The Ring of Fire

Growing up, my family always emphasized positive thinking as the way to get through anything. If you’ve met my parents, you know that they do indeed practice what they preach, and it works for them. They are some of the most fun-loving people I know, and from what I can tell, everyone (including me) loves to be around them. They see the bright side of life, the glass as half full. They are filled with gratitude, optimism and good cheer.

I was not born with this particular outlook on life; I tended to think there was something wrong with me for not being a model of cheerfulness. I always felt like the black sheep of the family. The more I was told to think positively, the more I would feel inadequate and yearn to be different to meet others’ expectations. I must admit to engaging in a lot of biting sarcasm, self-deprecation and bitterness in years past (let’s not even mention high school).

It has taken a LOT of inner work to get to where I am now, which is much more realistic, and, well, more positive. The great news is that I don’t think I “should” be more positive, I just am. I think inspired, optimistic thoughts all the time and actually believe them. Perhaps it’s just maturity. Or years of doing thought work and coaching.

Regardless, my inner world is vastly more pleasant than it used to be. And yet, as I’ve gone through my treatment, I have started noticing deep, old thought patterns that I thought were gone emerge again. They’re pretty dark, and they feel old and childlike, such as:

I can do it myself (channeling my inner two-year old)

I can’t ask for help

I’m too brave and strong to be scared

I don’t want to be a bother

I won’t have what I need

There’s something wrong with me

My “stuff” is coming up at break-neck speed these days, but I am giving myself the gift of not having to DO anything about these negative thoughts except pay close attention to them. In the past, I would have used these thoughts as fodder to beat myself up and feel ashamed. It’s really tempting to do that again, let me tell you, but I’m resisting the temptation.

Instead, I realize I’m smack dab in the middle of what Martha Beck calls the Ring of Fire (Steering by Starlight), which describes the emotional transition from the “Shallows” (the exterior shell of life where we are motivated by external validation, such as money, status, and fame) to the Core of Peace (the oneness of everything, where there is no pain, no fear and no death). The only way to get to the Core of Peace, though, is to go through the Ring of Fire, and that entails grieving unavoidable losses and disbelieving false ideas that cause unnecessary pain. It requires confronting our very self-concept (which is usually based on ideas that we adopted as children that are no longer necessarily true). It is far from pleasant.

I am now grieving the loss of my health (or at least the way I thought of it before) and having to investigate all kinds of old, tired thoughts that have come up to the surface for healing. It is in our nature to avoid pain, so it’s extremely tempting to run back into the Shallows as quickly as possible (yes, I’ll cop to a fleeting thought about moving to a deserted island by myself to avoid imposing on anyone or needing help anymore). But we don’t heal from the Shallows--only from the Core of Peace. Having a framework to recognize this transition process has helped me regain my perspective and dive right in, despite the discomfort. In fact, wading through this particular emotional muck is a necessary part of healing, and my overall health and wellbeing will benefit immeasurably.

So what about you? Have you been through the Ring of Fire? Has a grieving process changed you in ways you could never have anticipated? I’d love to hear what you think of these concepts and how they apply to your life.