Second Sight (28 page)

Since I was a little girl I have been fascinated by the moon, sensed its mystery and power. Late into the night I used to stare at it, lying in bed, fine white light streaming through the cracks of my curtains. I loved to watch the moon gradually change form, growing from a barely perceptible sliver to a radiant orb that felt as if it shined right into my body. I could never separate myself from the moon. It has always been a part of me, molding my rhythms, drawing me up to the sky.

When my teacher spoke of the new moon as the initial phase of a cycle, a time when the flame is just being lit, and of the full moon as an epiphany, a culmination of forces reaching a peak, he put into words what I had long felt. Spiritual energy, he said, was particularly high at these times. Hence the reason to pause and pay tribute to them.

I should stress, however, that I recoil from taking part in ritual that feels false, no matter how powerful anyone claims it to be. But having found one that is true to my nature, I have made it a seamless extension of my spiritual life.

The practice of ritual has proved of great value for many of my patients. Providing a hands-on, action-oriented dimension to our work, it can bring insight to even the most murky dilemma. I'll conduct a ritual with someone in my office or I may encourage them to do this in solitude or in groups. When performed in nature, ritual is especially potent. The forest, desert, ocean, or mountains bring an excitement, a primal quality often less noticeable in the city.

Jenny, a gorgeous Hawaiian woman with long raven-black hair and warm brown eyes, was familiar with ritual, but she had lost track of it. Her father was trained as a kahuna, a holy man and healer, on the island of Kauai where she was raised. He passed on the secret teachings to his young daughter, but as she grew older the memories gradually fell away. Having lived a sheltered life, Jenny was hungry to experience more. At seventeen, when she graduated from high school, she left Kauai and moved to Manhattan to pursue a modeling career.

Signed by a top agency, she landed more jobs than she could handle and traveled the world on exotic photo shoots over the next few years. Money, fame, and prestige were hers and yet she was increasingly unhappy. Jenny's career had skyrocketed, her face had been on the cover of major fashion magazines, but something wasn't right. Modeling was becoming empty, yet she was afraid to leave it. Locked into a seductive lifestyle, adulated by the public and her friends, Jenny felt stuck and depressed.

For several months, in therapy, we discussed the pros and cons of Jenny's career, but she still hadn't made up her mind about what she would do. We were getting nowhere. It became evident that no amount of talking was going to help, despite Jenny's sensitivity, intelligence, and desire. I had reached this point before with certain patients. Seeing that she was immobilized, that it wasn't enough for her to understand the emotional and intellectual roots of her problem, I suggested she conduct a ritual. She remembered that her father had introduced her to this and was eager to give it a try.

We spent a full session exploring the specifics of what her ritual would be. What symbols were meaningful? Where would she like to perform it? With whom? The more concrete the details, the better the chance of imparting the potency to penetrate her block. Having grown up on the north shore of Kauai, she had a special feeling for the ocean and wanted her ritual to take place there.

This gave me an idea. “There's an ancient Celtic ceremony involving a circle of stones,” I explained. A few years ago I'd learned of this from a friend and had used it myself. “You can perform the ritual at the beach. It's quite simple. Basically, you form a circle of stones and sit inside it until your answer comes. In Celtic mythology, stones hold a rich concentration of power, represent the living embodiment of Mother Earth. The circle is a configuration believed to contain mystical properties. It acts like a pressure cooker, focusing and containing energy. This could provide the boost you need.”

This ritual appealed to Jenny. A few days later, on the morning of the next full moon, signifying the peak of a cycle, she drove her Volvo up the coast to a secluded beach north of Malibu. Wearing a long, flowing white cotton dress, she tied her hair back with multicolored beads in honor of the occasion. She brought with her some purple sage she had gathered from the Malibu hills, which in Native American tradition is associated with purification. Collecting a number of large stones from the shore, Jenny carefully set up the circle. In the center she placed a round ceramic container and burned the sage. Settling in, she sat cross-legged on a blanket, closed her eyes, and asked for guidance.

The next few hours she spent meditating and watching the ebb and flow of the waves. My instructions had been to allow the answer to surface rather than attempt to “figure it out.” Although Jenny was doing everything right, nothing much was happening. But she waited, knowing that rituals have their own time frame. Even so, it was growing late. Doubts crept in, about the ritual and about her life in general. Did she have the strength to make a change? Jenny wasn't sure. The sun was setting; she was chilled. Despondent and restless, she was tempted to pack up her things. But she didn't. As she sat, somehow connected to the ancient knowledge of her father and everyone who had performed this ritual before, she understood the need to remain. A warm blanket wrapped around her shoulders, Jenny curled up and drifted off into a light sleep.

It was then, when she stopped trying so hard, that the answer came. In a flash she realized that she had to take a break. If just to get perspective, it would be worthwhile. Though logically she had come to this conclusion before, the strength of her intuition now compelled her to act. Her entire body softened in response. The rightness of the decision, though laced with a certain sadness, also carried a great sense of relief. Freeing as this was, Jenny knew better than to act rashly: It would take time for the insight to sink in.

Over the next few weeks Jenny and I waited to see if her resolve remained strong. I played devil's advocate, raising the objections I was sure her friends and colleagues would make. Jenny didn't waver, showing the same confidence I have seen in other patients following similar rituals. Having struggled to find a solution that makes sense, they aren't easily dissuaded. They are ready to put themselves on the line and trust their instincts at last. When Jenny was certain her mind was not going to change, she notified her agency that she was taking three months off.

For all of January, she returned home to visit her family on Kauai. Taking long walks on the beach with her father, she became reacquainted with the kahuna tradition. Something inside of her was sparked. She longed to learn more about healing. During that trip she decided to move back to the islands and enroll in college. Aware that other models would kill for her career, Jenny acted on the courage of her beliefs. There were no guarantees that her plan would succeed, but she was determined to give it a chance.

Over the years Jenny and I have kept in touch. Now a doctoral student in psychology at the University of Hawaii, she plans to open a private practice on Oahu. Following her father's tradition, she is weaving her ethnic wisdom into her work. Jenny is pleased with the choice she made. The ritual of stones she performed on the beach made a breakthrough possible. When the moment came, she seized it. Despite all the pressure to continue modeling, she contacted a truer voice inside and followed her heart.

As it provides a structure, the beauty of ritual is the freedom it offers—freedom to explore what you really want from life, to define new directions, to clarify your visions and desires, even if you may not know what they are. It's a way to become centered, to stop giving away your power and to take responsibility for it. Implicit in all ritual is self-respect, as well as an honoring of a spiritual reality, however you define it, and faith that guidance is available. Such faith is essential for everyone who is preparing to see. Ritual helps instill this by illustrating time and again the depth of change that is possible when we act on what we know within.

To elicit guidance in our lives, we can also turn to prayer. It works no matter what your belief system, whether you appeal to a force outside yourself or to an inner wisdom. While meditation is an open-ended way of listening to spirit, prayer is a specific way of speaking to it. Through prayer comes clarity, and with it psychic knowledge. Although life may not always go as we wish, the strength of our clarity, and the appreciation of the deeper meaning of certain events can carry us through.

When I was very young my mother taught me to recite two different prayers before I went to sleep: the Shema, an ancient Hebrew prayer stating, “Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone is One,” and another in which I'd say, “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Keep me safe throughout the night. May I see the morning light. God bless Daddy, Mommy, and Judi [my childhood nickname] for ever and ever. Amen.” Burrowed beneath a mountain of covers, cozy and warm, I repeated both prayers without fail every night. They made me feel secure, connected to my Jewish roots and family. I should add, however, that I was motivated more by habit than devotion. It was something I did to be a “good girl,” not because I was truly inspired.

For years, I underestimated the power of prayer. As a teenager, I resorted to it mainly when I wanted something or if I was in so much pain there was nowhere else to turn. Then, if I got what I requested or when the pain stopped, I promptly forgot what had helped me. In high school I would pray to have a boyfriend, to be “popular,” or get a good grade on a math test. But looking back, I can now see that if all my prayers had been answered I would probably be in big trouble today. In some cases, unanswered prayers prove to be the blessing.

Through meditation and studying with my teacher I have come to view prayer differently. Once I had a direct experience of exactly what I was praying to—an unbounded love vaster than I had ever imagined—my faith strengthened. Previously, I was afraid that if I gave up my demands I wouldn't be heard, as if this intelligence were so limited it couldn't possibly respond to my needs without my specifically asking. Or that it had so many mote pressing things to attend to. But sensing the infinite capacity of this love, I increasingly came to trust it.

Now, when I pray for myself or others, except in certain emergencies, I request only what is for the highest good, not presuming to know what that good might be. Though it is often tempting to specify “I want this” or “I want that,” particularly if I'm in a lot of pain, I try to keep my prayers general rather than superimposing my own will onto them. The true elegance of prayer, I believe, is letting go of the results, confident that our needs will be met, maybe not in the exact form we had envisioned but ultimately in a better way. Scotch-taped to my refrigerator door as a reminder of the ideals that are important to me is the prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi, which I recite every morning before I begin my day. It says:

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace:

where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

and where there is sadness, joy.

Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

to be understood as to understand;

to be loved as to love;

for it is in giving that we receive;

in pardoning that we are pardoned;

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

This simple prayer, which asks that we may be of service, imparts the basic philosophy of my spiritual practice. Promoting healing, prayer is thus my manner of addressing the psychic. You may use this prayer or find another that appeals to you. Most important, choose one that stirs something deep inside, inspires you to be the kind of person you most want to be. The humility with which you approach prayer, not demanding results but remaining open to the answers, creates a spaciousness that allows the psychic in. C. K. Williams, in a poem, has a beautiful way of describing this process: “I'd empty like a cup; that would be prayer, to empty, then fill with a substance other than myself.” The emptiness is pregnant, the stillness full, the psychic ever-present when we pray.

Although I avoid stipulating outcomes in prayer, I regularly request guidance—to do the right thing, to know when to intervene or remain silent, to choose the most meaningful words to say when someone is stuck, to find inner peace or help others achieve it. A highly private and instinctual act, prayer can provide a direct line to the psychic. By admitting that we don't know, we become willing to call on a greater force to assist us.

Matt was someone who greatly needed to be heard but felt that he'd been forsaken. A UCLA philosophy professor, a young fifty, dressed in well-worn Reeboks, a T-shirt, and jeans, he was cautious yet fascinated by the psychic. A week after attending a lecture I gave on dreams he set up an appointment.

Matt had been raised a Baptist and had exhibited a strong religious faith while in his twenties. But then he fell into a depression in which he couldn't even get out of bed. He called on his religion to help, dragging himself to church on Sunday, barely having the energy to move, but his depression only got worse. After a few years of seeing psychiatrists, through a combination of medication and psychotherapy, he began to feel better. In the past, Matt had had a number of accurate premonitions. Now he'd come to me to learn more about them. But Matt wanted nothing to do with spirituality. That chapter of his life, he declared, was over.

Furious that his former beliefs had failed him, Matt rejected my suggestions that he pray or meditate. “You don't have to belong to a traditional religion,” I said. “Discover your own way instead.”

“Why should I?” he snapped. “Where was God when I needed him?”