The Evolutionary Journey Of A Wayfarer

Sufis believe in evolution of the individual into a complete person through experience and understanding . Their spirituality is reflected in their conduct and behaviour; it is not something external , but is part and parcel of their being. The individual is Gods highest creation, having knowledge and bliss, yet he is not perfect. Sufis make a conscious effort to evolve as perfect beings. The essence of Sufism lies in keeping to the right path and achieving perfection. Conforming to the outer form of religion is important only to the extent that it does not inhibit spiritual progress the real objective being to grow beyond religion, to understand the real meaning of religion and to realise the Truth by experience. 
Sufis consider spiritual training as a journey and the seeker as a wayfarer, passing through various stages and experiences . Although different Sufi Orders or Tariqats state them differently , most of them agree on the basic tenets. The first step for the wayfarer to prepare himself for higher stages of spirituality is Tauba, to repent for his past sins and resolving not to repeat those mistakes. This is awakening from a state of unconsciousness. The wayfarer becomes alert and keeps an eye on his actions. However , if he is not committed to repenting for past sins and resolving to take care not to repeat them in the future, then he is not a true repentant. 
The next step after Tauba is renunciation of worldly possessions i.e. living in poverty. The real meaning of poverty is lack of desire for worldly possessions. The sense of possession is to be given up. Everything originates from God and He alone is the real owner of whatever exists. If he possesses something, he thinks himself to be the caretaker of that thing which is to be used for the benefit of all. In reality living a life of simplicity and contentment is living a life of poverty. 
After renunciation comes abstinence i.e. to control ones mind and to restrain it from indulging in sensuous pleasures against the dictates of scriptures. To do so people often adopt practices like observing fast, silence and solitude. Sufis, however, lay stress on the evolution of the inner-self and consider it more important than physical restraints. True repentance, Satsang, company of ones Master or other realised souls and receiving grace of the Master or Tavajjoh are considered more helpful. In the company of the Master, the seeker starts feeling that the knots of sensual pleasure hitherto tying his mind are loosening and their place is being taken over by the love for the Master or God. 
After this the wayfarer reaches the state of Tawakkul, the state of complete trust in God, and then to Raza, to live as God desires. Trust in God means complete dependence on God. As the Sufi saint Rabia has said it does not befit a devotee to look towards anyone else except God. One should have firm faith in Him. All that happens, happens according to His desire. With this firm faith, the seeker now learns to be thankful to the Almighty in whatever condition He keeps him. He learns to live according to the desire of the Almighty. Both sorrows and joys are considered to be His blessings. Reactions become dull and one starts accepting things as they are. Fully content the seeker now sees His grace in everything. The ego vanishes and the seeker now moves to the state of fana or annihilation , which is considered to be the end of the journey. 

SUFISM

Sufis believe in evolution of the individual into a complete person through experience and understanding . Their spirituality is reflected in their conduct and behaviour; it is not something external , but is part and parcel of their being. The individual is Gods highest creation, having knowledge and bliss, yet he is not perfect. Sufis make a conscious effort to evolve as perfect beings. The essence of Sufism lies in keeping to the right path and achieving perfection. Conforming to the outer form of religion is important only to the extent that it does not inhibit spiritual progress the real objective being to grow beyond religion, to understand the real meaning of religion and to realise the Truth by experience. 
Sufis consider spiritual training as a journey and the seeker as a wayfarer, passing through various stages and experiences . Although different Sufi Orders or Tariqats state them differently , most of them agree on the basic tenets. The first step for the wayfarer to prepare himself for higher stages of spirituality is Tauba, to repent for his past sins and resolving not to repeat those mistakes. This is awakening from a state of unconsciousness. The wayfarer becomes alert and keeps an eye on his actions. However , if he is not committed to repenting for past sins and resolving to take care not to repeat them in the future, then he is not a true repentant. 
The next step after Tauba is renunciation of worldly possessions i.e. living in poverty. The real meaning of poverty is lack of desire for worldly possessions. The sense of possession is to be given up. Everything originates from God and He alone is the real owner of whatever exists. If he possesses something, he thinks himself to be the caretaker of that thing which is to be used for the benefit of all. In reality living a life of simplicity and contentment is living a life of poverty. 
After renunciation comes abstinence i.e. to control ones mind and to restrain it from indulging in sensuous pleasures against the dictates of scriptures. To do so people often adopt practices like observing fast, silence and solitude. Sufis, however, lay stress on the evolution of the inner-self and consider it more important than physical restraints. True repentance, Satsang, company of ones Master or other realised souls and receiving grace of the Master or Tavajjoh are considered more helpful. In the company of the Master, the seeker starts feeling that the knots of sensual pleasure hitherto tying his mind are loosening and their place is being taken over by the love for the Master or God. 
After this the wayfarer reaches the state of Tawakkul, the state of complete trust in God, and then to Raza, to live as God desires. Trust in God means complete dependence on God. As the Sufi saint Rabia has said it does not befit a devotee to look towards anyone else except God. One should have firm faith in Him. All that happens, happens according to His desire. With this firm faith, the seeker now learns to be thankful to the Almighty in whatever condition He keeps him. He learns to live according to the desire of the Almighty. Both sorrows and joys are considered to be His blessings. Reactions become dull and one starts accepting things as they are. Fully content the seeker now sees His grace in everything. The ego vanishes and the seeker now moves to the state of fana or annihilation , which is considered to be the end of the journey. 

The Three Marriages: Reimagining Work, Self & Relationship

looks beyond the notion of work-life balance to the triumphs and tragedies of human belonging in three crucial areas that most individuals simply can't avoid: in relationship, in work and in all those strange and inexplicable inner ways we belong to ourselves. It looks at what happens along with the way when we become more interesting: when we get out of the dynamics of self-entrapment and fall in love - with a person, a future, a work, or with a new sense of self.

Thinking of work, self and relationship as three marriages offers the possibility of living them out in a way in which they are not put into competition with one another, where each of the marriages can protect, embolden and enliven the others and help keep us mutually honest, relevant, authentic and alive.

Understanding the human need to belong - and expressing, fulfilling, and accommodating it throughout the recurring seasons in a life - has proven to be a central theme in all of Whyte's work. In The Three Marriages, the aclaimed poet-author explores this need in the dynamics of the three core relationships we all negotiate - that of the intimate other, that with work, and that with our self. They are separate yet interwoven life threads, capturing the need to belong to another, to belong to community, and to belong to something larger and deeper within ourselves. Each is vital, and neglecting any one weakens the others. But it's not simply about "balancing" them, Whyte warns. It's a bold lifelong adventure of keeping them in an open and honest conversation. When we allow these marriages to learn from and revitalize one another, we risk becoming vulnerable but we also open to a life that is "innocent, dangerous, and wonderful all at the same time."
                                                     - SHIFT Magazine, Spring 2009

An Excerpt from Crossing the Unknown Sea: Work as a Pilgrimage of Identity by David Whyte

David Whyte's book is, as he puts it, "a midnight conversation" on the union of work and soul, yearning and satisfaction. Here is a cogent passage on how speed can become an obstacle to expressing the best that is in you.

"Speed in work has compensations. Speed gets noticed. Speed is praised by others. Speed is self-important. Speed absolves us. Speed means we don't really belong to any particular thing or person we are visiting and thus appears to elevate us above the ground of our labors. When it becomes all-consuming, speed is the ultimate defense, the antidote to stopping and really looking. If we really saw what we were doing and who we had become, we feel we might not survive the stopping and the accompanying self-appraisal. So we don't stop, and the faster we go, the harder it becomes to stop. We keep moving on whenever any form of true commitment seems to surface. Speed is also warning, a throbbing, insistent indicator that some cliff edge or other is very near, a sure diagnostic sign that we are living someone else's life and doing someone else's work. But speed saves us the pain of all that stopping; speed can be such a balm, a saving grace, a way we tell ourselves, in unconscious ways, that we are really not participating.

"The great tragedy of speed as an answer to the complexities and responsibilities of existence is that very soon we cannot recognize anything or anyone who is not traveling at the same velocity as we are. We see only those moving in the same whirling orbit and only those moving with the same urgency. Soon we begin to suffer a form of amnesia, caused by the blurred vision of velocity itself, where those germane to our humanity are dropped from our minds one by one. We start to lose sight of any colleagues who are moving at a slower pace, and we start to lose sight of the bigger, slower cycles that underlie our work. We especially lose sight of the big, unfolding wave form passing through our lives that is indicative of our central character. On the personal side, as slaves to speed, we start to lose sight of family members, especially children, or those who are ill or infirm, who are not flying through the world as quickly and determinedly as we are. Just as seriously, we begin to leave behind the parts of our own selves that limp a little, the vulnerabilities that actually give us color and character. We forget that our sanity is dependent on a relationship with longer, more patient cycles extending beyond the urgencies and madness of the office."

Crossing the Unknown Sea:Work as a Pilgrimage of Identity BY David Whyte

Maturity and energy in our work is not granted freely to human beings but must be adventured and discovered, cultivated and earned. It is the result of application, dedication, an indispensable sense of humor, and above all a never-ending courageous conversation with ourselves, those with whom we work, and those whom we serve. It is a long journey; it calls on both the ardors of youth and the perspectives of a longer view. It is achieved through a lifelong pilgrimage."

Whyte reveals many of the questions, crises, and turning points in his own search for meaningful work suited to his nature. He discusses his stint as a naturalist in the Galapagos Islands and the important role his ancestors have played in shaping the structure and form of his creative work. This emphasis upon our inheritance from those who have gone before us is quite impressive and convincing.

Whyte's use of pilgrimage imagery alludes to the importance of the soul and questing in finding our true vocation. Or as he puts it, "Seen in the light of a pilgrim's journey, work takes on a greater significance than merely paying the bills and keeping the ever present wolf from the door." The author spells out these amplified meanings of work with material on a sense of dedication, waking the giant inside ourselves, standing up to others, overcoming obstacles, incarnating passion, using our intuition, and being creative.

Whyte taps into the resources of poets such as William Blake, Emily Dickinson, Rainer Maria Rilke, Walt Whitman, and William Wordsworth as he unravels the yearning we have for work that we love. Crossing the Unknown Sea is a philosophical masterwork by an author who has hit high stride in his appreciation and honoring of fulfilling work as a spiritual practice.

An Excerpt from The Three Marriages: Reimagining Work, Self and Relationship by David Whyte

Poet and author David Whyte examines the three marriages of relationship, work, and inner self. Here is an excerpt on the transformation that can come through accepting our own vulnerability.

"The real gift and the crux of our difficulty is our constant and entirely natural experience of vulnerability. Trying to live without feeling vulnerable means we do not understand the fierce nature of the reality we inhabit. In closing off our vulnerability, we close off the authentic exchanges that tell us we are actually having a real conversation. Vulnerability is the door through which we walk into self-understanding and compassion for others. Being enlightened does not mean we assume supernatural powers or find a perfection that exalts us above the daily losses other human beings are subject to; enlightenment means we have accepted thoroughly our transience, our vulnerability and our imperfections and live just as robustly with them as without them.

"The relationship between the ego and the deeper enlightened self is much like the relationship between the rescuer on the muddy path and the person who does not 'wish' to be rescued, who must gestate through the lonely night in the woodcutter's hut. The ego is meant to look after us, to care for us and protect us, and perhaps come looking for us when we seem to be lost. But when we identify completely with that protective figure, we lose the more important story and halt the possible transformation occurring in the depth of the night. Sometimes the best thing to do is to hold a kind of silent vigil beside the part of us that is going through the depths of a difficult transformation. When the outer story that the ego tells, merges with the one the inner self has come to, this becomes 'the marriage of true minds.' The ego seems to disappear, but actually it has simply assumed its rightful place in the hierarchy of priorities; it has become a good servant to the soul's desires."

Not a Question of Balance: A Marriage of Marriages

David Whyteproposes that our current understanding of work-life balance is too simplistic.

People find it hard to balance work with family, family with self, because it might not be a question of balance. Some other dynamic is in play, something to do with a very human attempt at happiness that does not quantify different parts of life and then set them against one another.

In the following excerpt, Whyte suggests a more integrated understanding of our interdependent marriages with others, with our work, and with ourselves.

Each of the three marriages is nonnegotiable. They cannot be “balanced” against one another—a little taken from this and a little given to that—except at their very peripheries.

To “balance” work with relationship and with the self means we only work harder in each marriage, while actually weakening each of them by separating them from one another. 

Each of the marriages represents a core conversation with life that seems necessary for almost all human beings and none of the marriages can be weakened or given up without a severe sense of internal damage.

The three marriages are eternal and internal human conversations; they can occur whether we are officially married or not, whether we have a real vocation or a terrible job, whether we have astonishing revelations about our identity or have never given a second thought to our place in creation. These three conversations occur in the human psyche, consciously or unconsciously, whether we decide to speak them out loud or hide them away. They are part of the way we pay attention to the world and part of the way we attempt to make a home in it. To ignore them is to be caught constantly in invisible, internal battles, which become a source of puzzlement and unhappiness to the personality struggling on the surface.

The three marriages are especially nonnegotiable in their early stages. Only later do we learn to put them into conversation with one another. In youth we abandon our parents to go out in the world, in love we often abandon our friends for a good while, and in work we abandon “other interests” when we start to concentrate on our vocation.

But each of the marriages must be lived out physically or imaginatively, whether we attempt to choose among them or not. I may never, literally, marry a person, and I may even hold myself at a physical distance, but like Queen Elizabeth I, keeping at bay the kings and princes of Europe, I will refuse the outer match only because I am already married to some other “kingdom.” 

Equally, in the second marriage, I may not choose an actual career, but I must have some internal definition of my work even if it is the undefined, uncelebrated invisibility of parenting. In the third marriage, I may not shave my head and enter the cloister as a monk, but to have any real possibility of contentment I must cultivate a relationship with silence and with the ever new self that can emerge out of that silence. To ignore any of the marriages causes a glacial buildup in large parts of the human psyche that may easily avalanche across the other two marriages, flattening them and smothering them in the process.

Our refusal to have these conversations out loud, to take these marriages seriously, makes no difference; they will occur with our conscious participation or without it: they are foundational to human belonging. My refusal to follow my vocation to please my spouse will only result in my demanding of her, at emotional gunpoint, all the qualities I cannot garner myself through my work. She will only be imprisoned by my frustrations and the very sacrifices she may have asked me to make. The refusal to participate fully in an of the marriages, to make them overt and speakable, causes endless friction in a relationship. Not speaking about them, a couple can often become afraid of each other’s desires and eventually see each other as unspoken enemies. To speak of these marriages out loud at the very least creates a crossable frontier between the couple. Each couple stands at the turbulent edge between the surface attempt to control these other powerful marriages and the Dionysian underground energies that carry them along, trying to flow around all outer obstacles. When we attempt to stop the conversation our partner might be having in the two other marriages because of natural jealousies, we become an obstacle to the one we are supposed to “love,” and then wonder why it is so difficult to make this first marriage work in isolation.

To “love” another in the first marriage, we must love the desires that the other person holds for the other two marriages. These desires are indicators of who our partner is at the moment and who the partner is becoming. They are essential to the person’s identity, and to dismiss them or become frightened of them is to lose sight of the person to whom we committed in the first place.

We might ask ourselves, How is it possible to talk to a partner about these other marriages when I am confused and unsure about them myself? It might be difficult to track and keep up with the first marriage, but the act of creating a conversation with our partner on the subject of the other two marriages of work and self helps us both to understand the other’s struggles and, importantly, to overhear ourselves say things we didn’t realize we knew about our own lives. We become co-conversationalists in the marriage of marriages. Once each of the marriages is in conversation with the others, there can be a mutual support among them: each enlightening and emboldening the other. For instance, in the third marriage, my understanding of how I am changing at any of the big thresholds of live—moving into my thirties, becoming a parent or reaching midlife—can have a radical effect on what I want from my work or my relationship. My partner’s bold moves in life can also affect and encourage me to do the same. I start to see the relationship with my partner as not only a place of shelter and retreat from the world, but also a crucible for navigating change, a more movable center than I could have imagined myself, around which the relationship and the future can pivot.

It is instructive to note that when we talk about work-life balance we are almost always talking about the effect work has on a marriage, rather than the way a marriage can also affect work or a sense of the inner self. Perhaps because the person to whom we have committed is flesh and blood, and the other marriages can seem, to begin with, like abstracts; perhaps because there are often children involved and before their priorities we are rightly helpless. But keeping a relationship or marriage alive with a flesh-and-blood partner or even with our children almost always involves the ability to keep an out-loud conversation alive with those other two marriages of work and self, which, in the heart and mind of the individual, are not abstracts at all.

From the BookThe Three Marriages: Reimagining Work, Self and Relationship by David Whyte.