How Big is Your Story: Cynthia Bourgeault

Photo Credit: Karsten Wingert for Upsplash

Recently I fell into, well, I wouldn't even dignify it by calling it a depression. I was feeling sorry for myself, that's what I was doing, which has no dignity in it at all. Self-pity is one of the most belittling filters we can apply to our human experience, telling a story that puts ourselves and our bruised egos at the epicentre of the universe.

I had just completed the third version of a novel I'd been working on for more than four years. I'd shared it with a team of beta readers, I'd invited other writers and an editor to give it their attention, and I'd made changes each time, based on their comments. This latest version erased and replaced all the facets of the story that might make a prospective publisher turn away. All, that is, but one.

Predicably, I'd set the story in the church world. That's the world I know. That's the world I want to write about. But it's not the world modern readers want to read about. Unless it's about scandal and abuse, which this one isn't, though it isn't wine and roses either. After all, it begins with a wrongful death on the steps of a church. But I'd just been told--yet again--that, while the writing was good and the characters were strong and the story carried the reader along, no one in the modern age wants to read about the church.

If I'd been working on a hard copy of the manuscript, I'd have wanted to rip the pages up into little pieces, or burn it in the fire pit. At the very least, I wanted to hide it away from the light of day and move on with my life. Perhaps I should forget getting it published at all and record it instead as an e-book, making it available for free on my podcast. Or self-publish the thing and sell copies whenever I played a house concert. But otherwise, walk away.

The small story was that no one wanted to read what I'd written, and how much that hurt. But there was of course a larger story. I'd written the thing to help me process my own experience of leaving the church; and the novel helped me do that. I'd written it to sharpen my writing skills; and it helped me do that too. And along the way I'd found myself in the company of other people who write, inspirational people I greatly admire. So, there was a bigger story behind the one I wanted to tell as a failed novelist.

And then, there was the even bigger story behind that, a story without words, where a mysterious hand seemed to be sculpting something deep within my soul. In that story, it's not just about my following a path toward personal growth and self-development. It's a story about becoming the person the Universe has created me to be, and that the Earth needs me to be, what Bill Plotkin (who we'll talk to next time) calls my Mythopoetic Identity. This was reflected in the push to write in the first place, an irrefutable, inner insistence that kept me at it for hours at a time, as if Soul itself had a stake in my writing, if not in the outcome.

We always have a choice of which story to tell about our lives. The small story is about me getting my way, or not. The larger story is about Life getting its way--through me. Life couldn't care less if I ever get this novel published. But it cares a great deal about whether I become the person I was made to be, contributing what I am meant to contribute, and offering myself as a unique blessing to the world. That story is huge, and it's ongoing, the ending still in progress.

The best spiritual teachers are those who try to get us to see our lives as a manifestation of the largest possible story, transcending the limiting concerns of our ego in order to live the adventurous life we are meant to live. Buddhists might hear our sad tale and send us back to the meditation mat. Hindus might consider which household gods have been offended or neglected and then seek to make an appeasement. Christians might speak of a Divine Will so fundamental, so pervasive, that we have little choice but to regard our earthly lives as part of a greater heavenly plan.

Cynthia Bourgeault is a Christian mystic and Wisdom teacher who is as comfortable in the day to day reality of earthly existence as in the cosmic realms of the imaginal world. The relationship between the two is precisely what captures her interest in the books she's written, in the courses she teaches, and in the online wisdom she offers. And she's become a very busy teacher indeed, making it hard to get ahold of her. But her popularity is understandable.

Cynthia speaks readily and candidly about her life. It's a human-scaled life, the lows cringeworthy and the highs glorious. But her greatest concern is how our daily lives are meant to reflect their cosmic Source. So she seeks real-world connections: a deep and ongoing friendship that appears to have survived death; a love affair that veers ominously and disastrously, off-course. It turns out that how we live our small lives greatly impacts, and is greatly impacted by, the larger story that wants to be told through us.

So, just how big is the story we want to tell?

To listen to my recent conversation with Cynthia Bourgeault, press the Play button below. To learn more about Cynthia, her books, and her web sites, follow the "More Info" link to the show notes.