Why Are We Doing This Incarnation Thing?

January 9th marked one year since the passing of my life partner, Shay Arave. To honor the day, a good friend took me out for brunch, and because she had only met Shay briefly, I found myself telling the "story of Shay" in my life.

That inevitably led to this classic question my friend asked: "So why do you think we are here? Why do we come here?"

Usually, the existential debate centers more on the Why we exist, rather than the What are we doing by being here. The second question, for me, is more difficult to answer, but in explaining my position I found myself saying things I hadn't said before.

What occurred to me was the phrase, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." From a cosmic perspective you could say, "What kills you makes you stonger." This assumes you have perceived yourself as a spiritual being beyond the physical body and world. If you haven't gotten to that perception yet, I believe you will at some point in your life or lives. It tends to happen when someone close to you dies, or you personally have a near-death experience. Also, I think the concept of one's mortality is usually met with fear and trepidation earlier in life, yet becomes more and more acceptable as we continue our travels through the time space of this planet. Either we get tired and just want it to be over with, or we have some cognition that viscerally demonstrates the limitations of physical form and the promises of total freedom from it.

Well, I digress... As to Why We're Doing This? Back to the "makes you stronger" bit. As I spoke to my friend, I got a clear conceptual picture of me as a spiritual entity plowing through this life, like a snow plow pushes aside chunks of snow and ice to clear the way for others. But this is a special snow plow. The more it plows, and the deeper it goes into the snow, the more power it derives. It's got a special type of expanding engine that runs on snow. The more it runs into, the more fuel and bigger it gets.

Now, it's important to make a distinction on this wintery metaphor: The snow plow is YOU--the spiritual YOU, your soul; the snow is experiences in life; and the road is time. So the more we plow through the experiences of our life, the more powerful and expanded we become. Not only that, because we are all unique, each of us plows our own little section of the Life Road.

To carry the metaphor further and to finally reach my conclusion: Because we are clearing a path, there are others behind us who now have an easier time traveling down the road. They can choose to take the plowed road and skip along merrily, kicking up snow angels--enjoying the journey. Or, they can choose to plow a new road--their unique road that widens the path for others following.

It looks hard when you first step into that snow plow. The snow is several feet deep and there is no guarantee you won't start plowing and go right over a cliff. And yet, we get into the snow plow anyway, I think because that is what our responsibility is. We have a responsibility as spiritual beings to become more than what we started with--to become greater than the sum of our parts--and perhaps most importantly, to blaze a path for others to find their part of the road to plow.

I used to be threatened by addicts, criminals, the homeless and the starving. Even though I've been homeless and starving, I still would judge them saying that they have a choice to not suffer--they have a choice to make something different happen in their lives. But this was wrong-headed on my part. People with the most difficult lives are plowing the deepest snow, and hence are doing the most work clearing the way for others to follow. They do the most important work: teaching compassion, teaching empathy, inspiring others to do their own work, and first and foremost, teaching us all not to judge. Because through judgment we justify not getting on that snow plow and doing our own work.

Now, I'm not a fan of suffering, but I respect it. And I'm not a fan of unhappiness, as I've learned that it is a choice. But, I would not have come to those ways of thinking without those in the deepest snow.

In vibrant health,