Fate is that which constricts us, a word we’ve historically ascribed to what is unavoidably given. As I write this Winter 2020 newsletter I am very conscious of how quickly we can find ourselves bound by fate.
Where I live in Melbourne, Australia, we are now 8 weeks into a strict second lockdown with the resurgence of COVID-19. Life is confined to a 5 kilometre bubble, with nightly curfews enforced by police. We are allowed outside the home only if masked and for no more than one hour’s exercise a day, for medical attention or essential supplies. Shopping is permitted only once a day by one person in the household. Retail, cinemas, galleries, restaurants, schools, sporting facilities and many businesses have closed, some never to re-open. Separated from each other and the rest of the country, we can no longer visit and hug family and friends. Some of us will have loved ones pass away during this time without ever being able to sit with them and hold their hands again. While we are in a more fortunate position than those in many countries, the mental health toll on even robust individuals, including psychologists and counsellors, is nonetheless high.
It feels as if our city, perhaps our world, has been put into an induced coma in the emergency ward. We lay low, wait through the uncertainty, and hope we will pull through, while we wonder about what life might be like on the other side. This is a liminal time, a time when we are no longer what we were, and not yet what we will become. Meanwhile a groundswell of people across society and the globe know that the many unsustainable ways in which we have been living, driven by obsolete ideologies which deny respect for the natural world and our kinship as human beings, must now change.
The Latin phrase amor fati means the love or embrace of one’s fate. As I have written in my book From Career to Calling, this is not to be confused with fatedness, or an inevitability about how things will turn out. The Jungian analyst James Hollis describes amor fati, the love of fate, as “in the end a recognition that it is here, in this place, in this time, in this arena, that we are called to live our lives”. Fate in this sense is different from destiny — that which we pursue, a quest for fulfilment according to our unique patterning (together with an acceptance of the limitations of our fate). The notion of amor fati has sustained people historically in many dire situations – the experiences of those in concentration camps such as Viktor Frankl and theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer come to mind.
So one of the ways to think about this present moment in which so many of our outer options are curtailed is: What is my calling now, in this situation over which I have no control?
The Three Fates (Moirai). Flemish tapestry (probably Brussels, ca. 1510-1520). Victoria and Albert Museum, London.
To lovingly embrace our fate in this way heralds the emergence of wisdom. And while we are all bound by the hand of fate in one way or another, it is the wise individual who can love their fate so deeply that it is transformed into destiny – into a deeper realisation and fidelity to the soul-purpose of one’s life.
In Greek mythology, fate was represented by the Three Fates, the goddesses Moirai, who create, weave and ultimately end our lives. The Three Fates are the daughters of Ananke, who was the goddess of necessity (also the mother of all invention) – suggesting that it is necessary that it be this way.
Woman with lute. Artist: Nassir Ovissi
So as it is necessary that we stay apart, stay at home, and sit with uncertainty, I am reminded of the words of 17th century philosopher Blaise Pascal, that “All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone”.
Many times over these past weeks and months of lockdown I have found myself sitting quietly in a room alone, listening in and noticing what is calling me now. With a limited capacity for engaging with the world through a screen, one of the surprising remembrances that has emerged for me is my early love of music. As a child I played violin and later classical guitar. I longed to play the piano, but my parents could not afford one. There was some discussion about whether I would attend highschool at the Conservatorium of Music, but it was decided that it was too early to commit to what seemed an uncertain and financially difficult career path. That was not necessarily the wrong decision. However, in the successive years of pursuing supposedly more practical courses of study and work, playing music fell to the wayside. Yet these last weeks, with clients unable to visit, I've rearranged my consulting room as a music room. I’m finding much comfort, happiness and interest in rekindling my love affair with music and rediscovering the joy of making my own.
Another way I love to engage with music is through dancing, whether on my own, or dancing tango with my husband, which we have practised for some years now. I also consider these artistic, creative activities as metaphors for the soul’s calling. How may we bring more of our own sweet music into this troubled world? Can we love our fate enough to be in a responsive and creative dance with it?
Why not embrace this liminal time to rekindle and lean into your own soul’s music, whatever that is for you. What brought you alive in childhood, and how might you revive that early love and interest now? Perhaps it was craftwork or cooking, growing things or making things. You may be surprised at how it sustains you in these difficult times, inspiring hope and even intimating fresh new directions for your post COVID-19 life.
With love and blessings,
Suzanne
Dr Suzanne Cremen
Founder, Life Artistry Centre (Australia)
Adjunct Faculty, Pacifica Graduate Institute (USA)
Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
Today, like every other day, we wake up empty and frightened. Don’t open the door to the study and begin reading. Take down the dulcimer.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.
~ Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi
— from Open Secret: Versions of Rumi, Translated by Coleman Barks.
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