By Amaya Gayle Gregory —
Sedona, AZ — Many years ago, when I knew I needed to walk away from a teacher, I struggled. To leave would mean leaving my community behind and that broke my heart. My inner knowing was strong and persistent as hell, so I knew I couldn’t stay. I didn’t truly know why I had to leave; I just knew I must and every time I waffled a bit life took a quick bite out of my ass. Looking back it seems life knew exactly what it was doing even though I didn’t.
What was interesting, and the point of this bit of writing, is that I needed to make the teacher wrong in order to leave, to make her responsible for my pain. I was irresponsible, unwilling to own up to what I only felt and had no words for. I couldn’t simply say I needed to leave, and walk away. There was part of me that felt I needed to explain myself, to justify my actions and I, the one who is never at a loss for words 😉didn’t have the plain language I thought I needed, to make a clean break.
So it got messy, at least on my end.
I was angry for a long time, even though I didn’t call it that, do we ever, even though I was known to tell anyone who’d listen all about it. It’s funny how when we know we’re off track we can’t seem to quit talking about it, bringing up the person’s name who done us wrong. Of course, I didn’t realize then that my pain-filled confusion was speaking. I had a sense of being let down, of this teacher not being all I had made her out to be, not giving me what I needed. That turned into she didn’t have it to give, she wasn’t as awake as she thought. What a diva!
I didn’t see then that I was the mixed-up mess, the one with so many beliefs that I couldn’t have woken up if Jesus, Buddha, and Quan Yin were standing in front of me, cheering me on. No one can ever be all that we make them out to be. That’s why marriages fall apart, why children and parents become estranged, why the guru student dynamic is set up to fail. It’s quite the blessing when it does. All of our break-ups are even though they hurt. Life isn’t supposed to be a bed of roses, and I doubt I’d find it very meaningful if it was. I know I wouldn’t learn as much, that’s for sure.
I wasn’t angry at her. I was pissed at my myself, at the story I had created about her.
Months after finally walking away, I clearly remember sitting in my chair one evening, filling two columns with words, the good and the bad, the ugly and the sad, and that powerful moment when I saw that I could either continue on, passively bent out of shape, wishing I could go back and knowing I wouldn’t, or I could accept that yes, maybe she did have ‘the’ answer, and walking away could actually mean that I would forever miss the boat of awakening to truth.
I still wanted something from her that I didn’t want to miss out on, something that I obviously thought I might not get without her. I was one hell of a confused seeker. No surprise … all seekers are. We think we’re on track, that we’ve got it figured out, or at least are close, well damn … getting closer, when we aren’t even playing in the same cosmos as awakening.
I suspect that’s the case with most of our interactions, and that’s why we find it so damn hard to walk away, even when we know we don’t just need to, but have to. I know it was the case with several relationships – romantic, business, friendships – that I stayed in long past their expiration dates. I wanted something that I didn’t think I had or could get.
Sitting in the chair, feeling into that ache, that well-ingrained entrained truth, I saw why I had to leave, and it wasn’t just a glimpse, one of those tickles that leave you wondering. It was blatantly clear. I guess life was tired of my hard-headed pussyfooting around. It left no doubt. I had put my faith in the guru, the teacher. I believed she had something I didn’t. As long as I stayed, that dynamic would play out over and over again. I would always be the student in need of her teacher. I was guaranteed to go round in round in the same old groove, and it wouldn’t be groovy.
Unintended self-nullification was the soundtrack of my life. I’m guessing it has been in many of yours too. Maybe it’s just me, or just women raised as I was, but I doubt it.
It’s sneaky, subtle, and most of the time we don’t even see it. We think of it as progress, as an intense learning curve, as hanging in there and not giving up. Whoever said giving up is for cowards, had it all wrong and should be hung. Well maybe not that drastic but edited severely.
Going, staying away, letting my teacher’s influence sink into the seas of oblivion, seemed like a choice at the time, but it wasn’t. I was presented with a choiceless choice. That’s how life works. It looks like a choice, but it isn’t. What else could I do, having seen the cost? I had to trust myself, my experience, and if I failed, I failed. If I left this life still seeking truth, I would and at last, I could accept that. Life was kicking me out of my safe spot.
It’s amazing what that simple shift felt like. It was the first real freedom I had ever known. I had been my parent’s child, my husband’s wife, my children’s mother, my bosses’ subordinate, and I had been God’s devotee. I had always been a minor player in someone else’s major league. Letting my teacher go, my sub-lease on eternity, releasing her and me, was like the first breath of air after having my head held underwater for a very long time.
Today … there’s always something that triggers what I write … I noticed how often we humans need to make others wrong in order to be, not right, but okay with where we stand, perhaps okay standing at all, a sort of justification for breathing. The unworthiness factor is one stout beast. I know it well. In fact, we’re tight these days.
I made my teacher wrong in order to be okay with walking away. It wasn’t until I saw the deeper pull, the pull of freedom, of life tugging on me to release self-limiting ideas, life’s grip that was drawing me into a new version of myself, that the need to justify being okay fell apart.
Life is on our side. It is always drawing us beyond belief. I was pretty darn hard-headed, perhaps I still am. I put my faith in what I’d learned, so I had to unlearn the hard way. Here’s hoping you find the gentler way.
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