David McElroy

I finally have a name for what’s been going on inside me for close to 15 years. I’ve been having a “spiritual emergency.”

I’ve been struggling to be who I really am in a postmodern culture that says material reality is the only reality.

We have the trappings of spiritual life, but very little of its substance. Politicians talk about God and appeal to his name and authority. Preachers build empires that cater to the social needs of middle-class families.

Families participate in religious groups — churches, synagogues, whatever — to provide structure and values for children. Singles show up to find dates and mates. And various other people who feel the need for something spiritual missing in their lives show up in hopes of touching some unseen wisp of something they can’t name.

But if you take it too seriously, we’ll send you to see a shrink. If you have spiritual experiences of the sort that have been common to people of every human culture, we’ll say you have a mental illness. If you talk of the spirit living after this body has died, we will call you superstitious.

If you take anything spiritual very seriously, we’ll call you crazy. We’ll look down on your primitive superstition and tell you to trust science.

I’ve been in rebellion against all this. I wanted more than the feel-good experiences of a religious life. I needed to take Truth seriously. That’s brought me into conflict with my culture. It’s been a spiritual emergency — because spiritual emergence was going on.

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I know that I need to change things in my life. I need to radically change how I eat. Where I live. What I do with my time. Who I spend my time with. Who I love and hope for. I’m very clear about the changes I need to make.

But I’m the King of Excuses. I never deny that the changes need to happen. I always admit it to myself.

Yes, but…

Yes, I need to stop eating the diet that’s going to kill me, but I need to get some other things settled first. It’s just self-medication for now. I’ll change next week. Or next month.

Yes, I need to get out of the path of the looming economic and social collapse that I see coming, but I have to find someone to go with me. I have to work out a new financial plan. I’ll get around to it soon. Very soon. I promise.

We’re doing the same things collectively. Many people know that radical change is needed for our communities, cities and countries. Many are uneasy about what we fear is coming. We know something is wrong.

Yes, we absolutely have to make some major changes, but what we’re doing is so comfortable. So familiar. Maybe we shouldn’t rock the boat. Maybe the time of reckoning won’t happen in our lifetime.

You’re probably doing the same thing in your own life. You know you have to make painful decisions. You’ve dreaded them. You’ve known forever that you have to make tough choices.

Yes, but…

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Dreams don’t have to make sense, do they?

It was still pitch dark when I opened my eyes. I was coming out of a dream that had been a grand and confusing opera. There were snippets of obscure music. There were scenes from my real life. There were flashes of people from the past. And they were all mixed into something surreal by a frenzied film director in my head.

But what did it all mean?

I was walking through a long and dark tunnel, where I saw different people along the way, like different scenes and lessons from my life. But why these people? Why these scenes?

There was an unhappy young woman — someone I barely know in real life — and she was alone in a round iron cage. She was crying bitterly. She wasn’t begging for someone to let her out of the cage. She was begging for someone to simply listen to her heart.

I tried to speak to her — to say that I would listen — but she didn’t know I was there. She couldn’t see or hear anyone. She was dying from loneliness and unhappiness. And I felt guilt and doubt about myself that I couldn’t save her.

Then she was gone.

After I walked on in the tunnel’s darkness, I came to something which looked like a glass cylinder. Inside was what appeared to be a woman I used to know. Someone who used to love me. Her face was dull with pain and disappointment, nothing like what I’ve ever seen from her.

As I watched her silent and anguished face move, I heard words from an old song — and I knew it was about her.

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