Many who have studied religious traditions, or who are somewhat well-read in spiritual literature, are familiar with the terms "dark night of the soul," originating with St. Juan de la Cruz, the "vias negativa and transformativa" of Meister Eckhardt, and the "Hero's Journey" from Joseph Campbell's work.

And yet more than a few journeyers are destined to discover a more "full-bodied" knowing which is far deeper, far more full, than the simple intellectual awareness of these concepts.

Telling of my own dark-night journey is the kind of story, the sort of topic, that I usually keep close and don't share with others. Like many, I was programmed to "keep such things to myself." Yet it's a story that I was called up to write about and share, and thus I do so with hope that it can be a beacon of light for others who find themselves walking unexpectedly through the valley of the dark night.

My journey has made me more fully familiar with these terms, in fact: dark night of the soul, spiritual emergence, spiritual emergency, and Hero's Journey — all of which provided context that helped guide me from the nadir of the valley towards understanding and integration of the experience.

I share the story of my own dark night of the soul not as an expert or psychologist, but just as a fellow traveler leaving an account of one person's experience and a note of encouragement to those following along behind me.

The seeds of the dark night are planted in the full light of day

I can only write this now because I have some distance from the earlier part of my own dark-night experience, though I can't and don't claim to have completed or integrated it completely.

But with some distance from the beginning of it, I can see that the earlier seeds were planted well before the abyss appeared. A few key events in 2000 laid the scene for the several-year valley-walk that would follow, a timeframe extended perhaps, by events or circumstances that would deepen or further complicate the journey.

In early 2000, I celebrated more than a few goals that I'd set out to reach — a business that inspired quite a few people and impressed a few others; the blessing of healthfulness; a new pregnancy; my fifteenth wedding anniversary; business loans that were nearly completely paid off; enjoyable friendships and collaborations with colleagues; plans to purchase a dream home outside of the city; a book that would be published in 2001; a rich spiritual life; a new vision for where I wanted to take my business; and what seemed a clear and sunny path before me.

Then, over the next two years, what seemed a full-spectrum deconstruction occurred, starting with the deaths of two people very close to me, the passing of a much-beloved pet; a health crisis that involved emergency surgery, a near-death experience, and subsequent complications and unwellness; and an economic recession that caused several friends to lose their businesses and had me battling to keep my own business afloat. At the same time, I wrote, published, and promoted a book; ran my business; tried as I could to support friends and family and inspire and guide my clients; and carried on stoically and efficiently as a "motivated and successful person" is supposed to do.

And all the while, unacknowledged by me, I had exhausted my own energy reserves and was "running on fumes" from a mind-body-spirit perspective. Though it wouldn't be identified until later, my biochemistry had been thrown into an imbalance from blood loss and the overall experience of my medical emergency and surgery, contributing to chronic unwellness and fatigue. I hadn't yet recognized it, but I had experienced just one too many blows at a time when my own resources were exhausted. Before I realized it, I found myself sliding down the slope into the abyss.

The slide into the abyss, and into the darkened valley

In retrospect, I am able to see my descent into the abyss — my entry into the darkened valley and dark night. I am able to articulate it as feeling like I was sliding down into an abyss whose walls were greased, so that any attempt to grab onto something was futile.

I could feel myself descending into an unknown place. I could see the light above me becoming smaller and dimmer, like one would if they fell into a deep well. It seemed that the distance between me and all that was familiar in my life expanded radically, in the blink of an eye.

And perhaps worst of all, I was confronted with a personal reality very different from my previous experience of myself: I felt apathetic and often sad, disconnected from Spirit, and unable to access my natural sense of vision, meaning, and motivation — both things that had seemed "hard-wired" for me up until that point. At the time I felt most in need of my spiritual connection and sense of vision, the universe seemed completely dark and silent to me. I felt completely adrift, and much that had been of high priority for me seemed suddenly meaningless, or at least minimally important.

But because I kept functioning — doing the work of the day, writing, going about business as usual (albeit in the very unusual economic and cultural circumstances that existed during the 2001 to 2003 timeframe) — my fall into the abyss was, for much of the time, an internal journey that wasn't necessarily evident to those around me. Even then I was apparently doing very nicely at keeping up appearances and focusing on others, as "Good and Successful Girls" do!

What's more, given the horrific events of September 11, 2001, anything less than such catastrophic losses seemed, by comparison, to be "no big deal." I suspect many who were experiencing less dramatic though still difficult "dark nights" were silenced by the magnitude of the 9/11 experiences — just as some people might feel right now in comparison with the losses of the Indian Ocean tsunami victims or the war-wounded.

It was easier, and seemed sensible then, to minimize and brush aside my own challenges in light of the more horrifying ones experienced by others. But what's minimized and swept aside can't heal or be transformed into new wisdom. It burrows and lives within us, and ultimately comes back to haunt.

This made for a somewhat surreal paradox. On one hand, I was going through the external routines of "life and business as usual" — and appearing somewhat successful at it — and on the other I was experiencing a far-from-usual and utterly transformative interior Hero's Journey. My body and mind were going through the motions, while my spirit and soul were elsewhere. The two cannot coexist in a mutually exclusive state forever, though. Ultimately, the two do meet.

Walking through the valley of darkness, and how others (seem to) respond

One of the typical features of the "dark night of the soul" or the Hero's Journey is a dissolution of the Ego, which is a nice, detached way of saying that whatever you would put on a list of "what defines you," or even more to the point, "what makes you someone in our culture," gets a big target painted on it and is slowly dissolved (or ripped) away from you, either in physical actuality or in terms of its meaning to you. This may include professional achievements, status symbols, material or financial wealth, physical wellness, relationships, roles you've identified with; the list may go on, and is no doubt somewhat unique for everyone.

My experience was no different; if anything, I learned a bit later that it was almost a textbook experience of the dark-night or "shamanic awakening" journey — one that other cultures and wisdom traditions remember how to navigate much more effectively than our very forgetful Western religious-but-not-spiritually-mature dominant culture.

When you've been a person of vision and are known for the "can do" spirit that is so celebrated in our culture, others come to rely upon you for inspiration, for that sense of vision and optimism, for ideas and insights, for help and support. That's a wonderful thing, and I've always felt happy and privileged to use gifts I've been blessed with in a way that is of service to others and sustains me financially.

But when some of those gifts go missing, as they do during the dark night of the soul, it does, at least in my own experience, affect the way others see and interact with you.

In my case, it was my perception that — during a period of about a year — some friends, family members, and colleagues had absolutely no interest in the "me" who wrestled with new waves of sadness, pessimism, anger, impatience, and despair — the "me" who didn't always have the answer or solution, or the "me" who, having spent even the fumes that had driven me, had less to give than others were used to.

It seemed that some friends and colleagues who were ever-present when my optimism, referrals, ideas, and generosity were abundant, became ever-scarce when the more shadowy traits such as pessimism, sadness, uncertainty or limited-availability emerged into view. To put it another way, it seemed brutally clear that some had attended my party because of the gourmet buffet.

In addition, again from my perspective at the time, some family members didn't want to hear such things, either, but preferred to default to the "norm" of pleasant banter or me listening to and being supportive of them. And it's not that I didn't want to do that; I did. I just couldn't quite summon the reserves to do it sometimes. It also seemed that those who were used to me contributing at a high level energetically and financially were not at all happy to get to know the part of me that needed to depend on them for a bit, nor was it easy to feel dependent. At least, that's how it seemed, and in some cases it was no doubt accurate (while in others, my own lens amplified the perception).

To be fair, most people in the midst of the dark-valley journey aren't advertising it loudly or directly asking for specific types of support from others. Sometimes it seems easier to avoid the issue altogether, rather than manage someone else's response. It takes every bit of available energy to simply focus on your daily responsibilities and navigate the journey; there isn't always a whole lot left over for extreme skillfulness. Match that with the reality that many people just don't listen well, don't often notice subtle cues, and are busy with their own "stuff" (particularly during the period of time referenced in this story), and you've got some very mismatched stories and conversations happening.

For one in the dark night journey, it's not always clear what's happening or why — not until later, when you've begun the ascent from the valley floor and have a different perspective about the experience and its texture, purpose, gifts and wisdom. In the midst of these experiences, one perceives a rejection that just adds to the challenging aspects of the journey.

Ultimately, the inner journey affects not just relationships, but one's professional life and other outcomes as well. It has to — our energy levels and thoughts create and attract, and the state of our mind, body and spirit very much affects what we're able to create and how well we're able to respond to the events and circumstances of the outside world.

In my own case, I wasn't able to devote the same quality of vision and laser-focused energy to my business that I had in the past, and business suffered just as already-expensive and difficult economic conditions required a higher capability. I couldn't provide in the same way for people who relied on me to do so. I just didn't have the fuel, and without my usual sense of vision, clarity, motivation and energy, I couldn't see the pathway out of it for a time. But I could definitely see the consequences and my inabilities, and the transient nature and seeming dissolution of much that I had devoted myself to.

It all creates a period of time when the journeyer feels very much alone, very much isolated, very much unsure, at least marginally misunderstood or unsupported, and very cognizant of what one can and cannot control. Everything that one identifies with seems threatened; everything that one has tended to and built seems to be dissolving; everything that has fed the ego seems to be unraveling.

Mid-valley, and the start of the ascent

To me, the grief, sadness, and sense of unfairness and lost control seemed deeper than the deepest lake. And this is what the journey wants — your surrender of all that you thought you were, and what you thought was important, and a rebirth into a renewed knowing of what truly is important and enduring. Your world gets turned around so that you learn to see and navigate by a new North Star — one that is more appropriate to your own heart-aligned purpose.

As Geo Trevarthen said poignantly in the book Traveling Between the Worlds, when speaking of the "shamanic calling" (a phrase for one type of Hero's Journey), the false foundation gets eroded away again and again, until the abyss itself becomes your foundation.

As the textbooks and ancient wisdom traditions articulate so well, these are very much the traits of the dark night or Hero's Journey, though a journey that we in Western Cultures have forgotten how to more gracefully navigate through to the light, wisdom, and authenticity that awaits us on the other side.

At some point towards the end of 2002 and into 2003, I started to feel very fleeting glimmers of returning light and vision, very faint voices of Spirit and intuition, guiding me onward. I became aware of a sense of companionship — as if an invisible hand had reached out from above and grasped my own to prevent me from falling further; as if a voice had said, "Gotcha!"

This is what I'd call the nadir of the abyss, or the middle of the valley. Though outside circumstances still challenge, and though sustained clarity still seems unreliable and distant, the glimmers seem the most amazing sources of illumination after that period of utter darkness and silence. In the midst of despair and darkness, one is reminded of hope and light, just as the St. Francis of Assisi prayer so beautifully suggests.

At this middle-point of the journey, I started to feel a sense of slowly returning focus and vision, a sense of place, and a sense that the experience could and would integrate itself for a renewed purpose and direction. This, too, is very much a part of the Hero's Journey, or the shaman's awakening, or any other similar path that includes a stretch of "dark night" experience.

Gifts from the valley floor

Being the middle of the valley, the journey through it still contains some distance before one begins the ascent from the valley floor. But after a period of time falling away from all that makes sense in one's life, suddenly feeling as if I was walking towards something again seemed nothing short of miraculous.

I became aware of my intention and desire to heal and integrate the lessons from my journey. I became aware that the deep grief and sadness had opened me to a greater sense of compassion and heartfulness for others and, indeed, of the connectedness of all creation. I became aware that a sense of deepened capacity and knowing were being cultivated — a different way of seeing and hearing that comes from the journey through the full cycles. I became more aware of the more nuanced reality and "unified field" found beyond good and bad, right and wrong, success and failure.

My "valley walk" also taught me things that I knew a bit about, or I knew intellectually but that I more deeply understand now — more about the mind-body-spirit connection and wellness than I knew before; that pain pushes while vision pulls; that our thoughts and the state and health of our mind-body-spirit do make an enormous difference in how we perceive and what we create; that where we put our thought, vision and feeling ultimately begins to reflect outward into our reality, and how that reality then reflects back at us; that there is forgotten purpose, richness and Grace that only grows in the Dark Night, the winters of our lives, the fallow seasons.

And I've learned, too, that there are things beyond my own or any individual's control, despite our best efforts; and that some things must change, transform, or dissolve away in order to make room for something new that wants to be born — that where we've been and what we've done often becomes compost and fertilizer for what emerges. We can resist the "dark night" and prolong our suffering, or we can relax, release and be reborn.

As I became aware of and open to these insights, people and resources appeared to foster this understanding and propel me towards ascent from the valley. Where some old friends and colleagues and kudos had fallen away, new connections and interests or callings, new visions and insights, began to slowly, almost shyly, find their way to me. And I gained a deep appreciation for those who supported, inspired, and stuck with me during the journey.

This is where I am right now — learning to see with new eyes, and hear with new ears; remembering how to decipher with the wisdom of my heart as well as my intellect; and having a new commitment to integrating and sharing this deepened experience with others, in service to the vision shared by many cultures of the Way that is possible for us all if we reach for it and are willing to shed our false foundations and our dominant-but-unsustainable paradigms.

I've learned what richness, wisdom, and gifts are only to be found in the valley, the dark night — gifts that can only be of service to us and others if we navigate our way through and emerge into the light on the other side with a new sense of understanding and a renewed sense of vocation to higher ways and purposes.

Of course, as soon as we pass the mid-point and begin to see again, we're called upon to share what we've learned, what we've experienced, with others. Whether we feel ready or not, we're called upon to teach what we need to learn more deeply — and offer in service to others that which we've learned along the way.

That's our tithe for the gifts from the valley floor, that we give in exchange for being guided along to the next rung on the spiral of life.

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