Her Perspective

Still free

By Sharla Gorder

‍

It has been said, “The truth will set you free.” It has also been said, “You can’t handle the truth.” So, who do I believe — Jesus or Jack Nicholson?

I suppose it would be prudent to trust the Prince of Peace on this one. But it seems to me that they both have a point. Freedom and truth are inexorably linked. Authentic freedom, on a personal, individual level, requires an abiding awareness and acceptance of “what is,” even when that truth is not what I wanted, expected, or hoped for.

This is so much easier said than done for a worrier like me. It seems I spend half my life picking apart the past or fretting about the future, completely ignoring the present moment — the space where freedom thrives. My compulsive nature imprisons me. I lose sight of the truth of the matter: In this present moment, I am fine.

So, why, Mr. Nicholson, do I have such a hard time handling such a lovely truth as this? I’d like to blame it on evolutionary biology: I am primally programmed to be hypervigilant to threat. Those saber-toothed tigers are everywhere. Can’t let my guard down.

Or can I?

There’s an ancient Vedic chant that I often sing at the close of the yoga classes I lead — the Pavamana Mantra. The first line of this lovely prayer is especially comforting to me; it humbly asks to be led from the unreal to the real — or away from untruth and into truth  —  into freedom. My worries about the future, as valid as they seem in my mind, are actually not real. They haven’t happened. They are “asat”: unreal, illusory, untrue. The truth is surprisingly benign — I am fine.

Not long ago, I was struck with a terrible bout of vertigo. The symptoms were so intense, I initially thought I was having a stroke. The room was spinning so erratically I felt as though I would be hurled from the bed. The experience was frightening — not because it was painful (it wasn’t). Yes, it was miserably uncomfortable, but the discomfort was bearable. What felt unbearable was the prospect of this malady never ending. I felt panicked about that. “I can’t do this,” I thought.

And yet, there I was, doing it. The truth was that I could indeed do this. Once I stopped worrying about what might or might not happen in the future, I could tell myself the truth: I’m okay. Uncomfortable, maybe, but okay.

I tried on this attitude again the other day while I was experiencing what felt like a migraine. I intentionally slowed my breathing — longer exhales than inhales, which calms the nervous system — and eventually asked myself, “Am I okay? Even in this moment of physical pain, am I okay?”

The answer, surprisingly, was yes. Once I stopped projecting the pain into an interminable future and let myself experience it in real time, just one moment at a time, I found it almost interesting. I didn’t enjoy it, of course, but I realized the truth: I’m okay. And yes, Jesus, that truth is freeing.

So maybe Jack was wrong after all. If I can indeed handle the truth, even when it is physically painful, then I might also be able to extrapolate that awareness and acceptance to emotional issues — grief, uncertainty, even anger.

Can I mourn a tragic loss and still be okay? Can I experience doubt and confusion and not know my way forward and still be okay? Can I feel angry and aggrieved and still be okay?

Apparently, I can. I’ve experienced all of this and look at me. Still here. Still okay.

Still free.

‍