How to Navigate the Wilderness

The Neo Axial Age, Part 6

“Wilderness is not a luxury, but a necessity of the human spirit.” – Ed Abby

This is a wilderness time for the world.

Scientific discoveries in relativity and quantum field theory, rapid fire technological advances, a more nuanced understanding of human biology, the species-threatening environmental impact of runaway consumerism, and the exposure of major cracks in our current social structures have all conspired to banish us from the world we thought we knew. What we had was certainly far from Eden, but it was familiar, and we knew how to navigate it. 

All of that is lost to us now.

Instead, we find ourselves having stumbled headlong into a wild and unfamiliar landscape where few of the old rules apply, and nearly none of the old ways, which always seemed so solid and unshakeable, make sense in the way they once did. We are in the wilderness of the in-between time — no longer in the story we knew, but not yet knowing what the new story is. We are in the liminal wilds, and we haven’t the foggiest idea what to do with it.

The catalyst for every new age is a major shift in the dominant narrative we secretly rely on to hold everything together. By “dominant narrative,”  I mean the overarching story we tell ourselves to explain the nature of the universe, the nature of what it means to be human, and where we fit in the larger scheme of things. The nature of God, and of reality itself. 

The advent of a new age is always inherently disequilibrating and scary. Even a quick glance at the last major one — from the Middle to the Modern Age — will tell you that. Our current shift, however, is coming at us so fast and from so many varied directions we can barely keep up. In fact, most of us don’t. We’ve had to narrow our focus just to manage the stress of it all. We’re all finding that we lack the capacity to pay attention to the world in its fullness as it goes through this transition. It’s all too volatile, too uncertain, too complex, and too ambiguous for any of us to carry all of it alone. Yet we are also keenly aware that the parts of the story we are not paying attention to may end up being the very thing that takes us out. Thus, our ever-present stress is even more heightened than it would otherwise be. 

That’s not to say we are incapable of navigating the challenge of these times. I genuinely believe we can. But if we’re going to find a way through this, we’re going to have to do it together. And that means that we, as a species, are going to have to grow up. 

By “grow up,” I mean we’re going to have to stop acting like petty children on the world stage. All of this hate and othering and greed and jostling for status; we haven’t room for it anymore. We have to recognize that we’ve got no other choice. We either grow up as a people, or destroy ourselves in our childishness. The earth itself is forcing our hand one way or the other.

I’ve studied human nature all my life — spirituality, psychology, history, sociology, physiology, all of it fascinates me — and as best I can tell, any peregrination out of the old country through the wilderness and into a new land we can call home, whether that journey is undertaken by an individual, a family, a community, or a nation, passes through four major stages, and includes one dangerous trap that can botch the whole endeavor. Here’s a brief description of each:

Stage 1: “Hey! Wait a Minute!” — This stage might also be called “Waking Up.” It’s what happens after a fresh revelation has come into the system and we start noticing the old story doesn’t fit any longer. For example, during World War II, millions of women who had previously been relegated to the home because it was “more in keeping with their temperament” took to the workplace to cover for the men who went off to war, only to discover that they thrived in those workplace environments. The dominant narrative about who women were collapsed under this revelation, beginning with the post-war realization that the pre-war story about the nature of women no longer fit. 

Stage 2: “No, Not That.” — Or, perhaps more eloquently, “Leavetaking.” This can be both an exuberant and deeply sorrowful stage in which we consciously let go of the rules and definitions and defining characteristics of the previous story that no longer work. This stage is often filled with both grief and anger, as we become aware of the ways the previous story constrained our true nature or suppressed our freedom. Both grief and anger are necessary, as they free and empower us to step away from the comfort of the old story. But our anger can also easily turn rotten if we allow it to slide into self-righteous judgment of those we perceive as our oppressors. (For more on this, see my previous post “All Hate is Self Hate.”). Another danger of falling into a stance of self-righteous judgment of those who have caused us harm is that such bitterness can pull into the dangerous Trap I referred to earlier.

“The Trap” — Even for the boldest among us, leaving the known and entering the unknown is a terrifying prospect. To do it well, we have to go in fully present to what is happening here and now, with our minds clear of the clutter from the past, and our hearts open to fresh possibility. Such an approach is not possible, however, for any of us who come into the wilderness with a chip on our shoulder regarding the past. When we look back on the old story and harbor judgment over those who held power in it, and misused that power, it’s like coming into the wilderness wearing blinders. Rather than see the wilderness for what it actually is, all we see is our disgust for what was, and any new story we imagine for the world to inhabit will not be creative or generative, but reactive and constricting. Rather than uncover the new story that’s wanting to emerge, we will construct a story that is simply antithetical to the old one. So, for example, if misogyny reigned in the old story, then the hatred of men will reign in the new one we create. Or, if racism against people of color dominated the old story, then racism against white people will infiltrate its replacement. This is a trap, and short circuits the transformative process, because it doesn’t create anything new, but only reacts against what has come before. When confronted, no reasonable person would say that they want this sort of outcome, of course, but the Trap remains dangerously alluring for two important reasons. First, it appeals to our egos, because it lets us play the “holy role” and sit in righteous judgment of our fellow humans. Second, it appeals to our fear, because it takes less courage to simply react against the past than it does to honestly brave the wilderness of the unknown and find out what’s actually there.

Stage 3: “The Wilderness” — More practically, this might also be called “The Land of Not Knowing.” It is the liminal space between “no longer that” and “not yet anything else.” Nothing is mapped in the wilderness, and part of its nature is that we don’t know which way to go. It follows then that the most important spiritual practice to nurture in such wilderness seasons is surrender to the unknown. Wonder, not fear, is the North Star we need to guide us. 

The wilderness stage may be thought of as a kind of quantum field of possibility. It is emergent by nature, meaning that what’s in it cannot be known until we are fully present in it and offering to it our full attention. What’s here now? What is actually in this wilderness we are experiencing together? Not “what are we dragging here from the past, or hoping to find in the future”; rather, what’s actually here?

As we come into this space of “I don’t know,” and we begin to simply notice what is here right now in our midst, the scales fall off and we begin to see the world around us for what it is. This is both shocking and wonderful (that is, full of wonder). It can also be quite subtle; you really have to pay attention or you’ll miss a lot of it. The way through the wilderness is via the disciplines of presence and noticing, of curiosity and wonder. We need fear, too, but only to advise us, never to lead. While the wilderness can be dangerous, it is not malicious. It need not be feared as an enemy, but understood as a great mystery, as the Polynesian people did in their great migrations across the sea.

Stage 4: “Yes, that.” — This might also be called, “The New Story.” These are the deeper truths that emerge out of the great shared adventure of our wilderness trek that when woven together form a new narrative that explains to us in a much more comprehensive and generous way who we are, what all this is, and what’s really going on here in this wild mystery we call life. This stage is not sudden, but emerges over time, and must be given its proper room to breathe. Trying to rush it is akin to uprooting a sapling to see if its roots have grown sufficiently deep. It takes patience and sustained courage to let the new story emerge in its own time and at its own pace. It is not a comfortable process, but it is deeply satisfying if given the fullness of time it requires. 

For now, though, we are still at the very early stages of this wilderness experience. What will become of us from here? Where we will we go? What will we discover? The important thing for each of us now is to remain open, and curious, and practice noticing all that you can. Stop trying to name things before their time. Rather, simply take note of them. Wonder at them. Lay them out on the table in front of you along with all the other new mysteries you’ve uncovered. Discuss them with friends and colleagues, not to solve anything, but merely to explore. Notice what rises organically out of those exchanges. What is trying to emerge? What is trying to happen here? That’s the scent of the trail we must follow. That’s the compass heading for our new True North. 

By the way, if you’re worried about losing everything you’ve loved, don’t. Though the wilderness demands we let the old story go, not all will be lost. Everything that is Good and True and Beautiful will survive, albeit perhaps in different, more generous forms than we have previously known. That’s part of the joy of such wild peregrinations: who knows what new wonders we may discover — about ourselves, about life, about the universe, about God?

“Wanderer, your footsteps are the road, and nothing more;
wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking.” — Antonio Machado

(Note: This is the 6th installment in a series of essays. You can find all the entries by following these links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, and Part 8.)