sexta-feira, 12 de dezembro de 2025

Declaration of Interdependence

 


Unsplash


 

Such has been the patient sufferance…

We’re a mother’s bread, instant potatoes, milk at a checkout line. We’re her three children pleading for bubble gum and their father. We’re the three minutes she steals to page through a tabloid, needing to believe even stars’ lives are as joyful and bruised.

Our repeated petitions have been answered only by repeated injury…

We’re her second job serving an executive absorbed in his Wall Street Journal at a sidewalk café shadowed by skyscrapers. We’re the shadows of the fortune he won and the family he lost. We’re his loss and the lost. We’re a father in a coal town who can’t mine a life anymore because too much and too little has happened, for too long.

A history of repeated injuries and usurpations…

We’re the grit of his main street’s blacked-out windows and graffitied truths. We’re a street in another town lined with royal palms, at home with a Peace Corps couple who collect African art. We’re their dinner-party talk of wines, wielded picket signs, and burned draft cards. We’re what they know: it’s time to do more than read the New York Times, buy fair-trade coffee and organic corn.

In every stage of these oppressions we have petitioned for redress…

We’re the farmer who grew the corn, who plows into his couch as worn as his back by the end of the day. We’re his TV set blaring news having everything and nothing to do with the field dust in his eyes or his son nested in the ache of his arms. We’re his son. We’re a black teenager who drove too fast or too slow, talked too much or too little, moved too quickly, but not quick enough. We’re the blast of the bullet leaving the gun. We’re the guilt and the grief of the cop who wished he hadn’t shot.

We mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor…

We’re the dead, we’re the living amid the flicker of vigil candlelight. We’re in a dim cell with an inmate reading Dostoevsky. We’re his crime, his sentence, his amends, we’re the mending of ourselves and others. We’re a Buddhist serving soup at a shelter alongside a stockbroker. We’re each other’s shelter and hope: a widow’s fifty cents in a collection plate and a golfer’s ten-thousand-dollar pledge for a cure.

We hold these truths to be self-evident…

We’re the cure for hatred caused by despair. We’re the good morning of a bus driver who remembers our name, the tattooed man who gives up his seat on the subway. We’re every door held open with a smile when we look into each other’s eyes the way we behold the moon. We’re the moon. We’re the promise of one people, one breath declaring to one another: I see you. I need you. I am you.



Richard Blanco



The Trick to Having a Village?

 


Freepik




The idea of “the village” 
looms large in our restless minds, but 
the image of it is less defined.


It takes a village to raise a child, we say. 
But it also takes a village to raise a parent. 
And sometimes, it takes a village to hold together an entire family, or a community, that is stretched thin by worry, love, and obligation.

We know the proverbial village is important, critical even. 
But there’s no real manual for starting or sustaining the kind of community we want. 
Actually, for many of us, it’s not even entirely clear if we know what we want. 

The idea of “the village” looms large in our restless minds, but the image of it—the shape of it, how it feels, the boundaries, who’s involved—is defined less by aspirational clarity and more by the aching suspicion that we don’t quite have it.

For many, winter is the season when the myth of the village feels most palpable. We remember how much we still need one, how much we never had one, how much we’ve lost ours, or how much of it we’ve been trying to build on our own.

Perhaps we arrive at a table that looks like the real thing, decorated for the holidays, and surrounded by people we love. And yet, something’s off. Suddenly, the past sits at the table with the present. Old roles rise. Old wounds reappear. Old expectations tighten around us. Even in the midst of joy, there can be grief, ambivalence, or a quiet dread that we will get pulled back into dynamics we’ve spent years trying to change. 

What do we owe the people at this table? 
What do we owe ourselves?

Two recent episodes of Where Should We Begin? explore the tenderness of what we owe the people we love and why community is essential to meeting those obligations.

In “You Need Help to Help Her,” two devoted parents arrive to the session with a desperation recognizable to so many: their daughter, once thriving, has retreated into her room, spending nearly all day online, disengaged from school, friends, and daily life.

They speak quietly, almost guiltily, about how few people know what is happening, how they don’t want to burden others, and how they’ve been lying to family and friends to protect their daughter and perhaps themselves. Their daughter’s withdrawal has become their withdrawal. This is a part of caregiving that is rarely spoken about.

When a child is suffering—whether through depression, anxiety, illness, addiction, or profound overwhelm—the parents often become cloistered as well. The child retreats, and the family contracts. The world gets smaller, the shame grows larger, and the parents are left holding a secret that becomes heavier by the day. 

But caregiving was never meant to be a solitary act.

Talking to another parent who has been where we are, seeking help from a counselor, joining a support group . . . these forms of reaching out for help are not a betrayal of the person we love. They are the actions that allow us to remain connected to ourselves, our loved one, and to the larger world we need in order to sustain the long work of care. 


The village is both a support system and a reality check. 
It’s a reminder that 
you are not meant to parent in a vacuum.

Likewise, we’re not meant 
to take care of our parents in a vacuum. 


In “Mothering My Mother Into Mothering Me,” a woman calls in to talk about the lifelong experience of being the emotional grown up in a family where the adults were struggling. Her words echo the stories of so many people who were asked—quietly, implicitly, and far too early—to hold responsibilities well beyond their age.

Parentification leaves a long shadow. 
It teaches a child to over-function, to anticipate everyone’s needs, and to see their own vulnerability as a threat to the family’s stability. That legacy often stretches into adulthood: struggling to ask for help, confusing boundaries with disloyalty, feeling guilty for having needs, feeling responsible for everyone’s emotions, and finding it easier to be the caretaker than the one who is cared for.

The latter episode is not just about a mother and daughter. 
It’s about the invisible contracts children enter when a family system is overwhelmed as well as the courage it takes to renegotiate those contracts as an adult.



Both of these episodes, in their own ways, ask us to revisit a set of essential questions:

  1. Where did I learn to carry so much on my own?
  2. What would happen if I allowed myself to put even a little of it down?
  3. What might change if I ask for help?
  4. What would it take to allow myself to accept the help I need?
  5. In asking for and accepting help, can I support others to do the same?

These are the questions that transform the mythical, blurry image of “the village” from a mirage into something real and rooted. It’s not neat. It’s rarely pretty. The real village rarely is. It’s a place where burdens are occasionally shared and shoulders are often cried on. And sometimes, particularly around the holidays, the village is a place where we express gratitude for one another as we look back on all we have endured and where we might go together next.



Let’s Turn the Lens on You

Your Village, Your Story

As you move into the final weeks of the year, reflect on the village you have, the village you need, and the village you want to build. Here is a practice to try this month:

The Village Inventory

1. Who are you carrying? 

Name one person whose emotional life you tend to hold more than your share.

2. Who carries you? 

Name one person with whom you can soften, talk to candidly, and/or ask for help.

3. Where are you hiding? 

Identify one place where silence or secrecy has replaced connection.

4. Where do you need to loosen a pattern?
 
Is there a conversation you need to have with the person who came to mind in your answer to question one? 
What would it look like to initiate that conversation with kind differentiation—not by withdrawing, not by over-functioning, but by honoring your care for this person and your care for yourself? 
There’s no need to act right now; think of this as a thought experiment. 
Example: in “You Need Help to Help Her,” this could look like the parents saying 
“We love you and we’re here. But we can’t hide from the world with you.”


5. What part of you needs a village right now?

  • Is it the overwhelmed parent?
  • The tired child?
  • The adult longing for reciprocity?
  • The partner trying to do it all?

Now, choose one small action—telling one truth, asking one question, letting one person in—that lets your village, however small, grow one person wider.


 Esther Perel 


terça-feira, 9 de dezembro de 2025

"We Made Deepak Chopra Rich. Then He Befriended a Predator. "

 




What the Epstein Files 
Reveal About 
American Spirituality


Last week, the House Oversight Committee released over 20,000 pages from Jeffrey Epstein’s estate. Wellness guru Deepak Chopra’s name appeared throughout. Not just mentioned. Embedded. The emails reveal a years-long relationship between a convicted sex offender and one of the world’s most prominent spiritual teachers, a man whose empire is built on promises of healing, consciousness, and transcendence.


The Receipts
Here’s some of what we know:

March 6, 2017: Chopra emails Epstein: “Lat night was a blast. Ended 1 AM.”

Epstein replies: “I’m glad.”



November 2016: 
When a woman drops her lawsuit alleging that Epstein sexually abused her when she was 13 years old, Epstein sends Chopra a news article about it. 
Chopra asks: “Did she also drop the civil case against you?”

“YuP,” Epstein replies.

Chopra responds: “Good.”



This wasn’t a one-time contact. 
CBS News reports that Chopra appears in Epstein’s appointment calendars “at least a dozen times in 2016, 2017 and 2019.” 
They met one-on-one. 
They had dinners with Woody Allen and his wife. 
Their last documented meeting was in April 2019, just three months before Epstein’s arrest on federal sex trafficking charges.

This was nine years after Epstein’s 2008 conviction for soliciting prostitution from a minor. 
Everyone knew who Jeffrey Epstein was. 
Chopra kept showing up.


When pressed, Chopra told CBS News that 
“Jeffrey Epstein was introduced to me by Barnaby Marsh, former CEO of the Templeton Foundation, as someone who could potentially fund research on the brain and consciousness.” 
Chopra said their meetings were about treating Epstein’s struggles with sleep through meditation, and that “our meetings, focused solely on practicing meditation, lasted about 30 minutes each.”

“Last night was a blast. Ended 1 AM” doesn’t sound like a 30-minute meditation session to me.


This Is About Us, Not Him

Most commentary on Chopra stops here. 
Outrage at his association with Epstein, calls for accountability, no surprise that a “spiritual leader” is exposed as morally corrupt.

But that misses the deeper question: 
Why are we drawn to figures like Chopra in the first place?

Chopra’s Epstein problem is actually our problem. 
We created him. 
We gave him power. 
We made him rich. 
And until we understand why, we’ll just create the next version of him.


As a scholar of religious ethics, I’m less interested in whether Deepak Chopra is a “good person” or a “bad person” than in what his success reveals about American religious culture. 
What does his popularity tell us about ourselves?

The Wise Asian Sage: A Story We Keep Telling Ourselves

Scholar Prea Persaud wrote a brilliant analysis of Jay Shetty (another “monk” turned wellness entrepreneur whose story has been questioned). She argues that figures like Shetty and Chopra are “only successful because [they are] giving us exactly what we want in the exact form we want it.”


Drawing on Edward Said’s concept of Orientalism, Persaud argues that the construction of “the East” always reflects Western anxiety and desires. Sometimes the East gets dismissed as barbaric and superstitious in contrast to a rational, scientific West. Other times (like now) the West gets seen as too materialistic and individualistic, lacking the spiritual depth found in the East.

This isn’t new. From the Transcendentalists (Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau) to Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love, Americans have repeatedly turned to Asian and South Asian spiritual figures to provide what we assume is missing in Western life.

Persaud notes that these figures succeed by translating “the ‘wisdom’ from the East into the ‘language of the West’ without the bothersome trappings of their particular cultural contexts.” 
They become what she calls: 
“oriental monks” who “have traditionally accentuated their foreignness through their physical appearance (orange robes, ‘Eastern clothing,’ long beards, etc.) as well as an aura of peacefulness.”

Chopra fits this pattern perfectly. 
Though he was educated as a physician in Western medicine, his authority comes from his Indian heritage and his claims to have accessed ancient Eastern wisdom. He ditched the orange robes for stylish clothing and a clean-shaven face, but he kept what Persaud calls “the soft voice and the aura of the calm oriental monk.”

The genius of figures like Chopra is that they claim to have distilled the “true essence” of Eastern religions. 

As Persaud writes:
“No need to label anything or separate it as ‘Hinduism,’ ‘Buddhism,’ ‘Jainism,’ etc. because they’ve extracted the ‘Truth,’ which gets lost in all the messy cultural stuff, disguising the insights and benefits, the core. And access to the core is exactly what we desire.”

Prea Persaud

The vagueness is the point. 
Chopra presents his spirituality in intentionally hazy terms. 
That’s what his followers want and require. 

Words like “Vedic” and “Ayurvedic” and “consciousness” get deployed not for precision but for atmosphere. They’re foreign enough to sound ancient and authentic, vague enough that you can project whatever meaning you want onto them.

This vagueness serves a crucial function. 
It gives us permission to access spirituality without needing to change anything about our lives. 
You can embrace Chopra’s teachings while remaining fully embedded in capitalist consumer culture. You can be “spiritual” without the demanding ethical commitments of actual religious practice. 
You can buy his $350 meditation glasses and $10,000-a-year “anti-aging” packages and call it enlightenment.

And wait, there is more. 
Chopra’s Western western medical credentials make his quantum mysticism more credible, not less. 
He’s a licensed physician, board-certified, with appointments at prestigious institutions. 
He has the scientific authority of the West combined with the spiritual authenticity of the East. 
He’s the perfect hybrid.

He makes claims like “consciousness may exist in photons” and “the moon exists in consciousness, no consciousness, no moon” that scientists dismiss as nonsense. 

Richard Dawkins calls his work “quantum jargon as plausible-sounding hocus pocus” 
And biologist Jerry Coyne calls him a pseudoscientist “showing all the characteristics of that genre, including the use of meaningless jargon that sounds profound, a refusal to discuss serious criticism of his views, and a deep sense of persecution by ‘the establishment.’” 

But none of this matters. 
His followers aren’t looking for scientific rigor. 
They’re looking for the feeling of profundity that comes from someone who seems to bridge science and spirituality, West and East, material and transcendent.

The scientific-sounding language makes followers feel like they’re accessing cutting-edge knowledge. 
The Indian heritage makes it feel ancient and authentic. 
The vagueness means you can interpret it however you want.

And this approach sells. 
Chopra’s empire is worth an estimated $150-200 million. 
He’s published over 90 books that have sold more than 25 million copies. 
His business grosses over $20 million annually. 
He charges $25,000-$30,000 per speaking engagement. 
He has celebrity endorsements from Oprah, Madonna, and Michael Jackson.


The Pattern: “Spiritual But Not Religious” Isn’t the Solution We Think It Is

Here’s the structural problem that goes far beyond Chopra himself.

We correctly critique religious institutions when they enable abuse. 
We demand accountability from churches, mosques, synagogues. 
We hold clergy to ethical standards. 
We expect transparency, oversight, and consequences when people in power exploit the vulnerable.

But when it comes to spiritual gurus? 
We seem to assume they’re “outside” those oppressive institutional systems, even though there’s plenty of evidence that spiritual teachers can abuse power just as readily as religious clergy.

The power dynamics are even similar. 
Charismatic authority, vulnerable seekers, promised transcendence, specialized knowledge that creates an asymmetric relationship.

One critical difference? 
Spiritual gurus have zero institutional accountability within the wellness industry.

When clergy abuse their power, we can point to institutional failures. 
The hierarchy that protected predators, the denominational structures that prioritized reputation over victims, the theological frameworks that demanded unquestioning obedience. But institutions (for all their profound failures) at least have structures for accountability. Denominations can defrock clergy. Ethics boards can investigate complaints. Congregations can organize for reform. Victims can appeal to higher authorities.

What accountability structure exists for Deepak Chopra? 
None. No ethics board. No denominational oversight. No governing body to whom complaints can be filed. No transparency requirements. No institutional checks on individual charisma.

Just the guru, their followers, and the market. 
And the market rewards charisma, not ethics.

The “spiritual but not religious” move promises liberation from oppressive religious structures. 
But what it often delivers is individualized spiritual consumption with even less accountability than institutional religion offered. You get all the asymmetric power dynamics of the guru-disciple relationship with none of the institutional structures that might constrain abuse.

This doesn’t mean institutional religion is good. 
Religious institutions have enabled horrific abuse, and their accountability structures often fail catastrophically. 
But it does mean that the solution to bad institutions isn’t necessary no institutions.
It might be better institutions. 
Or at minimum, some form of collective accountability beyond individual consumer choice.


What This Reveals About Us

So what are we actually hungry for when we turn to figures like Chopra?

  1. We want spiritual depth without material sacrifice. 
  2. We want ancient wisdom without cultural context. 
  3. We want transformation without discomfort. 
  4. We want to feel enlightened without actually changing our lives.

Chopra gives us exactly that. 
  • He tells us consciousness can cure cancer. 
  • That quantum physics proves we create our own reality. 
  • That ancient Vedic wisdom (unspecified) holds the secrets to health, wealth, and happiness. 
  • That we can “optimize” ourselves into enlightenment.

He never asks us to give anything up. 
To join a community with obligations. 
To submit to ethical frameworks that might constrain our choices. 
To grapple with theological questions that don’t have easy answers.

He just asks us to buy things. 
Books. Courses. Retreats. Supplements. Apps. Meditation glasses.






What Now?
Chopra’s relationship with Epstein reveals the moral bankruptcy at the heart of his project. 
You don’t maintain a years-long friendship with a convicted sex offender, express relief when his accusers drop their cases, and tell him your time together was “a blast” if you’re genuinely committed to healing and consciousness.

But this goes beyond one guru’s moral failures.

In 1996, a former employee filed a sexual harassment lawsuit against Chopra, alleging he made “numerous unwelcome sexual overtures” and that she had to answer calls from women with whom Chopra was having affairs. Chopra denied the allegations and countersued for blackmail. A jury rejected the employee’s lawsuit in 2000 after deliberating for only ten minutes. A jury also rejected Chopra’s blackmail claim.

In 2021, an anonymous woman published a detailed account describing how Chopra sexually exploited her when she was a patient at the Chopra Center seeking treatment for addiction. 
She writes that he initiated a sexual relationship with her while she was vulnerable, in his care, and had disclosed childhood sexual abuse to him in therapy sessions. 
Chopra denies these allegations.

I’m not a lawyer or investigator. 
I don’t know what happened in these cases. 
But I do know that patterns matter. 
And I know that when we give individuals this much power, this much wealth, this much uncritical devotion (with no accountability structures whatsoever), we create conditions where abuse becomes not just possible but likely.


So what do we do?

First, we stop assuming that “spiritual” equals “safe” or that rejecting institutional religion makes someone immune to corruption and abuse of power.

Second, we believe survivors when they tell us about abuse in spiritual contexts, just as we’re (slowly) learning to believe survivors in religious contexts.

Third, we get honest about our own complicity. 
What were we hoping to gain from teachers like Chopra? 
What shortcuts were we hoping to take? 
What responsibilities were we hoping to avoid?

Fourth, we build better structures. 
If religious institutions have failed us, the answer isn’t no structure. It’s better structure. We need accountability frameworks for spiritual teachers. Ethics standards. Transparency requirements. Ways for communities to address harm.

Finally, we do the actual work. 
Real spiritual transformation requires ethical commitment, community accountability, and the willingness to be changed in uncomfortable ways. 
It can’t be purchased. It can’t be optimized. 
It can’t be achieved by buying the right products or following the right guru.

Chopra will be fine. 
His empire will survive this revelation. 
His followers will find ways to rationalize his behavior or simply ignore it. 

As of this publication, Chopra hasn’t addressed his Epstein connections. 
Yesterday’s Substack post from him? 
“Why Creating Reality Is Personal: Reconciling Quantum Physics and Vedanta.” 
Business as usual.

The question is whether we’ll learn anything. 
Whether we’ll do the actual work of building spiritual lives that don’t require guru worship and unaccountable charismatic authority. 
Whether we’ll stop outsourcing our ethics to individuals who promise us easy answers.

The Epstein files revealed a lot about Deepak Chopra.

But what they reveal about us (about what we want, what we’re willing to ignore, what we’re afraid to face) is the real story.

And until we’re willing to look at that story honestly, we’ll just keep creating the next version of him.



Liz Bucar




sexta-feira, 5 de dezembro de 2025

Bypass – The Two Voices







 Like a man and a woman – arguing
The ego’s two voices do their thing
All day and night, the story goes
Like a river, a continuous flow

A conflicting conversation as old as time
Yet told with the subtlety of an ancient rhyme
The first one says it’s never enough
The second calls the former’s bluff

And thinks itself on a higher plane
But it’s really just the first again.
Playing the trickster, making a fool,
Turning your intentions back on you.

Using an insidious form of bypass,
To avoid looking in the looking-glass.



Aaron Waddell





Spiritual Bypassing





 

Spiritual bypassing is 
the use of spiritual ideas and practices to avoid or suppress unresolved emotional issues, psychological wounds, and difficult life experiences. 


Instead of addressing pain, a person might retreat into practices like prayer or meditation as an escape, which can prevent deeper healing and growth. 

The term was introduced by psychologist John Welwood and can manifest as avoiding personal responsibility or using faith to dismiss uncomfortable emotions, as seen in instances of "toxic positivity". 

How it works

  • Avoids emotional pain: It uses spiritual beliefs to justify ignoring or denying emotions like grief, anger, or trauma.
  • Hinders growth: By sidestepping uncomfortable but necessary work, individuals can develop a false sense of enlightenment without true inner healing.
  • Shuts down healing: Instead of processing experiences, it offers a superficial layer of escape, preventing deeper, more integrated healing.
  • Manifests as toxic positivity: In some cases, it appears as a belief that one should always feel good or "above" pain, suppressing valid negative feelings. 

 

Examples of spiritual bypassing

  1. Telling someone to "just have faith" or "give it to God" instead of acknowledging their pain or working through it.
  2. Using affirmations to avoid confronting a difficult reality or a psychological wound.
  3. Focusing solely on spiritual practices as an escape from challenging situations, rather than engaging with reality.
  4. Dismissing one's own valid negative feelings by saying they are not "spiritual" or "good" enough.
  5. In a relationship, failing to take responsibility for one's actions and instead blaming spiritual, not personal, reasons for bad behavior. 

How to avoid spiritual bypassing

  • Acknowledge all feelings: Accept all emotions, positive or negative, as valid and temporary.
  • Face the "shadow": Engage with and integrate the difficult parts of yourself rather than trying to suppress them.
  • Use spirituality as a tool, not an escape: Spiritual practices can be powerful, but they are most effective when used to support, not replace, the hard work of emotional and psychological healing.
  • Embrace discomfort: Use uncomfortable feelings as a catalyst for positive change and action, rather than as a signal to escape. 

Created by IA





Spiritual bypassing is a term I coined to describe a process I saw happening in the Buddhist community I was in, and also in myself. Although most of us were sincerely trying to work on ourselves, I noticed a widespread tendency to use spiritual ideas and practices to sidestep or avoid facing unresolved emotional issues, psychological wounds, and unfinished developmental tasks.

When we are spiritually bypassing, we often use the goal of awakening or liberation to rationalize what I call premature transcendence: trying to rise above the raw and messy side of our humanness before we have fully faced and made peace with it. And then we tend to use absolute truth to disparage or dismiss relative human needs, feelings, psychological problems, relational difficulties, and developmental deficits. I see this as an “occupational hazard” of the spiritual path, in that spirituality does involve a vision of going beyond our current karmic situation.

Trying to move beyond our psychological and emotional issues by sidestepping them is dangerous. 
It sets up a debilitating split between the buddha and the human within us. 
And it leads to a conceptual, one-sided kind of spirituality where one pole of life is elevated at the expense of its opposite: Absolute truth is favored over relative truth, the impersonal over the personal, emptiness over form, transcendence over embodiment, and detachment over feeling. 
One might, for example, try to practice nonattachment by dismissing one’s need for love, but this only drives the need underground, so that it often becomes unconsciously acted out in covert and possibly harmful ways instead.

I’m interested in how spiritual bypassing plays out in relationships, where it often wreaks its worst havoc. If you were a yogi in a cave doing years of solo retreat, your psychological wounding might not show up so much because your focus would be entirely on your practice, in an environment that may not aggravate your relational wounds. 

It’s in relationships that our unresolved psychological issues tend to show up most intensely. 
That’s because psychological wounds are always relational — they form in and through our relationships with our early caretakers.

The basic human wound, which is prevalent in the modern world, forms around not feeling loved or intrinsically lovable as we are. 
Inadequate love or attunement is shocking and traumatic for a child’s developing and highly sensitive nervous system. 
And as we internalize how we were parented, our capacity to value ourselves, which is also the basis for valuing others, becomes damaged. 
I call this a “relational wound“ or the “wound of the heart.”

There is a whole body of study and research in Western psychology showing how close bonding and loving attunement— what is known as “secure attachment” — have powerful impacts on every aspect of human development. 
Secure attachment has a tremendous effect on many dimensions of our health, well-being, and capacity to function effectively in the world: how our brains form, how well our endocrine and immune systems function, how we handle emotions, how subject we are to depression, how our nervous system functions and handles stress, and how we relate to others.

In contrast to the indigenous cultures of traditional Asia, modern child-rearing leaves most people suffering from symptoms of insecure attachment: 
self-hatred, disembodiment, lack of grounding, chronic insecurity and anxiety, overactive minds, lack of basic trust, and a deep sense of inner deficiency. 
So most of us suffer from an extreme degree of alienation and disconnection that was unknown in earlier times— from society, community, family, older generations, nature, religion, tradition, our body, our feelings, and our humanity itself.

Being a good spiritual practitioner can become what I call a compensatory identity that covers up and defends against an underlying deficient identity, where we feel badly about ourselves, not good enough, or basically lacking. 
Then, although we may be practicing diligently, our spiritual practice can be used in the service of denial and defense. And when spiritual practice is used to bypass our real-life human issues, it becomes compartmentalized in a separate zone of our life, and remains unintegrated with our overall functioning.

In my psychotherapy practice I often work with students who have engaged in spiritual practice for decades. I respect how their practice has been beneficial for them. Yet despite the sincerity as practitioners, their practice is not fully penetrating their life. 

They seek out psychological work because they remain wounded and not fully developed on the emotional/relational/personal level, and they may be acting out their wounding in harmful ways.

It’s not uncommon to speak beautifully about the basic goodness or innate perfection of our true nature, but then have difficulty trusting it when one’s psychological wounds are triggered. 

Often dharma students who have developed some kindness and compassion for others are hard on themselves for falling short of their spiritual ideals, and, as a result, their spiritual practice becomes dry and solemn. Or being of benefit to others turns into a duty, or a way of trying to feel good about themselves. Others may unconsciously use their spiritual brilliance to feed their narcissistic inflation and devalue others or treat them in manipulative ways.

Meditation is also frequently used to avoid uncomfortable feelings and unresolved life situations. 
For those in denial about their personal feelings or wounds, meditation practice can reinforce a tendency toward coldness, disengagement, or interpersonal distance. They are at a loss when it comes to relating directly to their feelings or to expressing themselves personally in a transparent way. It can be quite threatening when those of us on a spiritual path have to face our woundedness, or emotional dependency, or primal need for love.

I’ve often seen how attempts to be nonattached are used in the service of sealing people off from their human and emotional vulnerabilities. In effect, identifying oneself as a spiritual practitioner becomes used as a way of avoiding a depth of personal engagement with others that might stir up old wounds and longings for love. It’s painful to see someone maintaining a stance of detachment when underneath they are starving for positive experiences of bonding and connection.

To grow into a healthy human being, we need a base of secure attachment in the positive, psychological sense, meaning: close emotional ties to other people that promote connectedness, grounded embodiment, and well-being. 

As John Muir the naturalist wrote: 
“When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find that it is bound fast by a thousand invisible cords that cannot be broken, to everything in the universe.” 

Similarly, the hand cannot function unless it is attached to the arm—that’s attachment in the positive sense. 
We’re interconnected, interwoven, and interdependent with everything in the universe. 
On the human level we can’t help feeling somewhat attached to people we are close to.

From my perspective as an existential psychologist, feeling is a form of intelligence. 
It’s the body’s direct, holistic, intuitive way of knowing and responding. 
It is highly attuned and intelligent. And it takes account of many factors all at once, unlike our conceptual mind, which can only process one thing at a time. 
Unlike emotionality, which is a reactivity that is directed outward, feeling often helps you contact deep inner truths.

The truth is, most of us don’t get as triggered anywhere in our lives as much as in intimate relationships. 
So if we use spiritual bypassing to avoid facing our relational wounds, we’re missing out on a tremendous area of practice. 
Relational practice helps us develop compassion “in the trenches,” where our wounds are most activated.

I help people inquire deeply into their felt experience and let it gradually reveal itself and unfold, step by step. I call this “tracking and unpacking”: 
You track the process of present experiencing, following it closely and seeing where it leads. 
And you unpack the beliefs, identities, and feelings that are subconscious or implicit in what you’re experiencing. 

When we bring awareness to our experience in this way, it’s like unraveling a tangled ball of yarn: different knots are gradually revealed and untangled one by one.

As a result, we find that we’re able to be present in places where we’ve been absent or disconnected from our experience. Through reaching out to parts of ourselves that need our help, we develop an intimate, grounded kind of inner attunement with ourselves, which can help us more easily relate to others where they are stuck as well.

I see relationship as the leading edge of human evolution at this time in history. 
Although humanity discovered enlightenment thousands of years ago, we still haven’t brought that illumination very fully into the area of interpersonal relationships.

John Welwood









Spiritual bypassing is the pattern where people leap into spirituality prematurely - adopting spiritual language, rituals, or identities without doing the necessary shadow work, character work, or the slow, uncomfortable process of addressing unresolved emotional material and restoring energetic balance.

We see spiritual bypassing especially in healer and spirituality circles - astrology included - where many of us quickly slip into “God talk,” high-vibration language, or spiritual practices before completing the important work of shadow confrontation.

Spiritual bypassing can manifest as:

the “I’m above this” stance, or
the more service-oriented form that stems from the Wounded Healer archetype

Carl Jung was one of the first to articulate the “Wounded Healer” concept - the idea that healers often project their own abandoned, victimized inner child onto the people they want to help, unconsciously attempting to heal themselves through others.

The issue is that when healers themselves are wounded, their helping can come from a place of bias or narcissistic injury.

This can manifest as rescue fantasies, control dynamics, blurred boundaries, or a subtle need to be needed - where the ‘healer’ can do more damage than good, by passing down their own wounded material to the people they are trying to help.

We all know people like this…

And if we’re really honest, we can probably recognize a few of these patterns within ourselves too.

Auch.

That “auch” is actually the most important moment.

If you’ve ever felt that tiny sting of “ouch… this might be me,” then welcome to Shadow! 
That flash of self-recognition is the very essence of Shadow work.

“This might be me” is the most difficult moment in any inner journey - yet it’s also where the most growth happens. 
This moment of self-recognition is what makes the difference between spiritual bypassing and genuine transformation.

Trauma, Shadow, And Spiritual Bypassing

Perhaps this is why the term “Shadow” is so often confused with trauma or with the difficult things that have happened to us.

When we focus exclusively on trauma - which, being rooted in one’s past, is astrologically linked to the IC - we cannot move forward to the next stage of the individuation process: confronting the Shadow, which corresponds to the Descendant.

This is not to minimize the role of trauma or its damaging effects. 
It’s a well-known fact that people who have experienced severe trauma have a far more complex task ahead of them - emotionally, psychologically, and somatically.

But it is important to conceptually differentiate between the 2, because Trauma work and Shadow work require very different approaches.

Trauma calls for trauma-informed support - therapeutic, somatic, or clinical frameworks that help stabilize and heal the nervous system.

Shadow, on the other hand, is encountered through projection - through what we see in others, react to in others, idealize in others, or feel pulled toward in one-on-one relationships.

Trauma is rooted in the past. 
Shadow is activated in the present.

While trauma requires healing, 
Shadow requires integration.

If we consider the psyche developmentally, trauma comes before shadow. 
Here is the “formula,” translated into astrological language using the 4 angles of the natal chart:

Ascendant (Purpose → Ego development)
→ IC (Past / Trauma / Early conditioning)
→ Descendant (Shadow work and relational mirrors)
→ Midheaven (Individuation OR spiritual bypassing / virtue signaling).

Sometimes, when we can’t deal with trauma directly - or when the usual coping strategies stop working - what does work is moving to the next step in the individuation process: Shadow.

Shadow work can be the bridge between trauma and genuine individuation.

Spiritual bypassing, however, is a sign that true Shadow work has been skipped. 
The person has moved straight from IC/trauma to Midheaven/Higher Self, bypassing - or doing incomplete work on - the Descendant stage of Shadow integration.

People who struggle with compulsions, addictions, temper tantrums, or a general sense of “not having grown up yet,” are operating primarily from the IC stage of individuation.

They haven’t done Shadow work because they don’t know how, haven’t been taught how, or haven’t yet developed the internal motivation or psychic structure required to move to the next stage.

Spiritual bypassing is something different.

It mimics Shadow work - or does it halfway.

Unlike people who are stuck in the IC stage, the spiritual bypasser has developed strategies that function well on the surface. They can delay gratification. They can present well socially. They can achieve, succeed, or even inspire others.

But something fundamental has been skipped along the way.

True Shadow work.

When we don’t do shadow work - which is ultimately the process of embracing our whole Self, the good and the bad, the flattering and the unflattering - we cannot be whole.

Even if we achieve success, we don’t fully enjoy it. 
We feel like impostors. We feel anxious, restless, or vaguely unfulfilled. There’s a lingering sense that “there must be more”.

So what happens when Shadow work is skipped?

The Cost Of Skipping Shadow Work

A split occurs - the classic good vs. bad divide in the psyche. The “good” parts are embraced, and the “bad” parts get projected outward.

The spiritually bypassing person naturally places themselves among the “good ones”. And everyone who doesn’t share their views, methods, or level of “awareness” becomes one of the “bad ones”.

The “enemy” becomes the dumping ground for all the negative material the psyche cannot bear to contain on its own.

This splitting strategy kind of works - at least for a while - because it creates a sense of meaning, coherence, and legitimacy. And the psyche loves coherence: “That’s me.” “I’ve always been like this.” “This is who I am.”

But there is a cost.

The cost of not dealing with the Shadow is massive energy consumption.

It takes enormous psychic effort to exile parts of yourself, keep them unconscious, and continually project them outward onto others. There is only so much pressure the unconscious can absorb - only so much our psyche can stuff down and hide in the dark.

At some point, the bubble has to burst.

Eventually, the facade collapses. 
By then, we are so entangled in our own story of who we are - the identity our psyche has carefully constructed to give our life coherence - that we no longer know who we really are.

Because that virtuous, spiritual Self is only half of who we are. The other half sits in a kind of psychic exile, a hole within us that will eventually press to be reclaimed.

And it will be reclaimed. Sooner or later. In this lifetime or the next.

By us - or by our partners, children, or the people closest to us.

Because not dealing with the Shadow has repercussions far beyond our own psychological comfort.

Shadow - Nothing Is Lost, Everything Is Transformed

According to one of the basic principles of physics: nothing is lost - energy is either transferred or transformed.

When the energy 
is not transformed, 
it is transferred. 

This principle explains so much of what we call intergenerational trauma.

Unintegrated psychic material doesn’t disappear - it spills into the relational field, shaping family dynamics, attachment patterns, emotional wounds, and even entire lifelines.

This is why so many children of high-caliber celebrities, successful entrepreneurs, scientists, or public figures - people recognized for excellence, achievement, or “high vibration” virtues - end up stumbling into addiction, emotional volatility, or tragic life stories.

Because the more the parent constructs a facade of being extraordinarily evolved, moral, spiritual, or exceptional, the more exiled the unintegrated material becomes - and that exiled energy has to go somewhere.

Often, it is the people closest to them who unconsciously absorb what the parent refuses to integrate. The child becomes the carrier of the unresolved.

It is this paradox that rings painfully true: 
the more virtuous the parent appears, the more burdened the child often becomes.

The issue, as we can assume, is that the parent is not truly virtuous. This virtuosity has been constructed - achieved by skipping the necessary steps of genuine self-confrontation, genuine humility, and genuine transformation.

It’s the same principle behind spiritual bypassing. In nature - and in life - nothing can truly be bypassed.

Acting from a “higher self,” feeling morally superior, or imagining ourselves as the “better person” can often be signs of an unintegrated Shadow.

Integrating The Shadow

Human nature is messy. We are not born evolved human beings. Of course, Shadow work is not an excuse to throw tantrums or justify bad behavior - at least not beyond our Saturn return.

But it is an invitation to accept our humanity, to welcome the parts of ourselves we might find less desirable, less flattering, or less convenient.

It means paying attention to what we don’t want to deal with. 
To what irritates us. 
To what makes us angry. 
What gets under our skin. 
What we judge. 
What we idealize. 
What we can’t stop thinking about.


The solution is not always to “take a deep breath”. 
Sometimes, no matter how much meditation we do or how many positive affirmations we repeat,
 “this shall NOT pass” - because it’s not meant to.

Sometimes the inevitable next step is to do the real, uncomfortable, liberating work of Shadow integration.



in, Astro Butterfly




terça-feira, 2 de dezembro de 2025

No Closure

 




Not had closure cannot be enough
You always were a guy tough
Smoothened the diamond rough

And then I was left second guessing
The sky the clouds the rainbows
the sunrise increasingly distressing

Love we cannot have
Friends we cannot be
What else is left for me to be?

A writer of pomes and dreadful tomes?
Explain where the deceit came in?
When lies were hidden from the beginning?

What am I to you?
Just another lark a song?
Why did you do me this wrong
Why did you pick me from the throngs?

Tell me all for I cannot hold it longer
I will take it to my resting place
Please tell me all Can things get any wronger?
For once revive me from this daze


The Muse




Closure Is a Myth


Freepik



 Moving forward without 
resolution, understanding, or apology.


The last conversation you had with your brother was an argument about something neither of you can remember now. He died three weeks later in an accident that gave neither of you time to fix anything. No reconciliation. No final understanding. No chance to say what needed to be said.

You keep replaying that argument, searching for the moment where you could have chosen differently. You imagine the conversation you would have had if you’d known it was the last one. You construct elaborate scenarios where he apologizes, where you apologize, where both of you finally understand each other and the tension that defined your relationship dissolves into clarity.

These imagined conversations feel necessary. 
Like if you can just figure out what should have been said, you can somehow retroactively complete the relationship. Like understanding why things went wrong will allow you to file the experience away in some organized mental cabinet labeled “resolved” and move on with your life.

But that conversation will never happen. 
That understanding will never arrive. 
The relationship ended mid-sentence, and no amount of analysis will add a period to that hanging clause.

This is the reality most of us spend enormous energy avoiding: 
  • Some stories don’t have endings. 
  • Some conflicts don’t get resolved. 
  • Some relationships don’t achieve understanding before they terminate. 
  • Some people who harmed you will never acknowledge what they did. 
  • Some questions about why things happened the way they happened will never be answered.

We’ve been sold a therapeutic fiction that healing requires closure. 
That you can’t move forward until you have resolution. 
That emotional health depends on achieving understanding about past events and receiving acknowledgment from people who hurt you.

This fiction keeps people trapped for decades, waiting for something that isn’t coming so they can finally begin the life they’ve put on hold until they receive it.

  1. What if closure isn’t something that happens to you? 
  2. What if it’s something you construct internally, regardless of whether external circumstances provide resolution?

The ancient Stoics lived in a world where closure was rare. 
People disappeared into slavery or exile without goodbye. 
Loved ones died suddenly from plague or violence. 
Political allies became enemies without explanation. 
Betrayals went unacknowledged. 
Injustices remained unanswered.

Yet Stoic philosophy doesn’t include a chapter on achieving closure. 
There’s no technique for getting the apology you need or the understanding you deserve. 
Instead, there’s a relentless focus on how to live well when circumstances don’t provide what you need from them.

Chrysippus argued that we suffer not from events themselves but from our judgments about what events should include. 

When you insist that you need closure to move forward, you’re not describing a psychological requirement. 
You’re describing a preference you’ve elevated to a necessity.


The difference matters enormously. 
A preference, you can work around. 
A necessity, stops you completely.




in, Stoic Wisdom


segunda-feira, 1 de dezembro de 2025

Praise Song for the Day

 




Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other’s
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.

All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.

We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what’s on the other side.

I know there’s something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,

picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.

Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?

Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,

praise song for walking forward in that light.


Elizabeth Alexander




Thanksgiving & Belonging



Danny Raustadt





Who matters in your life today and
 how has it changed? 



Every year, as the leaves pile up on the ground here in New York, these questions begin to peak for me. 

  • To whom do I want to reach out for a holiday check in? 
  • Whom do I want to dance with on New Year’s Eve? 
  • Where do I want to focus my relational energy? 

As lives change, so do the answers, but 
what stays the same for me is what I seek in all my relationships: 
belonging, connection, honesty, loyalty, support, adventure, (and sometimes commiseration).

Belonging has long been at the heart of my work. 
Belonging is that sense of safety, comfort, and happiness that we feel when we are part of a group, place, tradition, relationship, or friendship. 

Our identities are intertwined with our experiences of belonging. 
Have you noticed how different parts of yourself become activated with different people and places? 
At home, I’m a mother and a partner. 
At work, I’m a therapist. 
In New York, I’m an immigrant. 
In my native Belgium, I’m an expat coming home for a visit. 

I speak nine languages and in every one a different part of me is expressed. 
Whenever my American and Belgian friends meet, they often compare notes. Long lasting friendships bring the many parts of us into alignment, grounding us in continuity. Old friends remind each other of who we were then and how much we’ve grown. 
We’ve been there for each other in excitement and boredom, in celebration and tragedy.‍

Decades ago now, after living in America for seven years, it seemed as if all my friends were leaving. I socialized then mostly with other foreigners and many were going back—to Amsterdam, Paris, Tel Aviv, to where they were from or to the next place they would call home. 
I suddenly felt like I was the only one who didn’t know where they belonged. 

When a friend of mine generously lent me his house for Thanksgiving, I wasn’t sure whom to invite. 
So I thought of the people whom I wanted to get to know better. 
Along with a few close friends, ten new ones came. 
None had ever met but they were all game to spend five days together. 
Thirty years later, that same group still meets every year for Thanksgiving. ‍

We’ve seen partners come and go. 
There are now fourteen children amongst us, many of whom join each year. 
I didn’t know what “chosen family” meant before this group. 
Having my own has created a whole new definition of what “family” can mean. 

Recently, I asked one of my friends in the group to reflect on this. 
She focused less on the Thanksgivings we’ve shared and more on how the group has been there for each other when our families of origin could not. She lost her mother during the social-distancing era of the pandemic. Members of the Thanksgiving group gathered outside her apartment, apart but together, for a small service. When she could finally travel to clean out her mother’s home in Florida, two members of the group came with her.

We all weren’t always this close. 
Thirty years of Thanksgivings together made us fixtures in each others’ lives. 
In our secular and transient modern world, the holidays have become for many the only time in which gathering is ritualized. 
So make it a ritual. 
Come together with intention. 
Come prepared to participate—to prep, to cook, to clean together. 

You never know how these relationships might evolve. 
It’s never too late to start your own Thanksgiving group. 
Any combination of family, friends, and strangers will do, as long as you remember why you’re doing it. 
Co-creating a sense of belonging is one of the most satisfying aspects of having relationships at all.



Let’s Turn the Lens on You

Think about the people in your life.

  • Whom would you like to have at your Thanksgiving table? Why?
  • What would it mean for you to open your home to them? Or to ask one of them to host a group in their home?
  • Find a collaborator to share the organizational load.
  • Both of you can invite 5 people who’d be fun to bring together. They can know each other or not.
  • Invite everyone to bring one dish that is traditional for them.
  • Invite everyone to join early to prep. Make sure they know everyone will be cleaning up together too.
  • Consider having a few prompts for dinner conversation, perhaps about the year behind and the new year ahead.


Esther Perel