about	being	spiritually
intelligent. We	can	have	a	grievance	or	we	can	have	a	miracle,	but	we	cannot
have	both. We	can	build	a	case	against	someone,	or	we	can	be	happy. Any
justification	I	come	up	with	for	an	attack	on	another	person	is	just	my	ego’s
ploy	to	keep	
me
	in	pain. A	concept	it	has	taken	me	years	to	embrace	fully	is	that	I	am	100	percent
responsible	for	my	own	life. 100	percent	responsible	doesn’t	mean	34	percent
responsible,	and	it	doesn’t	mean	96	percent	responsible. Unless	you’re	willing
to	accept	that	you’re	
100
	percent	responsible	for	your	own	experience,	then
you	can’t	call	forth	your	best	life. Some	people	nurse	grievances	that	go	back	20	years. At	a	certain	point,
however,	it	becomes	harder	to	blame	all	your	problems	on	what	someone	did
to	you	that	long	ago. No	matter	what	they	did,	the	real	culprit	is	the	one	who’s
let	20	years	pass	without	getting	over	it. Some	awful	things	might	have	happened	to	you	during	the	years	leading	up
to	this	moment,	but	
you
	are	still	responsible	for	how	you	choose	to	interpret
them. And	how	you	interpret	your	past	determines	whether	it	will	uplift	you
or	emotionally	sink	you. Yes,	there	may	have	been	some	people	who
viciously	wronged	you. I	understand	that. But	it	serves	you	to	realize	any	of
the	ways	you	might	have	made	it	easy	for	them	to	do	it. Yes,	there	may	be
aspects	of	your	life	that	are	lacking,	joyless,	chaotic,	and	disappointing. But	it
is	your	responsibility	to	own	every	dark	corner	of	your	life	and	transform	it. I’m	not	saying	forgiveness	is	easy;	I’m	simply	saying	it’s	imperative. My	friend	Gina	went	through	a	terrible	divorce,	giving	her	plenty	of
opportunity	to	choose	between	forgiveness	and	blame. After	11	years	of	what
she	had	thought	was	a	good	marriage—what	anyone	who’d	ever	seen	them
together	assumed	was	a	great	marriage—her	husband	wanted	out. I’ve	never
seen	a	relationship	that	was	all	one	person’s	issues,	so	I’m	making	no
judgment	here	on	either	person’s	behavior. But	I	can	say	from	having	walked
alongside	her	that	her	path	was	the	path	of	forgiveness	…	and	it	paid	off. Did
she	go	through	a	year	of	hell? Yes,	she	did. But	her	consistent	efforts	to	bless
and	forgive	her	ex-husband—a	man	whom	she	refused	to	cast	out	of	her
heart,	although	he	seemed	to	have	cast	her	out	of	his—was	not	only	inspiring
to	witness,	but	demonstrative	of	the	way	that	forgiveness	works	miracles. She
continued	to	lay	claim	to	the	love	between	them,	regardless	of	the	fact	that	the
form	of	the	relationship	was	being	torn	apart. She	was	hurt,	but	not	bitter. She
continued	to	have	faith. He	could	leave	the	marriage,	but	she	would	not	give
up	on	the	love	between	them. And	within	18	months,	they’d	swung	full	circle.They	were	no	longer	married,	but	the	friendship	survived. That	was	important	for	Gina,	not	just	so	she	could	be	at	peace	with	her	past
marriage	but	so	she	could	be	at	peace	with	any	man	she	met	afterward. If
bitterness	in	our	past	is	brought	into	the	present,	it	then	sabotages	our	future. Even	in	the	midst	of	her	divorce,	my	daughter	and	I	would	joke	that	Gina	was
a	man	magnet. And	we	could	understand	why. Allowing	herself	to	feel	her
pain	without	defending	against	it,	she	grew	suppler	instead	of	tougher. She
didn’t	harden	at	the	loss	of	love,	the	way	some	people	do. I	watched	her
mature,	but	I	never	saw	her	harden. And	love	kept	rushing	in. You	can	live	the	rest	of	your	life	reacting	to	and	replaying	what	went
before,	but	that	won’t	serve	you	or	deliver	you	to	the	shining	place. And
everyone	you	meet	will	subconsciously	know	how	you’ve	responded	to	your
past. They	will	know	whether	you’re	stuck	there	or	better	for	having	been
there. “Forgive	and	forget”	is	not	mere	platitude. Many	say,	“Yes,	I	do
forgive,	but	I	will	never	forget.”	Beware	that	sentiment,	for	it	leaves	you
subtly	in	the	thrall	of	suffering. Do	forget	what	was	done	to	you;	just
remember	the	lessons	you	learned	from	it. Drop	the	cross. Embrace	the	sky. Dear	God,
Please	teach	me
how	to	forgive. Show	me	the	innocence	in	others,
and	the	innocence	in	myself. I	surrender	to	You
my	judgmental	thoughts. May	see	beyond	them
to	the	gentle	peace
that	only	forgiveness	brings. Amen
T
HE	FEAR-BASED	EGO	GATHERS	EVIDENCE	AT	EVERY	TURN
,	making	forgiveness	hard. The
ego	is	obsessed	with	two	big	cases:	one	against	everybody	else,	and	one
against	you. Sometimes	the	face	at	the	center	of	your	bull’seye	doesn’t	belong	to	anyoneelse. Yours	is	the	name	on	the	docket	of	the	case	you	feel	compelled	to
prosecute—you,	for	your	past	errors;	you,	for	your	past	stupidity;	you,	for
your	past	immaturity;	you,	for	your	past	irresponsibility;	you,	for	just	being
you. Prosecutorial	witnesses	are	everywhere,	and	the	courtroom	is	in	your	head. The	ego	is	not	on	a	search	for	justice	but	for	guilt,	for	that	is	what	it	feeds	on. Its	case	against	you	is	not	just	based	on	the	notion	that	you	did	something
wrong,	but	that	in	some	fundamental	way	you	
are
	wrong. That’s	a	hard	rap	to
beat. Who	could	ever	sleep	well	if	convinced	that	everything	about	them	is
just	
wrong? You	feel	you’ve	blown	it	on	so	many	levels,	in	so	many	ways,	and	on	some
nights	for	whatever	reason	it	all	comes	back	so	clearly. …	What	a	lovely	life,
having	20-year-old	bad	memories	shooting	through	your	brain	like	bazookas
from	hell—which,	in	a	way,	they	are. And	you	have	nowhere	to	put	them
except	in	that	big	fat	file	called	“All	the	Ways	I	Screwed	Up.”	How	can	you
feel	that	there’s	goodness	ahead	when	you	feel	that	in	the	past	you	have	been
so	bad? How	can	you	have	much	hope	for	the	future	when	your	take	on	the
past	is	so	relentlessly	vicious? And	how	can	you	really	defend	yourself
against	a	ruthless	prosecutor	who	is	an	aspect	of	yourself? You	know	the	religious	image	of	“burning	in	hell	forever”? Well,	now	you
know	what	it	means:	anxiety	and	guilt	and	self-hatred	without	end. It	wasn’t
God	who	sent	you	there,	but	rather	the	enemy	in	your	own	mind. The	ego,	the
fear-based	self,	the	shadow—whatever	name	you	choose	to	call	it—is	on
active	patrol	to	burn	down	your	peace	of	mind. The	reason	for	faith	that	you	can	and	will	escape	those	flames	is	that	God
guarantees	your	fundamental	innocence. He	created	you	innocent,	and	what
He	creates	is	changeless	and	indestructible. Have	you	made	mistakes? Who
hasn’t? But	God’s	will	is	to	correct	our	mistakes,	not	punish	us	for	them. We
are	punished	
by
	our	sins,	not	for	them. It’s	the	ego	that	both	sets	us	up	to	do
the	wrong	thing	and	then	punishes	us	savagely	for	having	done	so. An	all-merciful	God	has	already	dismissed	every	case	against	you	before
the	ego	has	a	chance	to	mount	it. Your	mistakes,	no	matter	how	bad	you
might	think	they	were,	did	not	emanate	from	your	self	as	He	created	you. That’s	why	remembering	who	you	truly	are	is	the	key	to	deliverance	from	the
flames	of	self-condemnation. You’re	no	better	or	worse	than	anyone	else. No	matter	how	much	you
might	regret	your	past,	there’s	someone	out	there	who	regrets	his	or	hersmore. The	path	to	happiness	is	not	determined	by	whether	or	not	we	made
mistakes	in	the	past. What	paves	the	way	to	happiness	is	whether	or	not	we
turn	our	mistakes	into	catalysts	for	personal	growth	and	illumination. Think	of	everything	you’ve	ever	been	through,	and	try	to	reinterpret	it
gently. All	the	love	you	ever	gave	was	real. All	the	love	anyone	ever	gave	you
was	real. Everything	else	was	simply	an	illusion,	no	matter	how	bitter	or	cruel
it	might	have	been	in	your	experience. I’m	not	going	to	insult	you	by	saying,	“Just	forgive	yourself.”	God	forgives
you,	because	He	never	saw	you	as	anything	but	innocent. Your	mistakes	did
not	change	the	ultimate	truth	about	you	or	alter	the	permanent	nature	of	God’s
universe. Your	ego	is	not	that	powerful. Truly	atone	for	your	errors,	make
amends	where	possible,	and	you’ll	be	free	to	begin	again. According	to	
A	Course	in	Miracles,
	in	the	moments	when	you	were	not
your	best	self—when	you	didn’t	stand	up	as	the	most	loving	you	could	be—
then	all	the	good	you	deflected	is	being	held	in	trust	for	you	until	you’re	ready
to	receive	it. God	will	return	to	you	the	years	that	the	locusts	have	eaten. And
the	past	as	you	know	it	shall	be	no	more. Wherever	there	was	fear,	love	will	ultimately	prevail. Whether	in	response
to	your	own	mistakes	or	to	the	cruelty	of	the	world,	God	will	always	have	the
final	say. And	His	say	will	always	be	how	very	much	that	you	are	loved. Dear	God,
Please	help	me	to	forgive	myself
for	what	I	did	and	did	not	do. Pour	forth	upon	me
Your	infinite	mercy,
that	my	life	might	be	redeemed. Take	away	my	shame,	dear	God,
and	heal	my	broken	heart. Amen
W
HENEVER	I	FEEL	AT	THE	EFFECT	OF	MY	PAST
,	I	try	to	remember	people	whose
experiences	have	been	not	only	so	much	worse	than	mine	but	worse	than	any
I	could	even	imagine. And	yet	they	rose	above. My	friend	Naomi	is	an	86-year-old	Holocaust	survivor. World	War	II	beganon	her	19th	birthday,	as	German	troops	crossed	the	Polish	border	on
September	1,	1939. Living	in	Warsaw	at	the	time,	she	went	from	enjoying	the
life	of	a	young	woman	preparing	to	go	to	college	in	England	to	hiding	from
the	Nazis	with	her	mother,	husband,	brother,	and	sister-in-law. Her	father	had
already	been	arrested	by	the	Russians	and	sent	to	Siberia. In	1943,	having
survived	the	bombing	of	Warsaw,	Naomi	and	the	other	members	of	her	family
were	huddled	into	a	cattle	car	for	a	horrendous	trip	that	many	didn’t	survive,
and	taken	to	a	concentration	camp	at	Auschwitz. She	was	at	Auschwitz	from	the	age	of	22	to	24. My	problems	at	that	age? Romance,	career,	and	the	like. Hers? Adolf	Hitler. Naomi’s	husband,	mother,	and	sister-in-law	all	died	at	Auschwitz. Her
mother	died	in	a	crematorium;	then	her	sister-in-law,	having	told	Naomi	one
morning	that	she	simply	would	not	go	to	work	that	day	(“I	cannot	stand	it,”
she	said. “I	cannot	live	like	this.”)	disappeared	and	never	returned. My	friend
and	millions	of	others	lived	in	Nazi	concentration	camps	under	conditions	as
horrifying	as	any	forced	on	human	beings	by	other	human	beings	before	or
since. Ultimately,	Naomi	survived	the	war. After	emigrating	to	the	United	States
in	1946,	she	married	and	was	widowed	a	second	time,	leaving	her	with	three
young	children	to	raise	as	a	single	mother. If	anyone	might	have	been	given	a
pass,	forgiven	for	just	giving	up,	it	would	have	been	Naomi. Yet	that	simply
isn’t	who	she	was,	or	is. Her	character	is	bigger	than	her	circumstances. She
raised	her	children	beautifully,	started	an	import-export	company	that
eventually	became	phenomenally	successful	(at	a	time	when	not	many
women	were	doing	that,	by	the	way),	and	has	lived	through	the	years	as	an
inspiration	to	countless	who	have	known	her—including	myself. In	2002,	Naomi	went	back	to	Germany	with	her	son. As	their	plane
approached	Berlin	and	she	sat	looking	out	the	window	at	the	land	below,	he
asked	how	she	was	feeling. Her	response,	she	said,	surprised	even	her:	“It’s
very	strange,	but	I	feel	good	about	this. I	am	here	on	my	own	terms. I	am	not
being	brought	here	by	anybody. I	am	coming	of	my	own	free	will.”
Visiting	Wannsee—where	in	1942	Hitler	and	his	top	aides	made	plans	for
“the	final	solution,”	or	complete	extermination	of	the	Jews—Naomi
collapsed. Yet	her	reconciliation	with	her	past	continued. In	2003,	she	made
an	emotional	journey	back	to	Auschwitz. After	having	cried	the	entire	way
there,	she	had	a	strange	experience	once	she	arrived. Upon	entering	the	gate
with	its	famously	ironic	inscription,	“Arbeit	macht	frei”	(“Work	makes	you
free”),	she	felt	herself	becoming	very,	very	strong. She	didn’t	feel	the	painshe’d	expected. Rather,	she	said	she	felt	a	spirit	of	victory	move	through	her
as	she	realized:	“Oh	my	goodness,	I’ve	come	back—and	I	survived! I	came
here	to	perish,	but	I	did	not! He	who	wanted	to	destroy	me	was	himself
destroyed,	but	I	survived. I	am	a	survivor!”	In	that	moment,	she	knew	what	it
meant	to	
be
	a	survivor—not	only	physically,	but	emotionally	and	spiritually
as	well. And	she	was	free. “I	felt	I	could	build	on	my	past,”	she	has	said,	“but	I	knew	I	could	not	live
in	it. In	spite	of	the	fact	that	I	lived	through	the	Holocaust,	I	have	never
dwelled	on	it. “I	went	through	something	so	terrible,	but	I	like	to	think	something	good
can	come	from	it. I	have	so	much	more	empathy. I	like	to	think	I’m	a	better
person	because	of	it. “Hope	is	always	in	us. In	spite	of	the	fact	that	everything	looks	so	bleak,
there’s	something	in	all	of	us	that	keeps	thinking	things	are	going	to	get	better. I	knew	I	had	to	look	to	the	future. I	had	to	always	ask	what	I	could	do	
now
	to
be	more	productive. I	wanted	to	live	for	the	future,	for	myself	and	for	my
children. And	I	did.”
Whenever	I	start	to	feel	sorry	for	myself,	I	remember	Naomi. I	remember
those	in	the	Holocaust	who	did	not	survive. I	remember	those	people	who
even	today—in	Somalia,	Darfur,	and	elsewhere—are	experiencing	atrocities
like	she	did. And	in	the	gratitude	I	feel	for	the	relatively	extraordinary	ease	of
my	life	so	far,	I	am	lifted	to	a	place	where	I	understand	that	my	life—although
it	might	not	be	consistent	bliss—is	still	indeed	worth	thanking	God	for,	every
minute	of	every	day. And	I	do. If	my	friend	Naomi	could	rebuild	her	life	after	what	she	went	through,	who
among	us	doesn’t	have	in	deep	reserve	the	strength	it	might	take	to	rebuild
ours? We	have	a	moral	responsibility,	not	only	to	ourselves	but	to	a	rising	tide
of	collective	hope,	to	do	everything	in	our	power	to	rise	up	from	whatever
ashes	might	litter	our	past. Yesterday	was	yesterday,	but	yesterday	is	over. Today	is	today,	and	tomorrow	awaits. What	happened	to	you	yesterday	might	not	have	been	wonderful	or	even
under	your	control. But	who	you	become	because	of	it,	or	in	spite	of	it,	is
completely	up	to	you. I’ve	known	people	who	lived	through	a	fraction	of	the
trauma	that	Naomi	lived	through,	yet	stayed	in	the	muck	of	their	grievances
and	victimization	for	decades. What	her	story	proves,	like	that	of	many
others,	is	that	we	are	not	our	past. It’s	not	what	life	threw	at	us	that	determines
what	our	life	will	be	now,	so	much	as	how	much	of	ourselves	we’re	willing	tothrow	into	life. If	my	friend	Naomi	could	move	on	after	Auschwitz,	then	who	among	us,
for	whatever	reason,	can	claim	we	cannot	move	on? Dear	God,
Please	take	away	from	me
the	pain	of	my	past. Remove	the	arrows
that	have	pierced	my	heart,
and	heal	my	open	wounds. Amen
Chapter	Five
T
HE	
W
AY	
S
HE’D	
A
CT	AND	THE	
C
OLOR	OF
H
ER	
H
AIR
I
	always	intuited	that	when	I	was	in	my	50s,	I	would	allow	myself	to	stop
hiding. I	found	the	world	so	frightening	when	I	was	younger,	so
unexplainable	or	perhaps	just	unexplained	to	
me,
	that	I	struggled	to	cope	by
trying	to	hide. Some	people	would	look	at	my	career	and	say,	“I	would	hardly
call	that	hiding,”	but	no	one	really	knows	what	other	people	might	be	holding
inside,	not	allowing	themselves	to	express. I	experienced	a	peculiarly	American	split,	a	neurotic	affliction	that	women
of	my	generation	were	particularly	prey	to. I	didn’t	realize	it	consciously—
few	of	us	did—but	the	message	we	internalized	in	the	name	of	liberation	was
that	we	could	only	be	liberated	if	we	became	like	men. We	could	be	hot	and
sexy,	or	we	could	be	smart	and	taken	seriously;	we	could	not	be	both. So
many	of	us	did	what	we	thought	we	had	to	do:	We	suppressed	the	goddess,
the	wild	wise	woman,	in	order	to	make	it	in	a	world	that	we’d	subconsciously
joined	in	its	disdain	for	the	essentially	female. I	don’t	think	I	fully	enjoyed	being	a	woman,	without	any	sense	of	shame,
until	I	was	well	into	my	40s. Before	that,	I	was	ambivalent	about	it. And	my
ambivalence	about	the	juicier	aspects	of	being	female	attracted	ambivalence
in	men	and	women	alike. If	we	feel	guilty	about	something,	whether	we
deserve	the	attack	on	ourselves	or	not,	we’ll	attract	someone	into	our	lives	to
reflect	and	articulate	our	self-condemnation. Whatever	I’ve	done	in	my	life—
no	matter	how	outrageous—if	I	myself	thought	it	was	okay,	then	so	did	most
of	the	people	around	me. But	when	I’ve	been	unclear	or	ashamed	of
something,	then	there’s	always	been	someone	there	to	take	the	emotional
bludgeon	to	my	heart. One	of	the	gifts	of	age	is	that	it	finally	becomes	easier
to	ignore	other	people’s	opinions. We’ve	been	through	enough	to	know	our
own	true	feelings,	and	we’re	ready	to	live	the	lives	we	would	have	lived	all
along	if	we	had	thought	it	was	okay. I	was	the	classic	Jungian	“father’s	daughter”	subconsciously—or	maybenot	subconsciously—mimicking	my	father’s	life	while	under	the	wrong
impression	that	my	mother’s	wasn’t	“important”	enough. The	psychic	price	I
paid	for	what	I	now	see	to	have	been	some	delusion	of	masculine	superiority
was	tremendous. My	mother	knew	things—earthy	things,	wise	things—and
tried	to	tell	them	to	me	but	I	wouldn’t	hear. Once	I	was	sitting	around	with	girlfriends	discussing	another	friend’s
choice	of	whether	or	not	to	have	an	abortion,	when	my	mother	piped	up,
“Aren’t	you	girls	old	enough	to	know	there’s	no	such	thing	as	an	illegitimate
child?”	One	of	my	friends	pointed	out	that	there	was	a	question	about
paternity,	to	which	my	mother	responded	icily,	“Do	you	girls	think	that	every
person	you	knew	growing	up	had	a	daddy	who	was	
really
	their	daddy? In	
my
day,	women	knew	how	to	keep	their	
mouths	shut! ”	We	were	stunned,	silent. A
woman	who	we	assumed	didn’t	know	as	much	as	we	did	in	fact	knew	so
much	more—about	the	facts,	and	about	being	human. Now	it	makes	me	proud	to	think	that,	yes,	I	am	my	father’s	daughter	…	and
I	am	my	mother’s	daughter,	too. Dear	God,
To	whatever	extent
I	fail	to	respect
the	power	and	glory
of	the	female	sex,
may	my	mind	be	corrected
and	my	heart	be	transformed. Amen
I
N	ANY	ADVANCED	MAMMALIAN	SPECIES	THAT	SURVIVES
	and	thrives,	there’s	a	common
anthropological	characteristic:	The	adult	female	of	the	species	displays	fierce
behavior	when	she	senses	a	threat	to	her	young. Lionesses	and	tigresses	grow
fierce	when	they	detect	danger	to	their	offspring. Among	hyenas,	hardly
known	as	the	most	tender	of	creatures,	the	adult	females	encircle	their	cubs
while	they’re	feeding,	keeping	adult	males	at	bay	until	the	babies	have	been
fed. You’d	think	the	women	of	America	would	do	better	than	the	hyenas. Yet
there	are	reasons	why	we	don’t,	and	why	we	haven’t. Women	of	the	Westernworld	haven’t	been	held	back	by	a	lack	of	political	power—not	over	the	past
hundred	years	or	so,	at	least—but	by	centuries-old	forces	of	female
oppression. Emotional	toxins	are	handed	down	through	the	ages. We	stopped
burning	witches,	but	we	still	haven’t	completely	routed	out	of	Western
consciousness	our	suspicion	of	the	powerful	female. During	the	Middle	Ages,	the	word	
witch
	meant	“wise	woman”;	the
projection	of	“ugliness”	onto	witches	was	simply	a	caricature	fabricated	by
the	early	church,	intent	on	denigrating	and	suppressing	female	power. Our
earthiness	as	well	as	our	spirituality	was	deemed	an	enemy. Where	pagan
priestesses	initiated	men	into	their	manhood	through	sexual	rites,	Christianity
would	declare	our	sexuality	holy	only	if	used	for	procreation. A	woman	who	could	no	longer	make	babies,	then,	had	no	“holy”	function
left. Indeed,	during	the	witch	burnings,	older	unmarried	women	were	usually
the	first	to	die. If	you	weren’t	cavorting	with	the	church	and	its	teachings,	you
were	deemed	to	be	cavorting	with	the	devil. And	while	the	notion	is
ridiculous,	there’s	nothing	humorous	about	several	hundred	thousand	or	more
women	burning	at	the	stake. The	witch	burnings	were	a	female	holocaust. Women	have	been	
afraid
	to	show	our	fierceness—on	behalf	of	our
children,	our	planet,	or	anything	else—because	we	haven’t	wanted	to	be
labeled	“witches.”	The	fact	that	the	consonant	has	been	changed	from	“w”	to
“b”	has	not	changed	the	emotional	reality	for	us. We	don’t	want	to	be	seen	as
“bitchy,”	“angry,”	“strident.”	And	as	a	consequence,	we	too	often	grow	silent
about	things	that	matter	most. Pagan	women	exalted	the	divine	connection	between	an	individual	person
and	the	natural	world. Their	priestesses	ritualistically	connected	souls	to	each
other	and	to	the	world	around	them. Their	destruction	at	the	hands	of	the	early
church	was	a	tragedy	not	only	for	them,	but	also	for	the	development	of	the
Western	world. For	their	disappearance	in	many	ways	presaged	today’s
environmental	crisis,	paving	the	way	for	an	era	in	which	it	has	been	deemed
acceptable	for	humanity	to	dominate	nature. In	order	to	end	this	global	crisis,
we	must	mantle	the	thought-forms	that	produced	it. Part	of	our	atonement	for
how	we	have	desecrated	the	earth	involves	atonement	for	how	we	desecrated
a	culture	in	which	the	wisdom	of	women	was	given	its	true	due. The	fact	that	today	we	can	understand	what	happened	to	those	women	and
reclaim	their	spiritual	authority,	provides	hope	that	humanity	can
miraculously	repair	itself	before	it	is	too	late. Miracles	arise	from	conviction,	and	there’s	no	conviction	like	motherconviction. When	we	women	are	in	our	right	minds,	we	will	not	
allow
	the
destruction	of	the	world. For	we	are	the	mothers	of	the	world. We	are	remembering	at	last	our	forgotten	powers,	not	only	to	physically
procreate	but	to	spiritually	regenerate. We’re	going	to	change	history;	we’re
going	to	turn	the	
Titanic
	around	this	time	before	it	hits	the	iceberg;	we’re
going	to	miraculously	stop	the	insane,	suicidal	march	now	presided	over	by
the	governments	of	the	world;	and	it’s	going	to	happen	
because	we	say	so. Women	must	reclaim	the	ecstatic	feminine	impulse	before	we	can	appear
again	in	the	fullness	of	our	glory. The	witches	of	yesterday	will	rest,	I	hope,
having	found	in	a	new	generation	of	women	the	pity	and	compassion	they
deserve. We	grieve	for	them	and	for	ourselves. For	every	woman	who	cannot
find	her	voice	or	attract	her	love	or	express	her	power	or	heal	our	world,	there
was	a	woman	burned	alive	for	doing	so. As	we	move	forward,	armed	with
new	understanding,	may	we	unearth	our	long-buried	passion. And	may	they,
our	dear	dishonored	sisters,	find	peace. A
S	A	LITTLE	GIRL
,	I	
REMEMBER	BEING	DRAWN	TO
	girls	a	few	years	older	than	I	was. I	felt
the	same	when	I	was	30	and	40,	and	I	feel	that	way	today. I’ve	always	felt	that
those	who	walked	life’s	path	just	a	few	years	ahead	of	me	had	something
important	to	show	me. And	now	I	see	the	pattern	from	the	other	side:	I	have	younger	friends	who
feel	to	me,	and	I	think	to	them	as	well,	like	my	spiritual	younger	siblings. It’s
as	though	they’re	growing	into	their	power,	and	show	me	the	honor	of	valuing
mine. It’s	a	very	important	role	in	life,	doing	everything	we	can	to	model
impeccability	to	those	younger	than	we. It	doesn’t	mean	more	years	have
made	us	perfect. Hardly. But	it	does	mean	that	we	take	very	seriously	the
effort	to	live	as	righteously	as	we	can. Mentoring	isn’t	just	something	nice	you	do,	or	even	necessarily	a	conscious
choice. It’s	a	pattern	you	magnetize	to	yourself	as	part	of	the	natural	order. As
you	yourself	grow	more	mature,	those	behind	you	in	time—ones	who	would
be	most	served	by	your	teaching—automatically	appear	in	your	life. And	by
teaching,	I	mean	not	only	what	you	know	but	also	what	you	demonstrate. I	can’t	imagine	where	I’d	be	today	had	there	not	been	those	who	arrived	on
my	path	to	show	me	what	I	needed	to	see	at	just	the	moment	when	I	needed	to
see	it. Now	it’s	my	turn,	to	try	to	put	together	some	piece	of	life’s	puzzle	for
those	who	look	to	me	as	one	who’s	done	it	herself. How	we	behave,	how	we
do	or	do	not	seek	to	bring	harmony	to	the	world	around	us,	are	holographicteachings	we’re	beaming	to	those	around	us	all	the	time. A	younger	friend,
who	is	like	a	little	sister	to	me,	has	said	to	me	more	than	once,	“You	think	I’m
ignoring	you,	but	I	am	listening	to	every	word.”
Sometimes	I	meet	younger	people	at	my	lectures	whose	eyes	are	aglow	at
something	I’ve	said. (Don’t	get	me	wrong;	I’ve	also	seen	those	whose	eyes
were	rolling.) I	know	the	thrill	of	being	young	and	hearing	ideas	you	haven’t
heard	before,	seeing	someone	model	a	role	in	the	culture	that	you	feel
beckoning	to	you. I	was	there	once. And	now	I’m	here. I	meet	the	young
woman	telling	me	she	wants	to	someday	do	what	I	do;	I	smile	and	say,	“You
go,	girl.”	I	meet	the	young	man	who	bows	respectfully	and	hands	me	a	rose;	I
receive	it	tenderly,	respecting	the	generosity	of	his	gesture. The	elders	will	be	honored	when	we	behave	more	honorably. Midlife
doesn’t	feel	right	if	we	don’t	feel	we’re	dispensing	the	best	we’ve	got	before
we	go. Or	that	at	the	very	least,	we’re	trying. Dear	God,
May	I	be	worthy
of	an	honored	role
in	the	lives	of	those
who	are	younger	than	I. Show	me	how
to	use	Your	gifts	well,
and	how	to	pass	them	on. Amen
I’
VE	HEARD	MYTHICAL	AND	NOT-SO-MYTHICAL	STORIES	OF	OLDER	WOMEN
	who	moved	into	a
convent,	as	though	their	worldly	ride	was	over	and	from	here	on	out	they
would	drop	the	veil	on	worldly	concerns. But	I’ve	come	to	think	that	the
convent	experience	is	an	inner	domain,	maybe	externalized	and	maybe	not. The	convent	that	matters	is	a	space	in	the	heart,	where	you	live	for	God—but
that	isn’t	all. You	live	for	God	not	as	an	escape	from	the	world,	but	as	an
ultimate	effort	at	right	living	in	it. From	your	family	to	your	friends	to	your
citizenship	to	everyone	and	everything	you	know,	you	want	at	last	to	play	the
game	of	life	correctly. The	only	way	to	do	that,	you	finally	understand,	is	to
see	it	for	what	it	is. And	where	it	is. Life	isn’t	out	there. Life	is	with	God.When	I	used	to	think	of	women	in	the	Middle	Ages	going	into	a	convent	at
middle	age	(that	probably	would	have	meant	30	or	
35! ),	I	felt	so	sorry	for
them. No	fun. No	excitement. No	sex.
_OceanofPDF.com_The_Age_of_Miracles_-_Marianne_Williamson.txt
Summarize the following text section accurately and concisely. Maintain specific details and numerical information, and use anti-repetition mechanisms:

        No	birthing	of	anything	new	can	occur	without	a
dying	of	the	old. You’re	carefree	before	becoming	a	parent,	in	a	way	you	will	never	be	again. But	you’re	
satisfied,
	having	become	one,	in	a	way	you	never	could	have	been
before. And	that’s	where	our	generation	is	now. We’re	no	longer	carefree. But
we’re	something	else	instead. We	are	grown-ups	in	the	deepest	sense,	and	that
is	new	psychological	territory. You	can’t	remember	the	day	when	you	crossed	over	the	border	from	who
you	were	to	who	you	are,	but	you	definitely	did. The	lightness	of	your	youth
is	gone,	perhaps,	but	so	is	your	youthful	suffering. Mature	angst	is	preferable
to	youthful	angst;	it	seems	less	tortured	somehow. You	know	too	much	now	to
either	laugh	
or
	cry	the	way	you	used	to. You	see	things	from	a	differentperspective,	and	with	that	new	perspective	has	come	a	new	sense	of	self. On
some	essential	level,	you	have	birthed	a	new	you. There’s	little	in	life	more	satisfying	than	the	feeling	that	at	last	you’ve	taken
ownership	of	yourself. You	don’t	have	to	be	afraid	anymore	that	some	part	of
you—some	fractal	not	yet	integrated	into	your	personality—is	going	to	trip
you	up. You	feel	at	last	like	you	
inhabit
	yourself. You	finally	went	into	all	the
rooms,	turned	the	lights	on,	and	settled	in. How	interesting	it	is	that	the	spirit	should	begin	to	open	up	as	the	body
begins	to	shut	down. It’s	very	humbling	to	watch	the	body	age. The	arc	of
human	history	is	coded	into	our	cells:	our	bones,	muscles,	organs,	and
reproductive	systems	are	all	moving	into	a	different	mode	at	midlife,	in	an
unmistakable	drive	toward	hopefully	distant	but	eventual	death. Yet	there	is
much	we	can	do	to	enliven	the	body—including	enlivening	the	mind. We	can
in	many	ways	transform	the	forces	of	death	into	renewed	and	sanctified	life. We	can	treat	our	bodies	not	as	things	that	are	slowly	failing	us,	but	as	our
partners	in	rebirth. If	we	identify	only	with	the	material	world,	then	age
creeps	into	us	like	an	unwanted	guest	who’s	come	to	stay. But	if	we	identify
also	with	our	spiritual	existence,	then	our	attitude	toward	the	body	becomes
one	of	deep	appreciation	and	gratitude. It’s	the	house	our	spirit	lives	in,	after
all. When	we	walk,	bike,	do	yoga,	lift	weights,	eat	correctly,	take	herbs	and
vitamins,	or	do	whatever	we	can	in	order	to	treat	the	body	well,	we’re	not	just
staving	off	death;	we’re	affirming	life. With	every	stretch	of	the	body,	we	help
stretch	the	mind. With	every	stretch	of	the	mind,	we	help	stretch	the	body. And	one	stretch	at	a	time,	we’re	renewing	them	both. According	to	spiritual	literature,	the	body	will	be	with	us	for	as	long	as	it
serves	the	function	of	the	soul	for	us	to	remain	here. When	I	was	a	younger
woman,	I	took	my	body	so	for	granted. In	midlife,	I	feel	so	grateful	to	it	for
working,	and	to	God	for	giving	it	to	me. There’s	something	about	having	less	of	something—less	energy,	less	time,
less	whatever—that	creates	a	poignant	shift	in	our	sense	of	its	value. The
body	
is
	a	miracle,	after	all. It	seems	to	me	that	with	age	should	come	a	greater
willingness	to	treat	it	lovingly,	and	with	care. Your	body	deserves	some
kindness	after	all	it’s	been	through. And	probably	you	do,	too. Dear	God,
Resanctify	my	body,
that	it	might	be	blessed. Pour	forth	Your	spirt
into	my	flesh. May	every	cell	receive	new	life,
and	my	physical	self	be	healed	and	whole. Amen
Chapter	Three
T
HE	
N
ICK	OF	
T
IME
Y
ou	arrive	at	midlife	having	collected	some	important	clues	about	yourself. The	mission	now	is	to	discover	what	they	mean. Many,	if	not	most,	of	our	personal	issues	begin	in	childhood,	most
specifically	within	our	family	of	origin. Young	adulthood	is	often	the	time	of
a	big	escape,	as	we	seek	to	evade	our	issues	by	evading	our	families. Ultimately,	we	come	to	realize	that	only	by	facing	those	issues	head-on	can
we	escape	their	consequences	throughout	our	lives. My	own	family	has	been	a	complicated	puzzle	with	some	oddly	shaped
psychological	pieces. For	years,	my	primary	response	to	whatever	discomfort
I	experienced	there	was	to	go	live	elsewhere	and	not	return	except	for	a	quick
hello	every	few	months. I	don’t	think	I	could	have	done	otherwise,	given	who
I	was	when	I	was	younger. But	having	reached	another	stage	in	my	life,	I	now
realize	that	everything	I	went	out	into	the	world	to	find,	everything	I	thought
my	family	didn’t	have	or	couldn’t	show	me,	was	pretty	much	right	there	in
front	of	me	all	the	time. Our	family	is	usually	a	microcosm	of	the	world	we’ll	encounter,	whether
we	travel	great	distances	or	barely	stray	from	home. The	lessons	to	be	learned
in	life	have	to	do	the	fragility	of	the	human	heart	and	the	nobility	of	the
human	spirit;	the	suffering	involved	in	simply	being	human	and	the	struggles
to	survive	the	experience;	the	joy	and	laughter	when	our	children	are	well;
and	the	tears	and	sadness	when	love	and	lives	are	over. I	never	had	to	leave
home	at	all	to	learn	this. But	if	you’d	told	me	that	30	years	ago,	I	wouldn’t
have	believed	you. Whether	your	childhood	was	good	or	not	so	good,	it	lives	in	your	cells. It
laid	down	tracks	of	thought,	and	thus	behavior,	that	have	run	your	life	for
decades. If	you	were	appreciated,	you’ve	attracted	people	who	appreciate	you. If	you	were	unappreciated,	you’ve	attracted	people	who	don’t	appreciate	you. You’ve	subconsciously	been	drawn	to	individuals	and	situations	that	mirror
pretty	perfectly	the	drama	of	your	childhood. In	the	words	of	novelist	William	Faulkner,	“The	past	is	not	dead. In	fact,
it’s	not	even	past. ”	Until	we	address	the	deeper	drama	of	our	past,	we	are
bound	to	reenact	it. The	more	we	ignore	our	childhood	wounds,	the	more	they
fester	and	grow. Until	we	heal	the	child	we	used	to	be,	the	adult	we	want	to	be
doesn’t	stand	a	chance. We	can	help	release	the	drama	of	our	childhood	by	redefining	whose	child
we	are. We	are	products	of	our	family	of	origin,	to	be	sure. But	who	is	that,
exactly—our	mortal	parentage,	or	our	immortal	one. It’s	an	important	issue
because	we	inherit	the	riches	of	whomever	we	think	sourced	us. We	might
have	inherited	limitation	and	fear	from	our	mortal	parents,	but	we	inherited
miracles	and	love	from	God. Our	worldly	parents	might	have	been	wonderful
people	or	they	might	have	been	scoundrels,	but	the	larger	point	is	that	they’re
not	who	created	us. Superman	was	only	
raised
	by	those	nice	people	in
Kansas. As	long	as	we	think	our	biological	parents	fundamentally	sourced	us,	we’ll
feel	the	need	to	distance	ourselves	from	them	because	on	some	level,	we
know	it’s	not	true. When	we	see	that	in	fact	they’re	simply	fellow	souls	who
gave	us	a	tremendous	gift	by	bringing	us	into	this	world,	then	(hopefully)	did
their	best	to	take	care	of	us	and	raise	us	right,	we	realize	the	significance	of
the	debt	we	owe	them. Understanding	that	God	is	our	true	Father/Mother,	and
all	humanity	our	brothers	and	sisters,	counterintuitively	delivers	us	to	a	more,
not	less,	respectful	attitude	toward	our	biological	family. Knowing	more
deeply	who	they	are	in	our	lives—and	who	they	aren’t—frees	us	to	love	them
more. Many	people	today	never	experienced	an	appropriate	break	from	their
parents,	remaining	in	the	psychic	grip	of	childhood	long	past	the	time	when
adulthood	arrived. In	the	absence	of	a	healthy	rite	of	passage,	perhaps	you
subconsciously	created	for	yourself	whatever	drama,	however	painful,	would
force	you	into	a	more	mature	mode	of	living. Today,	we’re	all	being	forced	to	grow	up. Both	individually	and
collectively,	we’re	being	challenged	by	the	universe	to	match	our	talents	with
compassion,	our	intelligence	with	humility,	and	our	intellect	with	wisdom. The	grace	period	of	youth	is	over	for	all	of	us. We	are	children	no	longer. We’re	at	the	front	of	the	line. A	
COMMON	RITE	OF	PASSAGE	AT	MIDLIFE	IS	THE	DECLINING	HEALTH,
	or	death,	of	our	parents. Those	who	brought	us	into	the	world	are	usually	the	ones	to	leave	it	first. They	welcomed	us	when	we	got	here;	now	we’ll	wish	them	farewell	as	theymove	on	to	the	next	phase	of	their	souls’	journey. When	I	was	younger,	I	couldn’t	bear	the	thought	of	my	father	dying. And
that	was	a	persistent	terror	throughout	my	earlier	years. How	would	I	continue
to	exist	if	he	were	not	here. Yet	the	anticipation	of	someone’s	death	is	often
far	worse	than	the	feelings	we	experience	once	it’s	happened;	I	found	that
Daddy’s	having	died	was	far	less	excruciating	than	the	
fear
	that	he	would. With	my	father’s	passing,	and	then	with	my	sister’s,	I	never	felt	that	my
immediate	family	dwindled	from	five	members	to	three. Rather,	it’s	as	if
there’s	a	photograph	of	five	people	in	my	head,	and	two	of	them	are
negatives. But	the	picture	is	the	same. They’re	still	my	family. My	father	was	a	profoundly	charismatic	person. Yet	with	that	came
shadows,	as	is	often	the	case. With	him	taking	such	a	starring	role	in	the
family	drama,	who	else	had	a	chance	to	play	as	large	a	part	as	we	might	have
otherwise. I’ve	noticed	something	similar	with	my	daughter,	how	she	herself
has	handled	a	situation	where	the	parent	is,	shall	we	say,	less	than	a	shrinking
violet. I’ve	always	felt	that	she	made	a	preverbal	decision:	She	could	either	let
Mom	be	the	star	here	and	simply	accept	the	role	of	background	player;	or	she
could	come	out	blazing	in	the	first	act,	making	it	very	clear	to	everyone	that
this	would	be	an	ensemble	drama,	thank	you. Lord	knows	she	chose	the	latter. And	I	say,	
Good	for	her. What	that	means,	I	hope,	is	that	she	will	have	plenty	of	experience	starring
in	her	own	life	long	before	I	leave. I’m	thrilled	to	applaud	her. Yet	in	my	case,
and	in	the	case	of	many	people,	we	don’t	really	have	an	experience	of	starring
in	our	own	lives	until	at	least	one	parent	has	left	the	stage. That,	perhaps,	is
why	nature,	in	its	obviously	impeccable	wisdom,	follows	a	common	pattern
by	which	the	parent	usually	dies	first. It’s	not	until	you’re	in	the	generation	that	will	be	leaving	next	that	you	feel
the	full	weight	and	power	of	being	the	star	in	your	own	life. So	it	is	that	while
we	feel	the	sadness	of	our	parents’	aging	and	grieve	for	them	when	they	pass
away,	we	also	know—as	my	father	used	to	tell	me—that	death	is	part	of	a
greater	mystery. When	I	think	of	him	now,	I	smile	at	the	thought	that	he’s	no
longer	an	old	man. Someone	told	me	once	that	when	you	die,	the	spirit	goes
back	to	being	35. Of	course	it’s	preposterous	to	think	that	anyone	really
knows	these	things. It’s	sort	of	like	the	question	“If	someone	I	love
reincarnates,	does	that	mean	they	won’t	be	there	to	meet	me	on	the	other	side
when	I	arrive. ”	Who	the	hell	knows. I	think	there’s	some	sort	of
multidimensional	reality	that	lets	my	father	reincarnate	as	one	of	his	great-
grandchildren	this	year	and	at	the	same	time	head	the	welcoming	committeefor	my	mother	years	from	now. It’s	that	“same	time”	thing	that	makes	it	all
possible. There	
is
	no	time. Either	way,	this	I	know:	After	he	died,	I	
felt
	my	father. I	could	have	sworn
he	said	to	me,	very	slowly,	“Oh,	
that’s
	who	you	are. ”	Clearly,	he	had	not	fully
seen	me	when	he	was	here. But	once	he	was	gone,	I	felt	that	he	could. And	I
can	feel	he	does. As	much	as	he	did	for	me	as	a	father,	there	were	limits	to
what	he	could	do	because	there	were	limits	to	what	he	could	see. But	his
dying	didn’t	end	our	relationship;	we’ve	simply	entered	the	next	phase	of	it. And	what	he	gives	to	me	now,	in	the	purity	of	spirit,	more	than	makes	up	for
what	he	withheld	from	me	when	he	was	living	on	Earth. My	father	didn’t
simply	get	old	and	then	die. In	the	end,	after	his	death,	he	became	even	more
of	who	he	is. And	so	did	I. Dear	God,
Please	heal	my	relationship	with	my	parents. Whether	they’re	on	Earth
or	have	passed	beyond	the	veil	of	death. May	only	love	remain	between	us. May	I	not	be	broken	by	their	weaknesses,
but	may	I	be	strengthened	by	their	strengths. May	they	be	at	peace,
and	so	may	I. Help	me	to	forgive	them,
and	please	forgive	me. Amen
I
N	YOUTH,	WE	ENCOUNTER	OUR	PSYCHIC	DRAGONS;
	by	midlife	(if	they’re	still	around),	it’s
time	to	slay	them. It’s	the	time	for	a	major	commitment	to	heal	whatever
childhood	wounds	remain. There	can	be	no	spiritual	victory	without	this. It’s	not	as	hard	to	heal	from	these	patterns	as	we	sometimes	think,	once
we’re	honest	with	ourselves	about	(l)	what	they	are,	and	(2)	who’s	100
percent	responsible	for	them. A	wound	that	might	have	been	inflicted	on	youyears	ago	by	someone	else	has	turned	into	a	character	defect	that	is	all	yours
now. To	the	extent	that	we	project	responsibility	for	a	dysfunction	outside
ourselves,	we	cannot	change	it. Wherever	the	wound	came	from,	however
many	years	ago,	its	healing	lies	not	in	the	past	but	in	the	present. Your
subconscious	will	continue	to	trigger	the	wound	for	as	long	as	it	takes—a
fifty-year-old	experiencing	a	five-year-old’s	pain—until	you	allow	it	to	be
healed. When	the	Bible	tells	us	to	pray	like	a	little	child,	it’s	not	just	because	of	the
faith	of	a	child. It’s	also	because	of	the	pain	of	a	child. The	most	powerful
way	to	bring	healing	to	a	wound	is	to	pray	that	God	take	it	away. God’s	healing	is	not	just	something	He	does	
for
	us;	it’s	something	He	does
through
	and	
with
	us. Only	when	we	are	willing	to	reach	for	higher	thought-
forms	do	we	have	the	power	to	nullify	lower	ones. This	process	is	larger	and
more	powerful	than	psychological	insight. “I’m	needy	because	my	parents
abandoned	me;	the	right	partner	will	understand	that. ”	is	a	sentiment	that
starts	with	an	insight	but	then	uses	it	to	imprison	rather	than	to	release. In	fact,
your	perfect	partner	in	such	a	case	would	not	be	someone	who	“understands”
and	acquiesces	to	your	needy	behavior. It	would	be	someone	who	tells	you
lovingly	but	firmly,	“Get	over	it. ”
What	is	the	spiritual	solution	to	such	an	issue. To	pray	for	a	miracle. “Dear
God,	I	act	so	needy	that	it’s	destroying	my	relationships. Please	heal	me	and
show	me	another	way	to	be. ”	The	change	we	are	looking	for	is	always	a
change	within	ourselves. And	the	change	will	come. I’ve	noticed	that	as	long	as	I’m	willing	to	
be
different,	something	or	someone	arrives	to	show	me	how. The	healthy
behavioral	pattern	you	never	developed	as	a	child,	having	been	too	hurt	or
traumatized	to	do	so,	will	be	modeled	by	someone	who	was	
not
	hurt	in	that
particular	area	as	a	child. Seemingly	out	of	nowhere,	he	or	she	will	appear	in
front	of	you. And	slowly	but	surely,	you	will	learn	to	behave	as	you	would
have	wished	to	behave	but	were	too	wounded	to	know	how. At	midlife,	the	name	of	the	game	is	change. We’re	living	at	a	moment	of
quantum	possibility	now,	not	just	in	terms	of	our	physical	age	but	in	terms	of
the	history	of	the	world. It’s	as	though	the	universe	is	splitting	in	two—which
perhaps	it	is. Those	who	want	to	continue	on	the	downward	course	of
dysfunction,	irresponsibility,	entitlement,	narcissism,	domination,	and	fear,	go
here;	those	who	wish	to	break	through	to	the	highest	possibility	for	life	on
Earth,	go	there. We	can	choose	to	die	to	who	we’ve	been	until	now,	and	stand
in	the	light	of	a	new	sense	of	self. Neither	we,	nor	the	world	we	live	in,	will	go	much	farther	down	the	road	in
our	current	state. We	can	either	let	go	gracefully	of	the	people	we’ve	been,
becoming	ever	more	transcendent;	or	we	can	let	go	angrily,	our	lives
becoming	bitter	and	chaotic. Every	moment	is	an	opportunity	to	exhale	old
energies	and	breathe	in	new	life;	to	exhale	fear	and	inhale	love;	to	exhale
littleness	and	inhale	magnitude;	to	exhale	grandiosity	and	inhale	grandeur. Rebirth	is	a	gradual	process	of	giving	embrace	and	welcome	to	the	person	we
really	wish	to	be. Take	a	good	look	at	your	life	right	now. If	you	don’t	like	something	about
it,	close	your	eyes	and	imagine	the	life	you	want. Now	allow	yourself	to	focus
your	inner	eye	on	the	person	you	would	be	if	you	were	living	this	preferred
life. Notice	the	differences	in	how	you	behave	and	present	yourself;	allow
yourself	to	spend	several	seconds	breathing	in	the	new	image,	expanding	your
energy	into	this	new	mold. Hold	the	image	for	several	seconds	and	ask	God	to
imprint	it	on	your	subconscious	mind. Do	that	every	day	for	ten	minutes	or
so. If	you	share	this	technique	with	certain	people,	the	chances	are	good	they’ll
tell	you	that	it’s	way	too	simple. It’s	up	to	you	what	you	believe. Dear	God,
Please	impress	upon	me
the	vision	of	whom	I	am	meant	to	be. Reveal	to	me	the	bigger	life
that	You	would	have	me	live. Undo	the	forces	that	keep	me	bound
that	I	might	serve	You	more. Amen
I	
THINK	MOST	OF	US	HAVE	A	DREAM
,	a	secret	aspiration	we	never	admit	to	anyone
else	for	fear	of	being	laughed	at. Yet	the	dream	remains	an	image	in	our	heads
that	never	really	goes	away. At	midlife,	you	start	to	wonder	why	that	picture	has	never	completely	left
your	mind. It	occurs	to	you	that	perhaps	it’s	your	destiny,	planted	in	your
brain	like	a	little	yet	powerful	seedling. You	begin	to	wonder	if	the	dream	is
still	there	because	you’re	supposed	to	live	it. Perhaps	your	subconscious	istrying	to	send	you	a	message	about	something	very	important	indeed. At	my	talks,	people	often	ask,	“When	am	I	going	to	know	what	I’m
supposed	to	do	with	my	life. ”	For	me	personally,	the	question	has
transformed:	The	only	way	I	can	know	what	I	should	be	doing	is	if	I	focus	on
who	I	should	
be. That	doesn’t	mean	there	aren’t	magnificent	things	we’re
supposed	to	do,	but	God	can	only	work	
for
	us	to	the	extent	that	He	can	work
through	us. Putting	our	focus	on	being	who	He	would	have	us	be	is	the	only
sure	way	we’ll	ever	come	close	to	doing	what	He	would	have	us	do. Once	we’ve	reached	a	certain	age,	we	tend	to	recalibrate	our	expectations. We	expect	less	from	the	world	once	we’ve	seen	it	up	close;	we	know	that	no
one	is	perfect,	including	ourselves. And	that’s	when	we	gain	an	even	greater
appreciation	for	the	place	where	perfection	does	lie. The	grandiosity	of	the
ego	diminishes,	and	the	grandeur	of	the	spirit	is	revealed	at	last. Having	truly
seen	the	world,	we	can	see	that	it	is	tarnished;	having	finally	glimpsed	God,
we	can	see	that	He	is	not. Having	seen	the	juxtaposition	between	the	two	is	a
prerequisite	if	we’re	to	say	to	Him,	“Please	use	me;	I	am	yours. ”
The	part	of	your	life	that’s	over,	with	all	its	joy	and	tears,	was	spiritual	boot
camp. It	was	gestation	time	for	the	life	that	lies	ahead	of	you	now. The	secret
dream	you’ve	carried	forever,	denying	its	reality	even	to	yourself,	has	refused
to	go	away	and	is	ready	to	be	born	at	last. A	few	times	in	my	life	I’ve	heard	a	voice	in	my	head	as	clearly	as	if	a
person	standing	next	to	me	were	talking. Once,	during	a	period	that	I	thought
was	so	dark	I’d	never	get	over	it,	I	heard	these	words:	“This	is	not	the	end. It’s
the	beginning. ”
And	it	was. N
EW	LIFE	EMERGES	NOT	FROM	STRATEGY
	but	from	character. Before	realizing	this,	you
might	think	that	making	plans,	devising	blueprints	for	your	future	or
whatever,	are	the	keys	to	the	path	ahead. But	our	real	keys	to	victory	are
internal. Your	state	of	doing	must	be	matched	by	the	state	of	your	being,	or
the	incongruity	will	sabotage	even	your	most	brilliant	plans. It’s	been	fascinating	over	the	last	few	years	towatch	the	high	and	mighty	in
business	and	politics	fall	precipitously—not	because	their	plans	didn’t	work,
but	because	their	character	flaws	undercut	those	plans. Whether	the
microphone	caught	them	making	racist	comments	or	their	greed	overcame
their	common	sense,	who	they	were	as	people	made	all	the	difference—more
than	their	résumés,	their	degrees,	or	even	their	past	successes. If	you	fail	atthe	art	of	being	human	and	staying	human,	you	recklessly	court	disaster. Yet
how	do	we	cultivate	the	betterment	of	our	humanity. What	is	the	how-to	of
personal	transformation. What	I’ve	learned,	to	the	extent	to	which	I’ve	been	successful	at	any	of
this,	is	that	the	path	of	right	living	is	walked	one	moment	at	a	time. Whether
you	show	up	for	life	as	a	jerk	or	a	saint	has	little	to	do	with	belief	or	theology;
it	has	to	do	with	personal	integrity. We	aren’t	transformed	in	our	hearts	by
mere	belief,	because	belief	isn’t	
of
	the	heart. The	heart’s	transformation	is	not
attained	through	the	mind—it’s	attained	through	surrender,	authenticity,
forgiveness,	faith,	honesty,	acceptance,	vulnerability,	humility,	willingness,
nonjudgment,	and	other	characterological	values	that	have	to	be	learned	and
relearned	continuously. We	might	skip	some	lessons	at	school,	but	we	can’t	skip	any	of	the	lessons
of	life. They	will	find	us. If	a	lesson	is	up	for	us	and	we	don’t	learn	it	now,
then	it’s	programmed	into	the	universe	that	we	will	just	have	to	learn	it	later. It’s	said	in	
A	Course	in	Miracles
	that	it’s	not	up	to	us	what	we	learn,	but
merely	whether	we	learn	through	joy	or	through	pain. But	by	midlife,	we’re	destined	to	learn. Whatever	parts	of	you	are	blocking
the	emergence	of	the	highest,	best	you,	have	simply	got	to	go	now. And	one
way	or	the	other,	they	will. Allowing	the	pain	of	personal	growth	to	be	a	crucible	of	your	spirit—the
alchemical	grail	through	which	the	metal	of	your	former	self	turns	into	gold—
is	one	of	the	highest	callings	of	life. Pain	can	burn	you	up	and	destroy	you,	or
burn	you	up	and	redeem	you. It	can	deliver	you	to	an	entrenched	despair,	or
deliver	you	to	your	higher	self. At	midlife	we	decide,	consciously	or
unconsciously,	the	path	of	the	victim	or	the	path	of	the	phoenix	when	it	is
rising	up	at	last. Growth	can	be	hard,	and	laboring	a	new	self	very	difficult. Growing	older
just	happens;	growing	wise	is	something	else	again. And	by	a	certain	point	in
life,	most	of	us	
have
	been	hurt. We	
have
	been	disappointed. We	
have
	had
dreams	die,	and	find	it	hard	to	forgive	ourselves	or	others. The	challenge	of
age	is	not	to	skip	life’s	disappointments	but	to	transcend	them. We	transcend
them	by	learning	the	lessons	they	taught	us,	however	painful,	and	coming	out
on	the	other	side	prepared	to	create,	with	God’s	help,	a	new	life. Dear	God,
May	my	spirit	be	reborn,that	I	might	be	a	better	person. I	give	You	my	shame
over	whom	I	have	sometimes	been,
and	my	hopes	for	whom	I	wish	to	be. Please	receive	them	both. Amen
N
OT	THAT	ANY	OF	THIS	IS	EASY. The	ego	has	no	intention	of	allowing	us	to	grow	more	radiant	and	spirited
as	the	years	go	by. It	has	no	intention	of	allowing	us	to	experience	ourselves
as	fully	empowered,	joyful,	spiritual	beings—not	if	it	can	help	it. Its	plan	is	to
destroy	that	dream—not	just	by	breaking	our	bodies	but	by	breaking	our
hearts. From	its	headquarters	deep	in	our	subconscious	minds,	the	ego	magnetizes
and	manifests	our	nightmares. It	fabricates	false	testimony	to	our	guilt	and
guile,	finding	ways	to	shame	and	humiliate	us,	shape-shifting	into	insidious
forms	to	taunt	and	ridicule	us	at	every	turn. We’re	lured	into	the	black	hole	of
self-doubt	and	self-loathing,	as	problems	both	secret	and	not-so-secret	began
to	loom	on	our	horizon. With	every	passing	year,	we	lose	courage	along	with
muscle	tone. Yet	this	is	nothing	more	than	the	game	of	life	as	it	must	be	played	by
everyone. None	of	us	get	to	avoid	the	night,	however	hard	we	seek	to	prolong
the	day. And	the	night	has	its	own	set	of	lessons. At	a	certain	point	in	life,	it’s
simply	our	destiny	to	have	to	face	ourselves:	to	be	shown	everything	not
healed	within	us,	challenged	to	either	transform	our	wounds	or	to	begin	to	die
from	them. If	you	feel,	when	looking	back	on	your	life	so	far,	that	you’ve	wrestled	with
primal	forces	and	not	always	won,	be	assured	that	you’re	pretty	much	like
everyone	else. It	is	a	rare	individual	who	reaches	midlife	without	a	lot	to
grieve. And	whether	or	not	your	tears	are	acknowledged—whether	or	not	you
give	them	the	chance	to	actually	fall	down	your	cheeks—there’s	no	question
that	they’re	there. Arrogant	in	our	modernity,	our	generation	thought	we	were	invulnerable	to
ancient	myths	and	archetypes. We	thought	we	could	avoid	the	descent	into	the
psychic	underworld	…	until	we	realized	that	no	one	can	and	no	one	ever	does. And	there	is	a	reason	for	that. The	underworld	of	personal	pain	and	crisis,
while	difficult,	is	the	inevitable	breeding	ground	for	the	strengths	and	talents
we	were	born	to	embody. Our	problems	transform	themselves	into	our
medicine	when	we	learn	to	face	how	we	created	them	to	begin	with. This
spiritual	medicine—often	so	bitter	tasting	when	it	is	going	down—will	one
day	be	seen	to	have	been	that	which	saved	your	life. From	divorce	to	illness
to	bankruptcy	to	whatever	other	form	of	loss,	you	finally	come	to	realize	that
your	crisis	was	in	fact	your	initiation	into	the	fullness	of	your	self. Having	faced	the	fire	of	your	initiation	and	survived	its	heat,	you	can	now
serve	others	in	a	whole	new	way. By	being	a	living	testimony	to	life
transformed,	you	carry	in	your	cells	a	sacred	knowledge,	and	in	your	mind
and	heart	a	sacred	fire. It’s	not	the	fire	of	youth	but	the	fire	of	Prometheus,
who	emerged	with	the	light	that	would	light	the	world. It’s	a	light	that	you
could	
only
	have	gotten	from	having	faced	some	version	of	your	personal	hell,
and	now	you	are	inoculated	to	the	fires	that	rage	around	you. Sometimes	only
fire	can	put	out	fire,	and	such	is	the	fire	that	now	burns	in	you. This	is	not	the
fire	of	your	destruction	but	of	your	victory. It	is	the	fire	of	your	middle	years. Chapetr	Four
G
OD	
O
NLY	
K
NOWS
A
t	a	certain	point	in	life,	almost	everyone	is	haunted	by	the	ghosts	of	his	or
her	regrets. There	are	things	we	did	that	we	wish	we	hadn’t,	and	things	we
didn’t	do	that	we	wish	we	had. From	family	we	neglected	to	friends	we
abandoned,	from	ways	we	acted	irresponsibly	to	opportunities	we	wasted,
situations	that	seemed	unclear	to	us	while	we	were	going	through	them	seem
very	clear	in	retrospect. And	during	the	years	when	we	were	carelessly	dismissing	what	we	later
came	to	see	as	the	most	important	things	in	life,	we	kept	crying	out	woefully
that	we	were	looking	for	
meaning. All	that	time	we	were	starved	for	meaning,
we	were	lacking	it	for	no	other	reason	than	that	we	weren’t	
ascribing
	meaning
to	the	situations	right	in	front	of	us. Meaning	isn’t	what	a	situation	gives	us;
it’s	what	we	give	to	a	situation. But	who	knew. It’s	horrifying	to	recognize	that	you	didn’t	always	treat	life	with	the	respect
it	deserved. And	for	the	’60s	generation	now	settling	into	midlife,	that’s	a
common	realization. In	shattering	some	outworn	notions	of	morality,	we
frequently	shattered	some	eternal	ones	as	well. This	is	not	to	repudiate	the
outrageousness	of	that	era;	in	many	ways,	it	was	a	creative	explosion	in	us
and	in	the	world. Yet	there	was	a	shadow,	as	there’s	a	shadow	to	most
anything. And	at	a	certain	point,	facing	your	shadows	is	the	only	way	to
dispel	them. That	particular	dark	night	of	the	soul—facing	our	self-loathing	for	the
mistakes	of	our	past—is	like	an	entry	ticket	into	a	revitalized	midlife. Sometimes	decades	of	experience	have	to	be	forgiven	before	we	can	feel	free
to	move	on. Many	of	us	have	sent	or	received	letters	or	made	calls	expressing
things	like,	“I’m	so	sorry	I	hurt	you;	I	was	such	an	idiot	in	1985. ”	Regardless
of	how	much	discomfort	we	have	to	go	through	to	get	there,	it’s	gratifying	to
feel	we’ve	released	enough	of	our	past	to	make	room	for	new	growth. Some	people	wonder	why	the	energy	in	their	life	seems	not	to	be	moving
forward—when	in	fact	the	only	thing	holding	them	back	is	their	own
unwillingness	to	face	the	issues	that	still	need	to	be	faced,	the	shadows	thatstill	need	to	be	owned,	and	the	amends	that	still	need	to	be	made	in	order	to
free	their	energy	and	restart	their	engines. As	long	as	we’re	stuck	internally,
our	lives	will	be	stuck	externally;	the	only	way	to	go	wide	in	life	is	if	we	are
willing	to	go	deep. It	doesn’t	matter	if	the	problem	happened	decades	ago;	the
challenge	is	to	face	it	and	deal	with	it	now,	so	in	the	decades	ahead	you’ll	be
released	from	the	karmic	trap	of	having	always	to	reenact	past	disasters. Once	again,	what	might	appear	as	a	slowing	down	of	our	jets	is	often
anything	but. Internal	work	is	sometimes	done	more	easily	while	sitting	there
thinking	than	while	busily	running	around. A	frantic	schedule	helps	us	avoid
taking	a	deeper	look	at	ourselves,	but	by	midlife	such	avoidance	simply	does
not	and	cannot	work	anymore. Slower	lifestyles,	candles	and	soft	music	in	the
house,	yoga,	meditation,	and	the	like	are	often	signs	of	an	internal	regreening. We	are	focusing	on	changes	that	support	our	deepening. I	know	a	woman	who
started	therapy	in	her	80s. Her	coming	to	understand	so	much	about	her	life
until	this	point	served	more	than	just	herself. It	affected	conversations	with
her	children	that	affected	their	relationships	with	
their
	children,	on	and	on	in	a
never-ending	pattern	of	miracles	unleashed	by	a	deeper	understanding	of	self. B
Y	MIDLIFE,	MOST	OF	US	HAVE	A	LOT	OF	IMPACTED	EMOTIONAL	PAIN. That	pain	can	poison	our
system	or	leave	it. Those	are	pretty	much	our	only	two	choices. Sometimes	depression	is	to	the	soul	what	fever	is	to	the	body:	a	way	to
burn	up	what	needs	to	be	burned	up	so	that	health	can	return. Some	dark
nights	of	the	soul	last	months	or	years,	while	others	just	last	a	night	or	two. Either	way,	they’re	part	of	a	mystical	detox	of	our	accumulated	fear	and
despair. Any	thought	not	reconciled	with	truth	remains	in	our	psychic	
“in-
box,”	put	in	the	trash	but	not	yet	deleted	from	the	computer. Whatever	energy
isn’t	brought	to	light,	surrendered	and	transformed,	stays	in	the	dark—an
insidious	force	of	constant,	active	attack	on	both	body	and	soul. Even	if	you’ve	lived	a	pretty	good	life,	unless	you’ve	lived	it	in	some
isolated	mountain	village	where	everyone	around	you	was	nice	all	the	time,
then	you’re	probably	carrying	some	pain	around. In	your	30s	and	40s	you
were	so	busy	that	you	were	able	to	keep	distracted,	but	sometime	around	your
50s	or	so,	that	pain	demands	to	be	heard. It	
will
	be	heard. And	it’s	far,	far
better	to	hear	it	in	your	head	and	in	your	soul,	than	from	your	doctor	when	the
test	results	come	back	and	unfortunately	they	do	not	look	good. Turning	on	the	TV	these	days,	one	feels	bombarded	by	advertisements	for
sleep	medications. It’s	understandable,	of	course,	that	people	who	have	to	get
up	for	work	the	next	morning	will	do	anything	necessary	to	get	a	good	night’ssleep. But	there’s	a	deeper	story	here,	of	people	seeking	help	in	their	efforts	to
handle	the	monsters	that	often	emerge	from	their	psyches	very	late	at	night. Some	of	those	monsters	
need
	to	be	let	out. They	need	to	be	freed	from	the
caves	they	live	in. They	bring	messages	of	pain,	it’s	true,	and	yet	the	pain	they
bring	is	often	important	pain. If	you	don’t	feel	the	guilt,	how	will	you	ever
reach	your	motivation	to	make	amends. If	you	don’t	feel	the	self-loathing,
how	will	you	ever	reach	the	motivation	to	act	more	responsibly	next	time. If
you	avoid	the	pain,	you’ll	miss	the	gain. Just	suppressing	the	monsters	only
makes	them	larger. Allowing	them	out—and	allowing	yourself	to	finally	face
them—is	the	only	way	to	make	sure	that	they	will	ever	go	away. It’s	not	always	fun	to	face	your	past—not	the	whitewashed,	historically
revised	version,	but	the	real	backstory	you	don’t	look	at	daily	because	it
would	make	you	cringe	so	much	if	you	did. It’s	not	really	about	what	you
don’t	want	others	to	know;	the	actual	events	probably	weren’t	any	worse	than
what	others	have	been	through	in	their	lives. Compared	to	others,	you	might
not	have	even	done	so	badly. But	wherever	you	didn’t	live	up	to	your	personal
best,	shame	remains	like	an	underground	toxin. You	live	with	regrets	that
haunt	you,	perhaps	rarely	during	the	day	when	the	ego’s	illusionist	worldview
holds	sway,	but	during	those	nights	when	no	pill	or	drink	or	amount	of	sex
can	keep	them	from	you. They	move	through	locked	doors	in	your	mind	as
though	they’re	ghosts,	which	they	are. And	no	amount	of	“Go	on	now,	go. ”
can	shoo	them	away. Only	the	rigorous	work	of	taking	a	fearless	moral	inventory	will	do	that—
the	bravery	to	respect	your	conscience,	to	know	that	if	something’s	up	for
review,	then	it’s	best	to	review	it. And	that	can	be	difficult. In	the	words	of	the
ancient	Greek	playwright	Aeschylus,	“He	who	learns	must	suffer. And	even
in	our	sleep	pain	that	cannot	forget	falls	drop	by	drop	upon	the	heart,	and	in
our	own	despair,	against	our	will,	comes	wisdom	to	us	by	the	awful	grace	of
God. ”	Numbing	yourself—while	sleeping	or	waking—will	not	erase	the	pain;
only	forgiveness	and	love	can	do	that. Then,	through	the	alchemy	of
atonement	and	grace,	the	ghosts	will	go	back	to	the	nothingness	from	whence
they	came. And	they	will	be	no	more. The	past	is	over,	and	you	are	free. Dear	God,
Please	forgive	me	the
mistakes	in	my	past. May	neither	Inor	anyone	else
be	bound	by	them. Please	God,
may	I	begin	again. Amen
O
NE	OF	THE	MOST	PERNICIOUS	OF	THE	EGO’S	TAUNTS
	at	midlife	is	the	nagging	fear	that
we’re	“running	out	of	time. ”	Yet	time	expands	when	our	consciousness	does. Our	enemy	is	not	really	time,	but	our	
false	thinking
	about	time. In	the	Bible	it	states:	“And	time	shall	be	no	more,”	but	rather	than
foreshadowing	the	end	of	the	world,	perhaps	this	indicates	the	end	of	our
experiencing	time	the	way	that	we	do	now. The	years	after	50,	if	lived	well,
are	
longer
	than	those	between	20	and	50. In	fact,	we	have	more	time	than	we
thought. The	key	to	stretching	time	is	to	go	deeper	into	the	present. When	we
do,	we	find	something	wonderful	there:	choices	we	didn’t	realize	we	had	in
the	days	when	we	were	moving	too	fast	to	see	them. By	a	certain	point,	most	of	us	have	experienced	enough	of	the	world	to	no
longer	be	naïve	about	it. We	know	what	it	gives	and	we	know	what	it	takes
away. We	have	memories	of	joy	and	we	have	memories	of	sorrow. Our
challenge,	in	both	cases,	is	to	not	dwell	in	the	memories. As	long	as	there’s	life,	there’s	the	possibility	of	love. And	where	there	is
love,	there	is	always	hope. No	matter	what	the	mirror	says,	no	matter	what
your	doctor	says,	no	matter	what	the	establishment	says—there	is	hope. It’s
tempting	to	feel	at	times	that	you	blew	it	in	the	past	and	there’s	nothing	you
can	do	to	redeem	yourself. Or	that	the	cruelty	of	the	world	defeated	you	and
you	can’t	rise	back	up. But	the	miracle	of	midlife	is	that	nothing	that
happened	before	this	moment	has	any	bearing	on	what’s	possible	now,	except
that	what	you	learned	from	it	can	be	fuel	for	a	magnificent	future. Miracles	are	available	in	any	moment	when	we	bring	the	best	of	ourselves
forward. It	isn’t	the	amount	of	our	years	that	will	determine	the	life	we	live
now,	but	the	amount	of	our	love. Our	future	isn’t	determined	by	anything	that
happened	20	years	ago,	30	years	ago,	or	even	10	minutes	ago. It’s	determined
by	who	we	are	and	what	we	think,	right	here,	right	now,	in	this	moment. Almost	every	hour	of	every	day,	we’ll	find	ourselves	in	a	situation	where	we
can	be	now	who	we	weren’t	before,	because	we	
know
	now	what	we	didn’t
know	before. And	from	this	newness	in	our	being	springs	fresh	opportunitieswe	could	never	have	imagined. God	specializes	in	new	beginnings. I	had	an	experience	once	that	depressed	me	greatly. I	felt	wounded	by
something	in	my	past	and	fairly	hopeless	about	my	future. Around	that	time,	I
moved	into	a	house	on	the	water,	where	I	had	a	view	of	the	sunrise	each	day
that	was	more	gorgeous	than	anything	I	had	ever	seen. Every	morning’s	sky
looked	like	a	Japanese	woodcut	that	had	come	to	life,	with	black	branches
slowly	turning	deep	green,	ebony	sky	turning	hot	pink	on	top	of	the	branches,
and	a	beautiful	bright	turquoise	below. I	had	never	experienced	nature	as	such
a	deeply	spiritual	thing	before. It	was	so	extraordinary. I	felt	for	sure	that	I’d
been	led	to	that	house,	and	to	that	bedroom	view,	as	part	of	my	healing. Every	day	my	eyes	would	automatically	open	as	the	sun	began	to	rise. I’d
lie	there	and	not	just	look	at	the	dawn;	the	dawn	would	
enter
	me. The	imprint
of	sunrise—of	a	new	day	following	the	darkness	of	night—made	its	way	into
my	cells. And	one	morning	it	was	as	though	I	heard	the	voice	of	God,	telling
me	as	I	witnessed	the	dawn	that	“Such	is	the	work	I	will	do	within	you. ”	I	too
would	experience	a	new	dawn	after	the	dark	night	of	my	soul. God	would
give	me	a	new	beginning. I	knew	it	then. And	as	I	closed	my	eyes	and	drifted
back	to	sleep,	I	thanked	Him	with	all	my	heart. And	my	heart	was	healed. I
’M	OFTEN	AMAZED	WHEN	WATCHING
	Olympic	ice-skaters. Someone	who	has	practiced
something	thousands,	literally	thousands,	of	times,	gets	in	front	of	a
worldwide	TV	audience	in	the	most	important	competition	of	their	lives,	and
makes	a	fall	that	could	ruin	all	their	dreams	in	one	split	second. How	many	of
us	would	just	completely	fall	apart	at	that	point. But	not	them. They	keep
going. They’ve	got	another	triple	axel	to	do	1. 2	seconds	later. They	simply
cannot	allow	their	future	to	be	determined	by	the	past. And	that’s	not	just	a
physical	skill. It’s	an	emotional	skill,	a	psychological	skill. It’s	a	skill	that
anyone	who	wants	to	make	a	passage	into	a	prosperous,	creative,	and	exciting
second	half	of	life	needs	to	develop. It’s	not	simply	that	“what’s	past	is	past. ”	It’s	bigger,	somehow	holier	than
that. It’s	that	what	has	happened	until	now	was	a	set	of	lessons—often
extraordinary,	often	painful. Yet	all	that	was	ever	going	on	was	that	you	were
being	given	the	chance	to	become	the	person	you’re	capable	of	being. Some
lessons	you	passed,	and	some	you	failed	and	will	have	to	take	again. Some
you	enjoyed,	and	some	you	resisted	and	might	have	hated. But	they’ve	left
you—if	you	choose—a	better	person,	a	more	humble	person,	a	more	available
person,	a	more	vulnerable	person,	a	wiser	person,	a	more	noble	person. And
from	that,	all	things	are	possible. A	youthful	body	is	wonderful,	but	it’s	not	allit’s	cracked	up	to	be	when	you’re	not	who	you	should	be. And	once	you	are,
the	cracks	in	your	body	can	have	a	beauty	of	their	own. You	don’t	have	to	be
young	to	be	fabulous. Yet	how	do	we	do	emotionally	what	those	ice-skaters	do	physically. How
do	we	get	up	again	when	life	has	thrown	us	down. How	do	we	get	over	the
past. Without	forgiveness,	it	cannot	be	done. O
NE	NIGHT	
I
	WAS	LYING	IN	BED,	NEARING	SLEEP,
	and	I	realized	that	I’d	been	taken	to	some
dimension	I’d	never	experienced	before. I	say	“taken”	because	it	just	seemed
to	happen. In	this	place	I	knew	I	was	older,	and	I	couldn’t	have	entered	if	I
were	not. But	there	was	a	light,	a	luminescence	that	was	clearly	something	I
couldn’t	have	known	until	this	point. I	knew	then	that	if	I	could	live	in	this
place	on	a	consistent	basis,	I	would	never	see	it	as	a	lesser	world. It	wasn’t	a
booby	prize;	it	was	clearly	a	reward. It	wasn’t	as	though	I	was	carrying
baggage;	it	was	as	though	I	had	received	a	gift. “Oh,	this	is	what	age	is. ”	I	said	to	myself,	relieved	that	it	was	so	wonderful. But	a	response	came	clearly:	“Well,	not	for	everyone. ”	I	was	visiting	an	inner
domain	that	was	not	a	given. It	had	to	be	chosen. It	was	revealed	to	me	in	one
of	those	momentary	gifts	of	grace,	perhaps,	but	only	as	an	enticement,	a
demonstration	of	what	was	mine	to	earn. Before	the	present	could	start	to
shine	like	that,	I	would	have	to	learn	to	forgive. It’s	fairly	easy	to	stay	loving	and	serene	when	others	always	act	the	way
you	want	them	to,	but	that’s	not	a	realistic	picture	of	life. Everyone’s
imperfect,	everyone’s	wounded,	and	most	of	us	have	been	somewhat	scathed
at	one	time	or	another	by	the	casual	cruelty	of	others. Forgiveness	involves	faith	in	a	love	that’s	greater	than	hatred,	and	a
willingness	to	see	the	light	in	someone’s	soul	even	when	their	personality	has
harbored	darkness. Forgiveness	doesn’t	mean	that	someone	didn’t	act
horribly;	it	simply	means	that	we	choose	not	to	focus	on	their	guilt. In
focusing	on	it,	we	make	it	real	to	us,	and	in	making	it	real	to	us,	we	make	it
real	
for
	us. The	only	way	to	deliver	ourselves	from	vulnerability	to	other
people’s	behavior	is	by	identifying	with	the	part	of	them	that	lies	beyond	their
bodies. We	can	look	beyond	others’	behavior	to	the	innocence	in	their	souls. In	doing	so,	we	not	only	free	
them
	from	the	weight	of	our	condemnation,	but
we	free	ourselves	as	well. That	is	the	miracle	of	forgiveness. Forgiveness	isn’t	just	about	being	
nice
—it’s	about	being	spiritually
intelligent. We	can	have	a	grievance	or	we	can	have	a	miracle,	but	we	cannot
have	both. We	can	build	a	case	against	someone,	or	we	can	be	happy. Any
justification	I	come	up	with	for	an	attack	on	another	person	is	just	my	ego’s
ploy	to	keep	
me
	in	pain. A	concept	it	has	taken	me	years	to	embrace	fully	is	that	I	am	100	percent
responsible	for	my	own	life. 100	percent	responsible	doesn’t	mean	34	percent
responsible,	and	it	doesn’t	mean	96	percent	responsible. Unless	you’re	willing
to	accept	that	you’re	
100
	percent	responsible	for	your	own	experience,	then
you	can’t	call	forth	your	best	life. Some	people	nurse	grievances	that	go	back	20	years. At	a	certain	point,
however,	it	becomes	harder	to	blame	all	your	problems	on	what	someone	did
to	you	that	long	ago. No	matter	what	they	did,	the	real	culprit	is	the	one	who’s
let	20	years	pass	without	getting	over	it. Some	awful	things	might	have	happened	to	you	during	the	years	leading	up
to	this	moment,	but	
you
	are	still	responsible	for	how	you	choose	to	interpret
them. And	how	you	interpret	your	past	determines	whether	it	will	uplift	you
or	emotionally	sink	you. Yes,	there	may	have	been	some	people	who
viciously	wronged	you. I	understand	that. But	it	serves	you	to	realize	any	of
the	ways	you	might	have	made	it	easy	for	them	to	do	it. Yes,	there	may	be
aspects	of	your	life	that	are	lacking,	joyless,	chaotic,	and	disappointing. But	it
is	your	responsibility	to	own	every	dark	corner	of	your	life	and	transform	it. I’m	not	saying	forgiveness	is	easy;	I’m	simply	saying	it’s	imperative. My	friend	Gina	went	through	a	terrible	divorce,	giving	her	plenty	of
opportunity	to	choose	between	forgiveness	and	blame. After	11	years	of	what
she	had	thought	was	a	good	marriage—what	anyone	who’d	ever	seen	them
together	assumed	was	a	great	marriage—her	husband	wanted	out. I’ve	never
seen	a	relationship	that	was	all	one	person’s	issues,	so	I’m	making	no
judgment	here	on	either	person’s	behavior. But	I	can	say	from	having	walked
alongside	her	that	her	path	was	the	path	of	forgiveness	…	and	it	paid	off. Did
she	go	through	a	year	of	hell. Yes,	she	did. But	her	consistent	efforts	to	bless
and	forgive	her	ex-husband—a	man	whom	she	refused	to	cast	out	of	her
heart,	although	he	seemed	to	have	cast	her	out	of	his—was	not	only	inspiring
to	witness,	but	demonstrative	of	the	way	that	forgiveness	works	miracles. She
continued	to	lay	claim	to	the	love	between	them,	regardless	of	the	fact	that	the
form	of	the	relationship	was	being	torn	apart. She	was	hurt,	but	not	bitter. She
continued	to	have	faith. He	could	leave	the	marriage,	but	she	would	not	give
up	on	the	love	between	them. And	within	18	months,	they’d	swung	full	circle. They	were	no	longer	married,	but	the	friendship	survived. That	was	important	for	Gina,	not	just	so	she	could	be	at	peace	with	her	past
marriage	but	so	she	could	be	at	peace	with	any	man	she	met	afterward. If
bitterness	in	our	past	is	brought	into	the	present,	it	then	sabotages	our	future. Even	in	the	midst	of	her	divorce,	my	daughter	and	I	would	joke	that	Gina	was
a	man	magnet. And	we	could	understand	why. Allowing	herself	to	feel	her
pain	without	defending	against	it,	she	grew	suppler	instead	of	tougher. She
didn’t	harden	at	the	loss	of	love,	the	way	some	people	do. I	watched	her
mature,	but	I	never	saw	her	harden. And	love	kept	rushing	in. You	can	live	the	rest	of	your	life	reacting	to	and	replaying	what	went
before,	but	that	won’t	serve	you	or	deliver	you	to	the	shining	place. And
everyone	you	meet	will	subconsciously	know	how	you’ve	responded	to	your
past. They	will	know	whether	you’re	stuck	there	or	better	for	having	been
there. “Forgive	and	forget”	is	not	mere	platitude. Many	say,	“Yes,	I	do
forgive,	but	I	will	never	forget. ”	Beware	that	sentiment,	for	it	leaves	you
subtly	in	the	thrall	of	suffering. Do	forget	what	was	done	to	you;	just
remember	the	lessons	you	learned	from	it. Drop	the	cross. Embrace	the	sky. Dear	God,
Please	teach	me
how	to	forgive. Show	me	the	innocence	in	others,
and	the	innocence	in	myself. I	surrender	to	You
my	judgmental	thoughts. May	see	beyond	them
to	the	gentle	peace
that	only	forgiveness	brings. Amen
T
HE	FEAR-BASED	EGO	GATHERS	EVIDENCE	AT	EVERY	TURN
,	making	forgiveness	hard. The
ego	is	obsessed	with	two	big	cases:	one	against	everybody	else,	and	one
against	you. Sometimes	the	face	at	the	center	of	your	bull’seye	doesn’t	belong	to	anyoneelse. Yours	is	the	name	on	the	docket	of	the	case	you	feel	compelled	to
prosecute—you,	for	your	past	errors;	you,	for	your	past	stupidity;	you,	for
your	past	immaturity;	you,	for	your	past	irresponsibility;	you,	for	just	being
you. Prosecutorial	witnesses	are	everywhere,	and	the	courtroom	is	in	your	head. The	ego	is	not	on	a	search	for	justice	but	for	guilt,	for	that	is	what	it	feeds	on. Its	case	against	you	is	not	just	based	on	the	notion	that	you	did	something
wrong,	but	that	in	some	fundamental	way	you	
are
	wrong. That’s	a	hard	rap	to
beat. Who	could	ever	sleep	well	if	convinced	that	everything	about	them	is
just	
wrong. You	feel	you’ve	blown	it	on	so	many	levels,	in	so	many	ways,	and	on	some
nights	for	whatever	reason	it	all	comes	back	so	clearly. …	What	a	lovely	life,
having	20-year-old	bad	memories	shooting	through	your	brain	like	bazookas
from	hell—which,	in	a	way,	they	are. And	you	have	nowhere	to	put	them
except	in	that	big	fat	file	called	“All	the	Ways	I	Screwed	Up. ”	How	can	you
feel	that	there’s	goodness	ahead	when	you	feel	that	in	the	past	you	have	been
so	bad. How	can	you	have	much	hope	for	the	future	when	your	take	on	the
past	is	so	relentlessly	vicious. And	how	can	you	really	defend	yourself
against	a	ruthless	prosecutor	who	is	an	aspect	of	yourself. You	know	the	religious	image	of	“burning	in	hell	forever”. Well,	now	you
know	what	it	means:	anxiety	and	guilt	and	self-hatred	without	end. It	wasn’t
God	who	sent	you	there,	but	rather	the	enemy	in	your	own	mind. The	ego,	the
fear-based	self,	the	shadow—whatever	name	you	choose	to	call	it—is	on
active	patrol	to	burn	down	your	peace	of	mind. The	reason	for	faith	that	you	can	and	will	escape	those	flames	is	that	God
guarantees	your	fundamental	innocence. He	created	you	innocent,	and	what
He	creates	is	changeless	and	indestructible. Have	you	made	mistakes. Who
hasn’t. But	God’s	will	is	to	correct	our	mistakes,	not	punish	us	for	them. We
are	punished	
by
	our	sins,	not	for	them. It’s	the	ego	that	both	sets	us	up	to	do
the	wrong	thing	and	then	punishes	us	savagely	for	having	done	so. An	all-merciful	God	has	already	dismissed	every	case	against	you	before
the	ego	has	a	chance	to	mount	it. Your	mistakes,	no	matter	how	bad	you
might	think	they	were,	did	not	emanate	from	your	self	as	He	created	you. That’s	why	remembering	who	you	truly	are	is	the	key	to	deliverance	from	the
flames	of	self-condemnation. You’re	no	better	or	worse	than	anyone	else. No	matter	how	much	you
might	regret	your	past,	there’s	someone	out	there	who	regrets	his	or	hersmore. The	path	to	happiness	is	not	determined	by	whether	or	not	we	made
mistakes	in	the	past. What	paves	the	way	to	happiness	is	whether	or	not	we
turn	our	mistakes	into	catalysts	for	personal	growth	and	illumination. Think	of	everything	you’ve	ever	been	through,	and	try	to	reinterpret	it
gently. All	the	love	you	ever	gave	was	real. All	the	love	anyone	ever	gave	you
was	real. Everything	else	was	simply	an	illusion,	no	matter	how	bitter	or	cruel
it	might	have	been	in	your	experience. I’m	not	going	to	insult	you	by	saying,	“Just	forgive	yourself. ”	God	forgives
you,	because	He	never	saw	you	as	anything	but	innocent. Your	mistakes	did
not	change	the	ultimate	truth	about	you	or	alter	the	permanent	nature	of	God’s
universe. Your	ego	is	not	that	powerful. Truly	atone	for	your	errors,	make
amends	where	possible,	and	you’ll	be	free	to	begin	again. According	to	
A	Course	in	Miracles,
	in	the	moments	when	you	were	not
your	best	self—when	you	didn’t	stand	up	as	the	most	loving	you	could	be—
then	all	the	good	you	deflected	is	being	held	in	trust	for	you	until	you’re	ready
to	receive	it. God	will	return	to	you	the	years	that	the	locusts	have	eaten. And
the	past	as	you	know	it	shall	be	no	more. Wherever	there	was	fear,	love	will	ultimately	prevail. Whether	in	response
to	your	own	mistakes	or	to	the	cruelty	of	the	world,	God	will	always	have	the
final	say. And	His	say	will	always	be	how	very	much	that	you	are	loved. Dear	God,
Please	help	me	to	forgive	myself
for	what	I	did	and	did	not	do. Pour	forth	upon	me
Your	infinite	mercy,
that	my	life	might	be	redeemed. Take	away	my	shame,	dear	God,
and	heal	my	broken	heart. Amen
W
HENEVER	I	FEEL	AT	THE	EFFECT	OF	MY	PAST
,	I	try	to	remember	people	whose
experiences	have	been	not	only	so	much	worse	than	mine	but	worse	than	any
I	could	even	imagine. And	yet	they	rose	above. My	friend	Naomi	is	an	86-year-old	Holocaust	survivor. World	War	II	beganon	her	19th	birthday,	as	German	troops	crossed	the	Polish	border	on
September	1,	1939. Living	in	Warsaw	at	the	time,	she	went	from	enjoying	the
life	of	a	young	woman	preparing	to	go	to	college	in	England	to	hiding	from
the	Nazis	with	her	mother,	husband,	brother,	and	sister-in-law. Her	father	had
already	been	arrested	by	the	Russians	and	sent	to	Siberia. In	1943,	having
survived	the	bombing	of	Warsaw,	Naomi	and	the	other	members	of	her	family
were	huddled	into	a	cattle	car	for	a	horrendous	trip	that	many	didn’t	survive,
and	taken	to	a	concentration	camp	at	Auschwitz. She	was	at	Auschwitz	from	the	age	of	22	to	24. My	problems	at	that	age. Romance,	career,	and	the	like. Hers. Adolf	Hitler. Naomi’s	husband,	mother,	and	sister-in-law	all	died	at	Auschwitz. Her
mother	died	in	a	crematorium;	then	her	sister-in-law,	having	told	Naomi	one
morning	that	she	simply	would	not	go	to	work	that	day	(“I	cannot	stand	it,”
she	said. “I	cannot	live	like	this. ”)	disappeared	and	never	returned. My	friend
and	millions	of	others	lived	in	Nazi	concentration	camps	under	conditions	as
horrifying	as	any	forced	on	human	beings	by	other	human	beings	before	or
since. Ultimately,	Naomi	survived	the	war. After	emigrating	to	the	United	States
in	1946,	she	married	and	was	widowed	a	second	time,	leaving	her	with	three
young	children	to	raise	as	a	single	mother. If	anyone	might	have	been	given	a
pass,	forgiven	for	just	giving	up,	it	would	have	been	Naomi. Yet	that	simply
isn’t	who	she	was,	or	is. Her	character	is	bigger	than	her	circumstances. She
raised	her	children	beautifully,	started	an	import-export	company	that
eventually	became	phenomenally	successful	(at	a	time	when	not	many
women	were	doing	that,	by	the	way),	and	has	lived	through	the	years	as	an
inspiration	to	countless	who	have	known	her—including	myself. In	2002,	Naomi	went	back	to	Germany	with	her	son. As	their	plane
approached	Berlin	and	she	sat	looking	out	the	window	at	the	land	below,	he
asked	how	she	was	feeling. Her	response,	she	said,	surprised	even	her:	“It’s
very	strange,	but	I	feel	good	about	this. I	am	here	on	my	own	terms. I	am	not
being	brought	here	by	anybody. I	am	coming	of	my	own	free	will. ”
Visiting	Wannsee—where	in	1942	Hitler	and	his	top	aides	made	plans	for
“the	final	solution,”	or	complete	extermination	of	the	Jews—Naomi
collapsed. Yet	her	reconciliation	with	her	past	continued. In	2003,	she	made
an	emotional	journey	back	to	Auschwitz. After	having	cried	the	entire	way
there,	she	had	a	strange	experience	once	she	arrived. Upon	entering	the	gate
with	its	famously	ironic	inscription,	“Arbeit	macht	frei”	(“Work	makes	you
free”),	she	felt	herself	becoming	very,	very	strong. She	didn’t	feel	the	painshe’d	expected. Rather,	she	said	she	felt	a	spirit	of	victory	move	through	her
as	she	realized:	“Oh	my	goodness,	I’ve	come	back—and	I	survived. I	came
here	to	perish,	but	I	did	not. He	who	wanted	to	destroy	me	was	himself
destroyed,	but	I	survived. I	am	a	survivor. ”	In	that	moment,	she	knew	what	it
meant	to	
be
	a	survivor—not	only	physically,	but	emotionally	and	spiritually
as	well. And	she	was	free. “I	felt	I	could	build	on	my	past,”	she	has	said,	“but	I	knew	I	could	not	live
in	it. In	spite	of	the	fact	that	I	lived	through	the	Holocaust,	I	have	never
dwelled	on	it. “I	went	through	something	so	terrible,	but	I	like	to	think	something	good
can	come	from	it. I	have	so	much	more	empathy. I	like	to	think	I’m	a	better
person	because	of	it. “Hope	is	always	in	us. In	spite	of	the	fact	that	everything	looks	so	bleak,
there’s	something	in	all	of	us	that	keeps	thinking	things	are	going	to	get	better. I	knew	I	had	to	look	to	the	future. I	had	to	always	ask	what	I	could	do	
now
	to
be	more	productive. I	wanted	to	live	for	the	future,	for	myself	and	for	my
children. And	I	did. ”
Whenever	I	start	to	feel	sorry	for	myself,	I	remember	Naomi. I	remember
those	in	the	Holocaust	who	did	not	survive. I	remember	those	people	who
even	today—in	Somalia,	Darfur,	and	elsewhere—are	experiencing	atrocities
like	she	did. And	in	the	gratitude	I	feel	for	the	relatively	extraordinary	ease	of
my	life	so	far,	I	am	lifted	to	a	place	where	I	understand	that	my	life—although
it	might	not	be	consistent	bliss—is	still	indeed	worth	thanking	God	for,	every
minute	of	every	day. And	I	do. If	my	friend	Naomi	could	rebuild	her	life	after	what	she	went	through,	who
among	us	doesn’t	have	in	deep	reserve	the	strength	it	might	take	to	rebuild
ours. We	have	a	moral	responsibility,	not	only	to	ourselves	but	to	a	rising	tide
of	collective	hope,	to	do	everything	in	our	power	to	rise	up	from	whatever
ashes	might	litter	our	past. Yesterday	was	yesterday,	but	yesterday	is	over. Today	is	today,	and	tomorrow	awaits. What	happened	to	you	yesterday	might	not	have	been	wonderful	or	even
under	your	control. But	who	you	become	because	of	it,	or	in	spite	of	it,	is
completely	up	to	you. I’ve	known	people	who	lived	through	a	fraction	of	the
trauma	that	Naomi	lived	through,	yet	stayed	in	the	muck	of	their	grievances
and	victimization	for	decades. What	her	story	proves,	like	that	of	many
others,	is	that	we	are	not	our	past. It’s	not	what	life	threw	at	us	that	determines
what	our	life	will	be	now,	so	much	as	how	much	of	ourselves	we’re	willing	tothrow	into	life. If	my	friend	Naomi	could	move	on	after	Auschwitz,	then	who	among	us,
for	whatever	reason,	can	claim	we	cannot	move	on. Dear	God,
Please	take	away	from	me
the	pain	of	my	past. Remove	the	arrows
that	have	pierced	my	heart,
and	heal	my	open	wounds. Amen
Chapter	Five
T
HE	
W
AY	
S
HE’D	
A
CT	AND	THE	
C
OLOR	OF
H
ER	
H
AIR
I
	always	intuited	that	when	I	was	in	my	50s,	I	would	allow	myself	to	stop
hiding. I	found	the	world	so	frightening	when	I	was	younger,	so
unexplainable	or	perhaps	just	unexplained	to	
me,
	that	I	struggled	to	cope	by
trying	to	hide. Some	people	would	look	at	my	career	and	say,	“I	would	hardly
call	that	hiding,”	but	no	one	really	knows	what	other	people	might	be	holding
inside,	not	allowing	themselves	to	express. I	experienced	a	peculiarly	American	split,	a	neurotic	affliction	that	women
of	my	generation	were	particularly	prey	to. I	didn’t	realize	it	consciously—
few	of	us	did—but	the	message	we	internalized	in	the	name	of	liberation	was
that	we	could	only	be	liberated	if	we	became	like	men. We	could	be	hot	and
sexy,	or	we	could	be	smart	and	taken	seriously;	we	could	not	be	both. So
many	of	us	did	what	we	thought	we	had	to	do:	We	suppressed	the	goddess,
the	wild	wise	woman,	in	order	to	make	it	in	a	world	that	we’d	subconsciously
joined	in	its	disdain	for	the	essentially	female. I	don’t	think	I	fully	enjoyed	being	a	woman,	without	any	sense	of	shame,
until	I	was	well	into	my	40s. Before	that,	I	was	ambivalent	about	it. And	my
ambivalence	about	the	juicier	aspects	of	being	female	attracted	ambivalence
in	men	and	women	alike. If	we	feel	guilty	about	something,	whether	we
deserve	the	attack	on	ourselves	or	not,	we’ll	attract	someone	into	our	lives	to
reflect	and	articulate	our	self-condemnation. Whatever	I’ve	done	in	my	life—
no	matter	how	outrageous—if	I	myself	thought	it	was	okay,	then	so	did	most
of	the	people	around	me. But	when	I’ve	been	unclear	or	ashamed	of
something,	then	there’s	always	been	someone	there	to	take	the	emotional
bludgeon	to	my	heart. One	of	the	gifts	of	age	is	that	it	finally	becomes	easier
to	ignore	other	people’s	opinions. We’ve	been	through	enough	to	know	our
own	true	feelings,	and	we’re	ready	to	live	the	lives	we	would	have	lived	all
along	if	we	had	thought	it	was	okay. I	was	the	classic	Jungian	“father’s	daughter”	subconsciously—or	maybenot	subconsciously—mimicking	my	father’s	life	while	under	the	wrong
impression	that	my	mother’s	wasn’t	“important”	enough. The	psychic	price	I
paid	for	what	I	now	see	to	have	been	some	delusion	of	masculine	superiority
was	tremendous. My	mother	knew	things—earthy	things,	wise	things—and
tried	to	tell	them	to	me	but	I	wouldn’t	hear. Once	I	was	sitting	around	with	girlfriends	discussing	another	friend’s
choice	of	whether	or	not	to	have	an	abortion,	when	my	mother	piped	up,
“Aren’t	you	girls	old	enough	to	know	there’s	no	such	thing	as	an	illegitimate
child. ”	One	of	my	friends	pointed	out	that	there	was	a	question	about
paternity,	to	which	my	mother	responded	icily,	“Do	you	girls	think	that	every
person	you	knew	growing	up	had	a	daddy	who	was	
really
	their	daddy. In	
my
day,	women	knew	how	to	keep	their	
mouths	shut. ”	We	were	stunned,	silent. A
woman	who	we	assumed	didn’t	know	as	much	as	we	did	in	fact	knew	so
much	more—about	the	facts,	and	about	being	human. Now	it	makes	me	proud	to	think	that,	yes,	I	am	my	father’s	daughter	…	and
I	am	my	mother’s	daughter,	too. Dear	God,
To	whatever	extent
I	fail	to	respect
the	power	and	glory
of	the	female	sex,
may	my	mind	be	corrected
and	my	heart	be	transformed. Amen
I
N	ANY	ADVANCED	MAMMALIAN	SPECIES	THAT	SURVIVES
	and	thrives,	there’s	a	common
anthropological	characteristic:	The	adult	female	of	the	species	displays	fierce
behavior	when	she	senses	a	threat	to	her	young. Lionesses	and	tigresses	grow
fierce	when	they	detect	danger	to	their	offspring. Among	hyenas,	hardly
known	as	the	most	tender	of	creatures,	the	adult	females	encircle	their	cubs
while	they’re	feeding,	keeping	adult	males	at	bay	until	the	babies	have	been
fed. You’d	think	the	women	of	America	would	do	better	than	the	hyenas. Yet
there	are	reasons	why	we	don’t,	and	why	we	haven’t. Women	of	the	Westernworld	haven’t	been	held	back	by	a	lack	of	political	power—not	over	the	past
hundred	years	or	so,	at	least—but	by	centuries-old	forces	of	female
oppression. Emotional	toxins	are	handed	down	through	the	ages. We	stopped
burning	witches,	but	we	still	haven’t	completely	routed	out	of	Western
consciousness	our	suspicion	of	the	powerful	female. During	the	Middle	Ages,	the	word	
witch
	meant	“wise	woman”;	the
projection	of	“ugliness”	onto	witches	was	simply	a	caricature	fabricated	by
the	early	church,	intent	on	denigrating	and	suppressing	female	power. Our
earthiness	as	well	as	our	spirituality	was	deemed	an	enemy. Where	pagan
priestesses	initiated	men	into	their	manhood	through	sexual	rites,	Christianity
would	declare	our	sexuality	holy	only	if	used	for	procreation. A	woman	who	could	no	longer	make	babies,	then,	had	no	“holy”	function
left. Indeed,	during	the	witch	burnings,	older	unmarried	women	were	usually
the	first	to	die. If	you	weren’t	cavorting	with	the	church	and	its	teachings,	you
were	deemed	to	be	cavorting	with	the	devil. And	while	the	notion	is
ridiculous,	there’s	nothing	humorous	about	several	hundred	thousand	or	more
women	burning	at	the	stake. The	witch	burnings	were	a	female	holocaust. Women	have	been	
afraid
	to	show	our	fierceness—on	behalf	of	our
children,	our	planet,	or	anything	else—because	we	haven’t	wanted	to	be
labeled	“witches. ”	The	fact	that	the	consonant	has	been	changed	from	“w”	to
“b”	has	not	changed	the	emotional	reality	for	us. We	don’t	want	to	be	seen	as
“bitchy,”	“angry,”	“strident. ”	And	as	a	consequence,	we	too	often	grow	silent
about	things	that	matter	most. Pagan	women	exalted	the	divine	connection	between	an	individual	person
and	the	natural	world. Their	priestesses	ritualistically	connected	souls	to	each
other	and	to	the	world	around	them. Their	destruction	at	the	hands	of	the	early
church	was	a	tragedy	not	only	for	them,	but	also	for	the	development	of	the
Western	world. For	their	disappearance	in	many	ways	presaged	today’s
environmental	crisis,	paving	the	way	for	an	era	in	which	it	has	been	deemed
acceptable	for	humanity	to	dominate	nature. In	order	to	end	this	global	crisis,
we	must	mantle	the	thought-forms	that	produced	it. Part	of	our	atonement	for
how	we	have	desecrated	the	earth	involves	atonement	for	how	we	desecrated
a	culture	in	which	the	wisdom	of	women	was	given	its	true	due. The	fact	that	today	we	can	understand	what	happened	to	those	women	and
reclaim	their	spiritual	authority,	provides	hope	that	humanity	can
miraculously	repair	itself	before	it	is	too	late. Miracles	arise	from	conviction,	and	there’s	no	conviction	like	motherconviction. When	we	women	are	in	our	right	minds,	we	will	not	
allow
	the
destruction	of	the	world. For	we	are	the	mothers	of	the	world. We	are	remembering	at	last	our	forgotten	powers,	not	only	to	physically
procreate	but	to	spiritually	regenerate. We’re	going	to	change	history;	we’re
going	to	turn	the	
Titanic
	around	this	time	before	it	hits	the	iceberg;	we’re
going	to	miraculously	stop	the	insane,	suicidal	march	now	presided	over	by
the	governments	of	the	world;	and	it’s	going	to	happen	
because	we	say	so. Women	must	reclaim	the	ecstatic	feminine	impulse	before	we	can	appear
again	in	the	fullness	of	our	glory. The	witches	of	yesterday	will	rest,	I	hope,
having	found	in	a	new	generation	of	women	the	pity	and	compassion	they
deserve. We	grieve	for	them	and	for	ourselves. For	every	woman	who	cannot
find	her	voice	or	attract	her	love	or	express	her	power	or	heal	our	world,	there
was	a	woman	burned	alive	for	doing	so. As	we	move	forward,	armed	with
new	understanding,	may	we	unearth	our	long-buried	passion. And	may	they,
our	dear	dishonored	sisters,	find	peace. A
S	A	LITTLE	GIRL
,	I	
REMEMBER	BEING	DRAWN	TO
	girls	a	few	years	older	than	I	was. I	felt
the	same	when	I	was	30	and	40,	and	I	feel	that	way	today. I’ve	always	felt	that
those	who	walked	life’s	path	just	a	few	years	ahead	of	me	had	something
important	to	show	me. And	now	I	see	the	pattern	from	the	other	side:	I	have	younger	friends	who
feel	to	me,	and	I	think	to	them	as	well,	like	my	spiritual	younger	siblings. It’s
as	though	they’re	growing	into	their	power,	and	show	me	the	honor	of	valuing
mine. It’s	a	very	important	role	in	life,	doing	everything	we	can	to	model
impeccability	to	those	younger	than	we. It	doesn’t	mean	more	years	have
made	us	perfect. Hardly. But	it	does	mean	that	we	take	very	seriously	the
effort	to	live	as	righteously	as	we	can. Mentoring	isn’t	just	something	nice	you	do,	or	even	necessarily	a	conscious
choice. It’s	a	pattern	you	magnetize	to	yourself	as	part	of	the	natural	order. As
you	yourself	grow	more	mature,	those	behind	you	in	time—ones	who	would
be	most	served	by	your	teaching—automatically	appear	in	your	life. And	by
teaching,	I	mean	not	only	what	you	know	but	also	what	you	demonstrate. I	can’t	imagine	where	I’d	be	today	had	there	not	been	those	who	arrived	on
my	path	to	show	me	what	I	needed	to	see	at	just	the	moment	when	I	needed	to
see	it. Now	it’s	my	turn,	to	try	to	put	together	some	piece	of	life’s	puzzle	for
those	who	look	to	me	as	one	who’s	done	it	herself. How	we	behave,	how	we
do	or	do	not	seek	to	bring	harmony	to	the	world	around	us,	are	holographicteachings	we’re	beaming	to	those	around	us	all	the	time. A	younger	friend,
who	is	like	a	little	sister	to	me,	has	said	to	me	more	than	once,	“You	think	I’m
ignoring	you,	but	I	am	listening	to	every	word. ”
Sometimes	I	meet	younger	people	at	my	lectures	whose	eyes	are	aglow	at
something	I’ve	said. (Don’t	get	me	wrong;	I’ve	also	seen	those	whose	eyes
were	rolling. ) I	know	the	thrill	of	being	young	and	hearing	ideas	you	haven’t
heard	before,	seeing	someone	model	a	role	in	the	culture	that	you	feel
beckoning	to	you. I	was	there	once. And	now	I’m	here. I	meet	the	young
woman	telling	me	she	wants	to	someday	do	what	I	do;	I	smile	and	say,	“You
go,	girl. ”	I	meet	the	young	man	who	bows	respectfully	and	hands	me	a	rose;	I
receive	it	tenderly,	respecting	the	generosity	of	his	gesture. The	elders	will	be	honored	when	we	behave	more	honorably. Midlife
doesn’t	feel	right	if	we	don’t	feel	we’re	dispensing	the	best	we’ve	got	before
we	go. Or	that	at	the	very	least,	we’re	trying. Dear	God,
May	I	be	worthy
of	an	honored	role
in	the	lives	of	those
who	are	younger	than	I. Show	me	how
to	use	Your	gifts	well,
and	how	to	pass	them	on. Amen
I’
VE	HEARD	MYTHICAL	AND	NOT-SO-MYTHICAL	STORIES	OF	OLDER	WOMEN
	who	moved	into	a
convent,	as	though	their	worldly	ride	was	over	and	from	here	on	out	they
would	drop	the	veil	on	worldly	concerns. But	I’ve	come	to	think	that	the
convent	experience	is	an	inner	domain,	maybe	externalized	and	maybe	not. The	convent	that	matters	is	a	space	in	the	heart,	where	you	live	for	God—but
that	isn’t	all. You	live	for	God	not	as	an	escape	from	the	world,	but	as	an
ultimate	effort	at	right	living	in	it. From	your	family	to	your	friends	to	your
citizenship	to	everyone	and	everything	you	know,	you	want	at	last	to	play	the
game	of	life	correctly. The	only	way	to	do	that,	you	finally	understand,	is	to
see	it	for	what	it	is. And	where	it	is. Life	isn’t	out	there. Life	is	with	God. When	I	used	to	think	of	women	in	the	Middle	Ages	going	into	a	convent	at
middle	age	(that	probably	would	have	meant	30	or	
35. ),	I	felt	so	sorry	for
them. No	fun. No	excitement. No	sex. Section summary: 

This passage explores themes of mid-life crisis, personal growth, self-reflection, forgiveness, love for oneself/sacrifice to others' well-being as a requirement for spiritual rebirth/rejuvenation at this stage in life when we're no longer care-free but more mature. Key points include:
* Age is not an excuse or justification for stagnancy - it's about transformation through inner change rather than external circumstances  
* Healing from childhood wounds requires acknowledging our role within those experiences   
   * Condemned by their own judgments ("If you've never experienced. "), then that judgment will sabotage your future

It seems like there are some common threads throughout these passages. Let me know if any further clarification needed. Is anything else i can do besides summarizing. Also would be great help with other questions regarding the book itself. Edit after re-writing : Here was my attempt :

**Summary**

No birth without death occurs without dying off something old first. Being free before becoming parents means being forever bound again later on. In middle age, maturity takes over while youthful suffering less torturous somehow because now aware. New psychological territory unfolds where one seeks respect instead of domination ; soul resides inside body so treat them lovingly. Treat bodies physically correctly & mind spiritually rejuvenated here. Spiritual healing comes forward once all worldly issues resolved into truthfulness which frees us to live responsibly towards ourselves only. Not realizing who created world doesn't work either. Then many people ask "When am I going to find out what should happen. " Instead learn character values such as authenticity honesty vulnerability acceptance faith humility compassion etc. ,. These traits don't just stop working due to time constraints [. ]
FACING OUR CHILDHOODE WOUNDS IN MIDDLE LIFE IS THE ONLY WAY TO ESCAPE THEIR CONSEQUENCES THROUGHOUT LIFETIME BY TAKES RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR ACTIONS NOW AND STOP JUDGING OTHER PEOPLE'S BEHAVIOR AS WELL. AND YOU CAN'T MAKE IT WITHOUT GOD HELP US TRANSFORM INTO WHO WE ARE MEANT TO BE. As long ago. Final Edit :
Here were two versions attempted:

Version **ONE**
https://www. overleaf. com/project/22234567890/edit#/

[link removed]

Would appreciate feedback/input please :).
The midlife crisis is a turning point where one must confront and resolve the unresolved issues from their childhood, and it is the only way to break free from the patterns of the past and start anew.
According to the author, what is the significance of the midlife crisis?
Forgiveness is crucial, as it allows us to move forward and break free from the past, and it's not just about forgetting what happened but about learning from it and growing as a person.
What is the author's perspective on the importance of forgiveness?
The author believes that time is not limited, and that it's the way we think about it that determines the quality of our lives. They argue that our perception of time changes as we grow older and that we can't just blame others for what happened in the past.
What is the author's view on the concept of time?
The author suggests that we must take responsibility for our actions and learn from them, and not blame others or ourselves. They emphasize the importance of forgiveness and not dwelling on the past.
How does the author think we should deal with our past mistakes?
The author argues that the ego is a destructive force that holds us back and prevents us from moving forward. They emphasize the importance of self-awareness, forgiveness, and self-acceptance to overcome the ego's negative influence.
What is the author's message about the concept of the ego?