We find ourselves in a world where crisis has become a constant companion, challenging our traditional understanding of contemplation and spiritual practice. As we reflect on the concept of crisis contemplation, we are struck by how it resonates with our collective experiences, both past and present.
For so long, we’ve held onto the image of contemplation as a peaceful retreat, a solitary journey inward. We’ve pictured monks in quiet cells, meditators on cushions, or individuals stealing moments of silence in busy lives. But as we look around us, as we delve into our histories and confront our present realities, we realize that this image falls short. It fails to capture the spiritual experiences of so many who have faced, and continue to face, overwhelming crises.
We think of our ancestors who were torn from their homes, forced onto ships, and sold into slavery. We remember those who were rounded up and sent to concentration camps, their entire world shattered in an instant. We recall the forced marches of indigenous peoples, the internment of innocent citizens based on their ethnicity, and the ongoing violence against Black and Brown bodies at the hands of those sworn to protect. In each of these instances, we see a form of contemplation that defies our traditional understanding.
This crisis contemplation, as we’ve come to understand it, is not a voluntary retreat but a collective free fall. It’s a shared experience of breaking, of losing control, of having every assumption about the world and our place in it stripped away. In these moments, we find ourselves plunging into the depths of our being, both individually and collectively.
What do we do when there’s no help coming? When resistance seems futile and escape impossible? We’ve learned that in these moments, something profound occurs. We let go. Not in surrender or defeat, but in a profound relinquishment of our illusions of control. We fall together into a space of unknowing, a shared consciousness that transcends our individual experiences.
As we reflect on this, we realize that crisis contemplation is not just a historical phenomenon. It’s happening around us, to us, right now. We see it in the face of global pandemics, in the wake of natural disasters that devastate entire communities, in the ongoing struggle against systemic racism and injustice. We feel it in our bones as we grapple with climate change, economic uncertainty, and political upheaval.
In these moments of crisis, we’ve discovered a different kind of contemplation. It’s not peaceful or comfortable. It doesn’t come with incense or soft music. Instead, it’s raw, urgent, and collective. We find it in the voices raised in protest, in the bodies moving in defiance, in the shared silence of a community in mourning. We recognize it in the way we come together, stripped of our usual defenses, to face the unthinkable.
This crisis contemplation challenges us to be present in a way we never thought possible. It demands that we stay awake, alert to the realities around us, even as we free fall through the darkness. We’ve learned that to close our eyes, to retreat into comfortable spirituality, is a luxury many cannot afford. For communities under constant threat, the contemplative stance is one of vigilant awareness, a spiritual alertness that can mean the difference between life and death.
As we sit with this understanding, we feel a profound shift in our spiritual perspective. We realize that the divine presence we seek is not found only in moments of peace and quiet, but also – perhaps especially – in the midst of chaos and crisis. We’ve come to understand that sometimes, the most profound spiritual experiences occur when everything we thought we knew is stripped away.
In these moments of crisis contemplation, we’ve discovered a different kind of letting go. It’s not the gentle release of meditation, but a shattering of our personal and collective narratives. We let go of our stories about who we are, where we come from, and where we’re going. We let go of our plans, our ambitions, our very sense of self. And in that letting go, we find something unexpected – a deep well of resilience, a connection to something greater than ourselves.
We’ve learned that this letting go is not the same as giving up. Rather, it’s a recognition of our own limitations, a humbling acknowledgment that we are not in control. In this space of crisis contemplation, we’ve found that the only constants are the love that sustains us and the promise that we are not alone. Even in our darkest moments, even when we feel most abandoned, we’ve discovered a presence that abides with us.
As we reflect on our experiences of crisis contemplation, we’re struck by its transformative power. We are not the same people we were before the crisis. Our communities are forever changed. The way we see the world, the way we understand our place in it, has shifted fundamentally. We’ve been broken open, and in that breaking, we’ve found new depths of compassion, new reserves of strength, new capacities for love and resistance.
We’ve come to see that crisis contemplation is not just about enduring. It’s about emerging. It’s about finding ways to dance in the face of despair, to sing in the depths of sorrow, to create beauty from the ashes of destruction. We’ve witnessed this in the art that emerges from oppressed communities, in the music that rises from places of pain, in the movements for justice that are born from shared suffering.
This crisis contemplation has taught us the power of collective consciousness. We’ve experienced moments where our individual pain and fear dissolve into a shared space of being. In these moments, we’ve felt connected not just to those around us, but to all who have suffered, to all who have endured. We’ve tapped into a wellspring of collective wisdom and strength that we never knew existed.
As we continue to navigate a world filled with crises – personal, communal, global – we carry with us the lessons of crisis contemplation. We’ve learned to be present in the midst of chaos, to find stillness in the eye of the storm. We’ve discovered that our spiritual practice isn’t limited to peaceful moments of solitude, but extends into every aspect of our lives, especially the most challenging.
We’ve come to understand that crisis contemplation isn’t about finding answers or solutions. It’s about being fully present to what is, about bearing witness to our own experiences and the experiences of others. It’s about holding space for the pain, the fear, the uncertainty, without trying to fix or change it.
In this space of crisis contemplation, we’ve found a different kind of peace. Not the peace of absence – absence of conflict, absence of pain – but the peace of presence. The peace that comes from fully inhabiting our experiences, from connecting deeply with others, from touching the raw heart of what it means to be human.
As we move forward, we carry with us a new understanding of spirituality and contemplation. We know now that our practice isn’t just for the good times, for the quiet moments. It’s for the hard times, the impossible times, the times when everything falls apart. We’ve learned that our spiritual strength isn’t measured by our ability to retreat from the world, but by our capacity to remain present and aware in the face of its harshest realities.
We’ve discovered that crisis contemplation isn’t just an individual journey, but a collective one. We are in this together, falling together, emerging together. Our personal transformation is inextricably linked to the transformation of our communities, our societies, our world.
As we continue to face crises – both those we can anticipate and those that catch us by surprise – we do so with a new sense of readiness. Not because we can control or prevent these crises, but because we know now how to be in them. We know how to let go, how to fall, how to find each other in the darkness.
We move forward with a deepened commitment to justice, to compassion, to creating a world where fewer people have to experience the kind of traumas that give rise to crisis contemplation. At the same time, we move forward with a profound appreciation for the spiritual depths that can be reached in times of crisis, for the wisdom and strength that can emerge from our darkest moments.
In the end, we’ve come to see crisis contemplation not as a departure from our spiritual path, but as an integral part of it. It’s a fierce and urgent form of spirituality, one that meets the world as it is, in all its pain and beauty. It’s a spirituality that doesn’t turn away from suffering, but moves towards it with open eyes and open hearts.
As we continue on this journey, we do so with a sense of humility and awe. We know now that we don’t have all the answers, that we can’t control everything that happens to us. But we also know that we have within us – and between us – the resources to face whatever comes. We are ready to fall, to let go, to break open. And in that breaking, in that letting go, we are ready to discover again and again the depths of our resilience, the strength of our connections, and the transformative power of crisis contemplation.
SUMMARY
Crisis contemplation is a concept that diverges from traditional peaceful contemplation, occurring in the midst of intense crises or trauma. It can be both personal and communal, experienced by individuals and groups facing shared traumas, and involves a loss of control and a “free fall” into the center of personal and collective being. This often results from situations where there’s no help coming and no reasonable options for resistance or escape. Historical examples include traumas like slavery, the Holocaust, forced relocations of Native Americans, and internment camps, while more recent instances encompass police violence against Black and Brown people, natural disasters, and pandemics. Crisis contemplation involves letting go of personal narratives, plans, and assumptions about how the world works, creating a space of breaking, relinquishment, and waiting where previous senses of belonging and safety are shattered. This experience can lead to a collective consciousness or shared soul space where people find solace together. It challenges the notion that contemplation is always peaceful or a retreat from the world’s troubles, acknowledging that for many communities under constant threat, traditional peaceful contemplation is not feasible. Crisis contemplation can manifest in various ways, including through communal religious practices or artistic expressions like dance. It recognizes that sometimes the only constants are divine love and the promise of not being left alone, emphasizing the importance of being present and aware during crises, even when everything feels out of control. Ultimately, this experience can be transformative, profoundly changing how individuals and communities view themselves and the world.
KEY POINTS
1. Crisis contemplation differs from traditional peaceful contemplation, occurring in the midst of intense crises or trauma.
2. It can be both personal and communal, experienced by individuals and groups facing shared traumas.
3. Crisis contemplation involves a loss of control and a “free fall” into the center of personal and collective being.
4. It often results from situations where there’s no help coming and no reasonable options for resistance or escape.
5. Examples include historical traumas like slavery, the Holocaust, forced relocations of Native Americans, and internment camps.
6. More recent examples include police violence against Black and Brown people, natural disasters, and pandemics.
7. Crisis contemplation involves letting go of personal narratives, plans, and assumptions about how the world works.
8. It’s a space of breaking, relinquishment, and waiting, where previous senses of belonging and safety are shattered.
9. The experience can lead to a collective consciousness or shared soul space where people find solace together.
10. Crisis contemplation challenges the notion that contemplation is always peaceful or a retreat from the world’s troubles.
11. It can manifest in various ways, including through communal religious practices or artistic expressions like dance.
12. The concept acknowledges that for many communities under constant threat, traditional peaceful contemplation is not feasible.
13. Crisis contemplation recognizes that sometimes the only constants are divine love and the promise of not being left alone.
14. It emphasizes being present and aware during crises, even when everything feels out of control.
15. The experience can be transformative, changing how individuals and communities view themselves and the world.
