Spiritual Journey: First Light
This is an essay I wrote about three years ago. It introduces a series of essays under the title Spiritual Journey that will show my personal stories of spiritual awakening. I hope you can enjoy and relate to them.
“I am the Way, the Truth and the Life”
As I walked from the central hall to the train station platform, the billboard I saw while coming down the stairs read, “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life”. It stood all by itself, clear in sight. It spoke to me as a trusted voice, as an ageless and disarming reminder that I could live life in truth and integrity. This is my spiritual journey of darkness and first light.
I was only 23 years old but my life was out of control. All the signals were there; bad and broken relationships, failed studies and a disapproved internship, too much drinking and drugs. But I got the strongest signal when I nearly caused somebody’s death in an accident at the glass print shop where I worked. But let us start at the beginning.
A five year relationship with my girlfriend ended. I had cheated on her, I confessed and she could not forgive me. During the one and a half years that followed, I was overcome by guilt or raged with anger each time I would see or talk to her again.
My obsession with women increased as I was no longer constrained by a long term relationship. My relationships grew shorter and shallower each time I dated another girl. My definition of dating was to explore and pursue any opportunity for romantic intrigue or sex. I would break or reinvent rules to achieve the desired outcome . I was shy when I needed to be shy, charming when I needed to be charming, and aggressive when I needed to be aggressive.
My interactions with family and friends also indicated something had gone wrong. My dad told me: “You used to be such a happy child…,” and then he left it up to me to finish his sentence with; “but now, I look upon a confused, disillusioned, and sad young man”.
Around friends and peers I was arrogant and self-righteous. I would feel superior over them, or harshly judge or blame them for being a bigger loser or worse alcoholic than me. It was easy for me to start new friendships but I would leave them behind soon after. I dipped into a variety of social circles but was committed to none. I was free, a loner, and a loser.
I did not complete my social studies at the University of Utrecht. I left Utrecht in my third year and returned to my city of birth. I volunteered at a refugee center for a year and then I enrolled at a vocational school for social cultural work. I entered the third year, the year of internship, and was positioned at the refugee center where I had volunteered the year before.
I had felt free as a volunteer but felt trapped as an intern. The year of internship was a struggle and the last months were hell. I did not fit, would not conform and had isolated myself from the team that I worked in. I was desperate; because I knew I had failed, but I felt obliged to stay another 6 weeks waiting for the pending evaluation. When I met with all the parties involved, I expressed my anger and frustration first, then I cried. I had lost the game.
I was finally free to follow my dream to be a blues musician wholeheartedly. I sang and played the harmonica in a semi-acoustic and electric blues duo. We were original, popular, and affordable for small cafes as well as the bigger blues festivals. We played the circuit in the Netherlands and Belgium did two Scandinavian tours, recorded two demos and a professional CD.
We lived on the road. We would load the gear, roll our first joint and listen to Skip James, Big Bill Broonzy or Muddy Waters. Stoned and feeling the blues deep down, we would drive off to our destination. We would set up stage, eat, get a few drinks at the bar, smoke another joint backstage, and play 2 or 3 long sets. The stage was our living room, we laid out a carpet, placed an old wooden bass drum on it, two chairs, his 6 beautiful guitars and both our 4×10 watts Fender Blues Deville amplifiers. I would sit next to him with my red suitcase full of harmonicas, a bullet microphone, and my colorful percussion instruments. And between us, we would set an antique 2 feet tall metal ashtray, that when you press it down with the palm of your hand disposes of the cigarette butts and ashes. After we played, we would have a couple of more drinks, pack up the gear, drive back, buy red bulls at a gas station, unpack the gear and go to bed at 5 or 6 in the morning.
Next to playing gigs I worked side jobs to pay my rent, since most of the proceedings from the duo I spent on drinks and dinner out the next day. Our road manager arranged a job for me at a glass print shop. In the two months I worked there I hadn’t mastered much about the job other than moving big and heavy 6 by 4 feet glass panels one by one, applying paint to the panels, and cleaning the large paint screens afterwards.
A female intern had started the day before, and on her first morning the two of us were alone in the print shop. With no one to tell us what to do, I made a careless attempt to move a large amount of glass panels stacked on both sides of a pallet. I had never done that before. I knew the glass was expensive, that I should have strapped them together, and that I should have waited for someone who knew what he was doing. As I raised the pallet with a hand pallet truck, it became unbalanced and slowly collapsed to one side. The intern moved around in an attempt to prevent the stack from falling but got stuck between the wall and 5000 pounds of half broken glass.
I ran for the owner who lived above the glass print shop. And after a couple of minutes a small team of men arrived to remove the glass from the girl. In removing the glass, more of it broke. There was blood but I couldn’t see where it was coming from. When she came out from under the glass, her hip had a deep dent from holding all the weight, but the glass had only cut her finger. She seemed calm and stable but I was in shock. I had become a danger to others as well as to myself. I was aloof, unfocused, irresponsible and dysfunctional. I couldn’t stand it anymore.
Then a friend from my first blues band visited me. He told me he was emotionally stuck and was going to look for professional help. I was humbled by his sharing and I was grateful he told me about his dilemma. I had never thought of looking for help outside of my familiar circle of acquaintances. I then realized I could and should do the same.
He was probably the reason I started to write down my painful thoughts and scenarios in notepads. With black ink on white paper, my darkness became clear to me. Writing had proved a valuable tool. It had exposed my condition and now it marked my desperate plea. I kneeled and in big letters carved “Help”.
Then I took a shower, and in undertaking this ordinary event I experienced a new sensitivity. I was more aware of the moment and of myself somehow. I didn’t carry that normal hint of shame and anxiety of stepping in a cold student bathroom. I was naked but felt innocent. As the water came out of the shower, a light shined in my mind. It was soothing and I felt cleansed and purified by it. I acknowledged the light as coming from Jesus. We didn’t exchange any words but our communication was intimate and direct, more so than a conversation or a physical appearance would have been.
The words I had read on the billboard became evident to me in my first light. It replaced guilt, conflict, and uncertainty with faith, strength, and purpose and thus set my life on a straight trajectory to truth. New events and encounters lined up, new friends and discoveries were made. As despair had led to light, faith would soon lead to healing, readiness to revelation, commitment to conversion, and willingness to change.
When you ask you are given what you ask for. Each question leads to an answer, the answer to another question, which leads to another answer. If you ask the right questions, and ask them with your heart, the answers come as distinct experiences. When you thus give your life to truth, your spiritual journey becomes one of healing and miracles. Just like mine.
