Have you ever been away and not wanted to come back? Or come back and struggled? We can go away to many different places… maybe it's a one week vacation, a months-long backpacking trip or living abroad. Maybe it's an intentionally transformative journey, like a vision quest, meditation retreat, or psychedelic experience. Perhaps it's gradual and happened over many therapy sessions. Maybe it was intentionally transformative, or maybe it just happened to transform you. But what these journeys all have in common is just that- you have changed. Something in you has died, whether it's a set of values, an identity, or a way of being, and something else has emerged or been remembered.
I know this feeling well of a transformative journey and the struggle to integrate. I experienced it significantly when I went on a month-long volunteer trip to Kenya when I was 19, just after my father had died. I travelled with a group of students from my university through an extremely well-designed program and we connected with each other and our hosts in Kenya on a deeply vulnerable level. I saw intense poverty- two year olds alone, searching through the dumpster for food. I was privileged to learn the astonishingly brave stories of local women who contracted HIV. And I saw the beauty and connection that felt so much more present in Kenyan culture than Canadian. I felt connected, purposeful, and alive. And then I came back…
We were told we would experience “reverse culture shock”, we were more supported than most with a debrief weekend after our return. But my world was turned upside down. What I used to find important had changed, my perspective had changed, I had experienced a new level of connection to myself and others that I did not want to let go of. I would experience this again and again in my life (and still do), from more extended travelling trips, living in an intentional eco-yoga community in Australia, deep involvement in land-based activism, and so much more.
I always struggled with the return, I always wanted to stay in that space of enhanced connection and aliveness. I felt depressed and lonely coming home and would try to figure out how to go back. It has taken my years and the wisdom of mentors to learn that the work is also (and sometimes the most) in the return.
Rites of Passage
These experiences I described might be referred to as modern day “rites of passage”. Older, more land-based cultures almost always had rites of passage to mark significant endings and beginnings in a person's life, particularly for youth. These included ceremonies for menstruation, solo quests in the wilderness for youth, plant medicine ceremonies, etc.
Now, its regarded that rites of passage have three stages:
severance: stepping away from the known, such as a role or identity, or the comforts of modern life
transition or liminal: individuals no longer have their previous status/identity/ but not yet new one either. This phase is highly ambiguous, chaotic and disorienting and comprised of challenge, learning and growing
integration or incorporation: person re-enters society with something new or remembered in themselves to share with the rest of the world
We so often want to stay in that sweet transition stage. Or maybe we are trying to integrate after our journey, but there is no space in our lives for things to change or for our stories to be heard. It can feel so isolating to return to a place and people who have not had a similarly transformative journey. They likely don't know what questions to ask, and you likely don't even know how to begin sharing the deeply intangible things you’ve gone through. And, our relationships often don't leave us space to change or evolve. People expect us to be the same as we were, or, if they don't, they don't know how to relate to the new versions of us.
So, what's my point? For one, to validate how difficult and isolating the integration phase can be. Secondly, to remind you that no, unfortunately you cannot stay in the liminal space forever. The work is in returning. We must walk in both worlds right now: the mythical, ethereal world, and also, the practical world, where we still must find a way to pay bills and interact with broader society. We must find a way to integrate what we have learned and who we are now with the rest of life. Im not saying that you must go back to who you were or how you were before your transformation, but that, perhaps wanting to stay in the beautifully connected space, is another form of chasing a high, instead of balance: light and dark; ease and hardship. Transformation can be fast and intense, and, change is often a slow burn.
For part II of this post, I’ll talk about practical tips for helping to integrate after a big change, and how to support someone who is coming home from a journey.
The Return
Some day, if you are lucky,
you’ll return from a thunderous journey
trailing snake scales, wing fragments
and the musk of Earth and moon.
Eyes will examine you for signs of damage, or change
and you, too, will wonder
if your skin shows traces
of fur, or leaves, if thrushes have built a nest
of your hair, if Andromeda
burns from your eyes.
Do not be surprised by prickly question
from those who barely inhabit
their own fleeting lives, who barely taste
their own possibility, who barely dream.
If your hands are empty, treasureless,
if your toes have not grown claws,
if your obedient voice has not
become a wild cry, a howl,
you will reassure them.
We warned you, they might declare,
there is nothing else,
no point, no meaning, no mystery at all,
just this frantic waiting to die.
And yet, they tremble, mute,
afraid you’ve returned without sweet
elixir for unspeakable thirst, without
a fluent dance or holy language
to teach them, without a compass
bearing to a forgotten border where
no one crosses without weeping
for the terrible beauty of galaxies
and granite and bone.
They tremble,
hoping your lips hold a secret,
that the song your body now sings
will redeem them, yet they fear
your secret is dangerous, shattering,
and once it flies from your astonished
mouth, they-like you-must disintegrate
before unfolding tremulous wings.
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