Journey from I to We
My life before coming here two years ago had become solitary, painful, and uninspiring. It felt broken. I had spent many years working as a musician, rarely needing to look far for employment, and often feeling appreciated for my skills. Yet over time it began to feel as if I were living in a bubble — defined by a narrow range of abilities, but not growing into a well-rounded human being. Even with spiritual practice, life didn’t feel transformative anymore. I didn’t feel I had what it would take to make a real breakthrough in this lifetime. I was ready to take a risk and try something new – at least for a while.
“You are receiving a lot of love, you just don’t know it yet!”
I spoke to Qapel, and expressed my interest in staying at Clear Sky for four week. If I wanted to run away, I would at least know it would be over soon. The thought of giving up my freedom and individuality had long been intimidating, but he was encouraging – suggesting there could be a role for me here.
As expected, it felt jarring at first to give up my familiar routines, and commit to a schedule I had little control over. But more than that I felt vulnerable and exposed. All the social awkwardness and habits that didn’t serve me well presented themselves for everyone to see, and I could no longer hide in an identity that consisted only of what I wanted to see, previously maintained by a lifestyle intended to preserve it. It did seem like I received a disproportionate amount of training in those early months, as I was being brought up to speed on how a community functions, and how my actions could help or hinder that. One morning in the office exemplified this quite well as Qapel said to me, after I had received feedback on my posture, appearance, and communication style, “You are receiving a lot of love, you just don’t know it yet!”
Eventually one month turned into three, and three months turned into six months – then a year. I simply couldn’t ‘unsee’ what had become obvious to me. And it was a choice of staying with the truth, or turning away from it.. The truth here being honesty about what would lead to liberation. There was no going back to my old life of stagnation.
And amidst the training – of paying attention to detail, speaking directly, demonstrating to others that they have been heard, and pausing to take in what others say, a quiet confidence was building that I could function in roles of responsibility and accountability that may have seemed off limits in the past. Catherine Sensei and other staff members also highlighted strengths and talents that I may have overlooked. For example Sensei would often comment that I am actually a closet social butterfly who actually enjoys socializing, while being very encouraging of my studies in compost management and soil renewal, and highlighting how valuable it was for the center.
I am still not ready to say what new livelihood may emerge from all of this, but in the meantime, I am doing what needs to be done, and not using livelihood as something to make me feel secure or maintain an identity. I am learning to think of being part of a larger community – it is a sort of refuge to ask myself ‘what needs to be done?’ rather than ‘what do I need?’- which involves much less suffering. And in fact I’ve discovered that what I need is not separate from what’s needed – a way of functioning in the world that does not involve self-doubt, self-preoccupation, and clinging to my past versions of myself that are no longer serving me.. Where that leads, I am still not sure, but I am fine with that.
From a young age, I had longed for a spiritual community, but for various reasons it had never fully come into being. Looking back, part of this may be because it’s easy to idealize community as a place where we never feel lonely, where people agree with us, or where discomfort magically disappears. In reality, genuine connection often requires passing through a period that can feel painful. The training here at the center can feel relentless, but it is held with honesty and goodwill – everyone has our unfoldment in mind. And on days when I don’t feel inspired, I can draw strength from others — their clarity, their sense of purpose, or simply the shared commitment to tending the tasks that keep the center running and support those on the path.
I still don’t know exactly where all of this will lead, but in recent months I’ve felt a genuine renewal — a sense of wholesomeness and quiet confidence. Cooking for others, taking on a larger role in food production, caring for the food forest, tending the soil, and stepping into some leadership roles have all helped me reconnect with purpose in a grounded way. I also feel drawn to share some of these outdoor passions with children, helping them develop a relationship with nature. In a surprising way, the period when everything fell apart turned out to be part of a larger renewal process. What seemed like an ending has become the soil for something new to grow.
This whole process has been about learning to fit into a greater whole and to contribute to a purpose larger than my own comfort or monthly paycheque — not that those ever truly satisfied me. What’s unfolding here feels like healing some of the cultural wounds we all carry, especially the conditioned drive toward consumerism, self-reliance, and isolation. In a small way, through cooking, growing food, offering nourishment, and learning to communicate and collaborate, I’m participating in a model of how the world may need to evolve. Community, service, and shared purpose are no longer abstract ideals for me; they are lived experiences that point toward a healthier, more connected way of being human.