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“All the powers in the universe are already ours. It is we who have put our hands before our eyes and cry that it is dark.” ~ Swami Vivekananda

“You are not IN the universe, you ARE the universe, an intrinsic part of it.” ~ Eckhart Tolle

“You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.” ~ Maya Angelou

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I have been doing a practice I call 10.20.30 for several years now, on and off.

I happen to be in an “on” period right now and am up to 58 days of 10 minutes of journaling, 20 minutes of meditation, and 30 minutes of movement.

It is a powerful practice. The structure helps me, the timer helps me, and a commitment to myself keeps me going. As I keep the commitment—this time—I am reminded again of the magical combination especially of journaling then sitting in silence. I write freely, with no intention or plan, and see what emerges, and then sit with it in openhearted welcoming of whatever may arise.

In one of these practices recently, I had an insight that felt powerful to me, so I wanted to share it with you.

As a person who works extensively with grief and trauma, I often hear the phrase, “I guess the universe is trying to teach me a lesson,” or “I guess I just didn’t listen to the universe so it had to speak to me more loudly,” or “I wonder what the universe is trying to teach me.”

I’ve never loved that sentiment; it always felt like somehow there was an implication of stupidity, or at least of denseness sufficient enough for the entire universe to have to direct itself to you, to the person speaking, in order for that person to finally “get it.” And if they didn’t? If you didn’t? Well then the universe would just have to do something even more intense, more dramatic in order for you to learn. That also doesn’t feel particularly kind.

My life over the past five years has been marked by repeated loss—the deaths of three members of my immediate family whom I loved more than anything, followed by the death of a child that I have had in my home, spent hours at the beach with, who called me his second mom, followed by the most recent death of one of my dearest and oldest friends. All of this occurring while I was working my way out of a marriage and finally sitting with the grief that also comes from divorce—the loss of a dream, a future, a belief about how things should be, a friendship I had originally relied on.

As I have managed to put one foot in front of the other, to pick myself back up repeatedly, to try to make sense of what this means for me, about me, and about my life and purpose, the idea has come up that I must be meant to learn something—the universe must be trying to teach me something.

But as I worked through my 10.20.30 recently the thought came to me: the universe isn’t “trying” to teach me anything. The universe just is. The universe just flows and flows and all sorts of things happen. It does not have a personal relationship with me, not in the sense that it is looking at me, managing my life, seeing what I need, offering me lessons, taking things and people I love away from me just so I can “learn” something.

I teach a similar idea in end-of-life care trainings. I talk often about parallel streams. One is the flow of life. This, to me, is the same as “the universe.” It just is. Life just is, things just happen, some good, some extraordinary, some difficult, some traumatic, some tragic. It is all in there, it’s all part of life, and it’s all part of the flow. And yes, to be alive is to likely encounter all of these aspects of life at some time.

But I have often heard the tendency to imply that because we know, for example, that death is part of life, that we should expect it, accept it, and not get too caught up in grief and the yearning and suffering that accompanies the loss of someone we love. Such a strange and unhelpful notion. Because there is a parallel stream, and that is the stream of grief, of suffering, of longing, of eventual integration of that loss. One does not negate the other. The fact that I know that I will die and so will everyone around me does not make it easier. And to deny that is also to deny part of what it is to be alive, to be human.

I think of this idea of “the universe” in much the same way. It just is. And all this is happening. But none of it is personal to me, so none of it can be “intended” as a lesson. Instead we, as individuals with agency, with consciousness, with a desire to grow toward our full human potential, get to decide what we are going to do with these events, these challenges. We get to decide how to integrate them, how to make sense of them, how we might use them for —as Ram Dass says—grist for the mill. We get to shape and mold our experiences in order to make sense of them, and potentially to grow or change from them. But we are not passive pawns of the universe, we are not being directed, punished, or rewarded by “the universe.”

When I think of my own suffering and challenges in this way, whether my divorce, the losses I have been dealt in these years, or even my move to Mexico, which I admittedly am sometimes ambivalent about, I don’t have to think that the universe is trying to teach me something. Instead, I take the lead. This happened—now what?

I did not need a “lesson” to tell me that bereavement work would be so close to my heart. The losses happened, and I chose to use them as a way to help and support others in their own process.

It took me a long time and a lot of suffering to follow through on my divorce. I didn’t need a lesson from the universe, then a bigger one, then a bigger one to eventually make real what I had known and wanted for a long time. The relationship eroded and I chose to take the time I needed, to love and be patient with myself in the process, and to finalize the divorce when I was truly ready.

I did those things. I made those choices. I intuited an opportunity when things got really hard. The universe didn’t make those decisions. All the universe did was to do what it does. Flow. And I did, as best as I could, what I do. Flow and change along with it.

And you can too. We are all in this together.

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