Many of my friends put some pithy quotation across the bottom of their emails. The extracts vary from “I have a photographic memory; unfortunately it was never fully developed” to a definition of liminal space. But one quote occurs repeatedly. Originating with medieval mystic Julian of Norwich, it reads, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” While I love the quote, it actually occurs in the context of question about suffering. It’s not all so rosy as it sounds.

There’s a woman with whom I correspond irregularly. She lives in a western US state, in a very rural area, surrounded by very conservative religious people. She has told me that her conscious work these last few years has been staying in loving conversation with her neighbors. She said recently, “My neighbors drive me crazy, but I love them anyway.”

At the bottom of her last note was the Julian of Norwich quote. But after “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well,” she appended, “We may just have to go through some pain first.”

I laughed my head off when I read this: she got it, I thought.

When I first started practicing meditation, it was because I could barely stand to stay in my own skin. Chanting and/or silence and/or prayer settled the jangling inside me; I could breathe. With daily practice, I was more likely to experience ease rather than anxiety throughout the day.

Like lots of people, because spiritual practice made me feel better, I assumed that was its ultimate purpose: to make me feel better. To help me “rise above” daily life. 

I have since learned better. Or maybe, I should say that I have learned more completely.Which brings me to what I think spiritual practices are actually intended to do.

Let me say first that yes, our practices should make us feel calmer and more grounded. This is good for us and usually good for the people around us. But it doesn’t end there. As we enter into deeper practice, we see the world around us more clearly. This is not a comfortable proposition. Clear sight does not balance all the horror with beauty, or cancel out pain, or cause us to rise above the whole mess as if we weren’t fully entangled in it. Clear seeing simply brings us into the place where grief and joy co-exist, inextricably woven together. It brings us into the heart of Love. 

This week, my tradition celebrates a God/man, executed by the political powers for his integrity, only to return as energizing Life. His relationship with Reality was so deep and clear that he never quit loving: the whole world fell into his heart. That is possible for us, too. Practice can teach us to love so deeply that everything and everyone will belong in our heart. We will know ourselves to be inseparable from the heart of Love. 

All shall be well, indeed.