Stepping through the
Door
Most of us bring forward
from our nature and upbringing a particular stance
toward change and form. We habitually apply that
stance as a default, whether or not it is helpful.
I grew up addicted to form; appreciating
spontaneous change was a great hurdle for me.
Others find themselves in the opposite camp, so
suspicious of rules that they reject even the
helpful ones out of hand. For each of us, the
challenge is to come to see the naturalness and
healthiness of change arising from form, and new
forms emerging from change. When we embrace this
connection, expect it, and work with it, we can
live more satisfying lives and grow toward
manifesting our vision.
The Sprouting
Seed
Think of personal growth as
a form of natural growth, using the image of a
sprouting seed. The shell of the seed is the
ultimate manifestation of form: hard, rigid, and
durable. Some seeds have shells so hard we can
scarcely imagine them breaking or eroding, no
matter how much force is applied to them. That
structure exists for a reason: to protect the
emerging life within and to control the internal
environment. The germ of a seed would quickly die
if exposed to the elements, unless the conditions
were just perfect. The germ itself is a powerful
symbol of change: it is the irresistable life
force, with so much energy and intention that it
can emerge through the hard shell of the seed when
the time has come.
A recurring issue
I find many people have with spiritual work is
the question of how much structure is appropriate.
Many of us become disillusioned by conventional
religions, which often seem to be all about
maintaining forms against change (either societal
or personal). Such religions impose dogmatic belief
systems, unvarying forms of worship, and
self-perpetuating hierarchies. Many seekers reject
these aspects of conventional religion in favor of
a more personal, open-ended approach to
spirituality. Some take this rejection to an
extreme, refusing to join any group, follow any
practice with a name or label, embrace any
particular beliefs at all, or learn any system of
spiritual concepts except on the most superficial
level. While this rejection can feel like a healthy
antidote to the experience of oppressive religion
(and it often is), it can also be limiting. One
cannot really learn what any system has to offer by
considering it from a distance; only by working
within the structures of a particular system can
one receive whatever benefits it provides. We each
need to spend some time inside the shell to become
strong enough to sprout.
On the other hand, even
among people interested in nontraditional
approaches to spirituality, there are those who are
drawn to embrace form at the expense of change.
They become attached to a particular vocabulary, a
particular pattern of ritual or meditation, and
particular details of belief, to the extent that
they become impervious to different viewpoints that
might be useful. (See The
First Door: Beliefs are
Tools).
My advice to seekers is to
avoid either extreme. Do not be afraid to learn a
particular system and give it your dedicated
attention, but do not be afraid to move beyond it
when the time comes. It's like the advice often
given to aspiring writers: you need to learn
the rules before you can break them.
Saturn
 As
a mythological/astrological image of the
complementary nature of form and change, I have
selected the god Saturn (Kronos in Greek). Kronos
was enlisted by his mother Gaia to lead a rebellion
against his tyrant father Ouranos. He ambushed his
father, castrating him with a sickle. He then took
his place as ruler of the universe, ushering in a
golden age of peace and plenty. Fearful that he
would himself suffer his father's fate, he took to
devouring his own children as they were born. His
premonitions turned out to be true, however,
because his wife Rhea hid the youngest child
(Zeus), giving Kronos a stone to swallow instead.
And Zeus (Jupiter) did indeed grow to
adulthood to overthrow his father
Kronos.
The gruesome details aside,
the story is a fascinating metaphor for the
relationship between change and form. Once a rebel
against the existing order, Saturn established a
new order himself, which begins benignly but
descends into a destructive fear of anything new.
Finally, Saturn's order is itself overthrown by the
very change he had worked to prevent.
Astrologically, Saturn is
remembered today only for his order-imposing
persona, the determined rule-maker and setter of
boundaries, humorlessly working within the system,
earth-bound and heavy. This is the aspect of Saturn
we see in his rulership of the sign of Capricorn,
which is all about laboring for success within a
system of rules.
Before modern times,
however, Saturn was also identified as the ruler of
Aquarius. This is his idealistic, rebellious
side: the youth who opposed the repressive
tyranical order of his father, and casts it aside
to bring in a utopian golden age. The two images
complement each other beautifully, and there is
much wisdom to be learned by seeing them as two
facets of the personality of a single
god.
Homework
Here are some ways to
explore and embrace the dance of form and
change.
- Think of one of your
favorite games, and reflect on how the rules
help make the fun of play possible.
- In your own spiritual
practice, are you very systematic or very
spontaneous? Try dabbling in the other
approach for awhile.
- Think of a law, custom,
or institution that you would like to see
changed. Now do some research and find out how
that law, custom, or institution
began.
- The next time you watch
a movie, ask whether the protagonist is a
rule-breaker or a rule-keeper. Does the
protagonist's attitude toward rules change over
the course of the movie?
- Take a walk in a natural
environment. Be attentive to how the growth of
the plants interacts with the structure of the
physical landscape.
- Make a new rule for
yourself and follow it for one week.
- Break a rule that you've
been obeying for a long time.
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