Finding An Authentic Life

By Edna Peirce Dixon

Just read an article on my Daily Stoic email titled, “How Not To Be Afraid of Critics.” Something in the very first paragraph about feeling like an imposter really grabbed me and it made me wonder how many of us live our lives feeling like frauds, hiding our innermost thoughts for fear of being harshly judged if people knew who we really are.

This was certainly me for much of my life. Always the curious observer, I understood early on that things are not always as they seem to be or ought to be, yet I was afraid to take the risk of asking too many questions or venturing into uncharted territory. No rebel here, I just went along obediently, trying to fit into a world I didn’t understand. Much later, with my forties approaching, a discontent arose deep inside. I had no vision for a fulfilling future after the family nest was empty and I began to wonder, “Is this all there is?”

Looking back, I see how I protected my fragile ego and tried to live up to the expectations of most everyone I knew. All the while I knew I was not being true to myself, yet I didn’t know where or how to ask for help. So I just withdrew and tried to figure things out on my own: questioning, exploring, seeking, listening to many voices, from scholars to teachers of ancient wisdoms, in search of common threads that made sense.

As new revelations, inspiration, and insights came my way and settled into my personal way of being, I began to set goals and pursue them. I also faced some troublesome doubts and concerns with my spiritual underpinnings and made the decision to follow my conscience. Afraid to face the judgment I knew was sure to come, I kept most of my deeper thoughts to myself and avoided attachments. Oh, I envied my friends’ happy sense of community, but that was not for me. The more I pulled away, the more I felt like an outsider, peeking through cracks in the fences of life. Ever mindful of the abundant blessings I have received in my life, I still chose to walk my spiritual path alone.

Then one day, that wee small voice, that Spirit, that inner urging, “That of God within” as my ancestors would have said, rose up, kicked me out of ego-protection mode and sent me tumbling pell mell into a world I could never have imagined. Perhaps this was to be my “Spirit Quest,” like trekking into the desert alone to find out who you are. Suddenly with not the least resistance, I found myself stepping blindly into the dark world that looms behind high walls, iron bars and razor wire.

Now an elder of 75 years, I found myself in daily communication with first one and then two middle-aged Native American men who had been incarcerated for most of their lives. What was I thinking? Some of my friends reasoned that this was a ministry. No, not that. One proclaimed on social media that I was a fool. She later apologized, not because she was sorry, but because her religion said it was a sin to call anyone a fool. Some were kind and supportive. Others said nothing. I don’t know what they thought. Me, I had no clue. I just answered a call and made a choice knowing I would not, could not back down.

This was a life lesson. I was there to learn and what an education it was! As the next 10 years rolled by, my naïve and complacent mind would be constantly battered by the harsh realities of the cold and violent world these men lived in. There were beautiful lessons as well. The first being a clear affirmation of the idea that if you intentionally seek the good in yourself or another person – or as my ancestors would say, “that of God in every [wo]man” – you most likely will find it.

This I know: When that Spark of Spirit lights up someone’s darkness just because you came, you surely will be blessed by the reflected light.

So now that I was here, what was I to do? Most certainly these gentlemen and I were all cautiously curious. Trust does not come easy. I was interested in learning and full of questions, so we found lots to talk about and we began building trust through daily emails. It amazed me to learn the level of love, brotherhood and devotion both these men shared when speaking of their spiritual lives and Native communities throughout the federal prison system. In the moment, despite blatant prejudice and reluctance of chaplain’s staff to provide for their needs, I walked with these two as they faithfully held their sweat lodge and prayer ceremonies as best they could. Just as other brothers had encouraged them, the intention of the Spiritual group was to teach and guide each troubled brother back to their Native traditions, toward a better path than the one that brought them there.

Other than my love of stringing words together to make cohesive sentences, this old white woman didn’t have much to offer. But the kind and loving Spirit of Creator as they lived it in their daily lives touched my heart. The insights I received into a beautiful way of life and the sacrifices made to honor our Creator even in the midst of unspeakable evil needed to find a voice. So these two friends pecked out their messages in a rough prison email system. I corrected the typos, polished things up a bit, and together we shared so many important experiences, thoughts, teachings, poems, songs and compelling life stories with a wider world.

Wise ones say that when you seek your tribe or your calling with good intentions, the way will open before you. It just takes longer for some of us to find our place. Walking my own true path has been a journey in itself. I still stumble sometimes, but my greatest goal is to rise above that defensive ego and master the art of living with a heart of loving kindness. Only in service to others who have suffered far more than I ever could have imagined did I even begin to heal, to learn how to love unconditionally, and finally find my authentic voice.

The wonderful, crazy thing is I don’t worry if people like me or not. What matters is whether I like me or not! That keeps the ego in check right there. I like to believe that my ancestors, my parents, my husband, children, and grandchildren, friends, and my Creator have all taken note that I’ve finally come around to a new, more authentic me and I hope they like what they see.

A special message:

Ghost Dancer and Walks On The Grass, my two beloved teachers, I will be forever grateful to you both. In your separate journeys, each of you has endured the worst kinds of hell but you kept your faith and you’ve come through with your beautiful souls intact. At last you are home among people who love and respect you and I pray you have many wondrous days ahead.

Walks, We have talked about how you lost your Mom while you were in prison. I know that loss hurt your heart so deeply. Call it fate but we now know your mother and I are distant cousins. Somehow, I believe it makes her as happy as it does me that I want to claim her precious boy as one of my own. Now you, Steven Walks have joined the clan that calls me “Mom” and I feel so blessed for it. How cool is that for an 85-year-old?

So, from Nat King Cole’s Nature Boy to each of you, I send this old familiar reminder, “And while we spoke of many things, fools and kings, this he said to me: The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.”

Mvto mvhayv vnokeckē