Imagine that every reasonably sane person who knows you feels you are one of the most joyful, kind, positive, resilient beings they’ve ever met––a touchstone of wisdom. Â
Imagine having had as your life’s primary goal, since the day you were born so far as you can tell, living in the consciousness of God––to love without condition. Â
Imagine, for all your years, being blessed to actually feel God’s presence to one extent or another, no matter what, even when heartbreak has knocked you to your knees. Â
Until one day.
Then, with the instancy of an earthquake, God’s presence vanishes, violently shoved aside by the unrelenting deadness of depression.Â
Gone is the spark to pursue a single one of love’s expressions that heretofore have comprised your robust life. Even meditation.Â
Imagine discovering that virtually no one else can appreciate what you are experiencing unless they have experienced it themselves.
It’s no mystery to you why the number of people in the U.S who die of depression in a year would be a large fraction of the nation’s million suicides.
You regularly wonder how you can live like this indefinitely. Taking a shower can be a day’s crowning achievement.
With prodigious effort, your years of spiritual practice, along with the support of insightful friends, keep you alive––barely it sometimes seems––until, hopefully, the prescribed pharmaceutical interventions can work their magic. But that will take time. Maybe weeks. It might as well be decades. That’s how far away every future can feel. Â
Bizarrely, somewhere in you you know this is something you have asked for. Not depression. Not hopelessness. Not despair. But whatever it takes to live in Oneness. Â
That aspiration has always been the magnet drawing you to God.
Imagine holding on to it when the presence of God, even the memory of that presence, is buried under a mountain of mud––on a distant planet.Â
Imagine the gift of somehow remembering in rare moments that this is how saints are made––those who can love without condition. Â
This you recognize however faintly: your heart’s call since birth.
Imagine the desolation when those rare moments are absent.
I have recently been through a bout of this for the first time in my life. The physical pain of depression surprised me. I used homeopathic remedies to ease it. I am still not 100% but better. Thank you for describing this phenomenon so well. It is important to understand that anyone can be affected. Love
Hi Steve. It’s Kent. I’ve been worried this might be going on. When Jean doesn’t make contact, I know (and you know), not good. Do you ever leave the farm? I can leave Natalie for couple hours or so now. If you can do the same, maybe we can meet somewhere to visit. Or maybe I could come over there if that is workable. I think of you two often, mostly with my 5 am grounding morning coffee on the porch. Much love, Kent XXXOOO
Steve, this piece isn’t about you, is it? Surely not you, the hardest working man in the spiritual questing business I have ever known. If it is, and you need a compadre, let me know.
Thanks pal,
Not me, my beloved. If it were me, I wouldn’t have been able to write, I’m quite sure. Besides that, I think it’s safe to say that one’s passion for the big picture can be no protection from depression. I’m learning so much, and am grateful for your friendship.
Love to you and your beloved. We are all together in this.
As always, words that go straight to the heart. Sending love to hover over that farm and its occupants.
Dear Steve, I have recently been introduced to a simple and seemingly very effective process for undoing or releasing traumas. It is called brainspotting (although I think it might more likely be heart spotting). Will it be helpful with depression? I do not know. If I could be of service to your beloved and you, I could come to your home, do it with you. If it is helpful, you can learn it. Or I could show you using Skype. Love.