Had to listen, had no choice
Did you know that Peter Gabriel’s song “Solsbury Hill” is about when he received mysterious guidance from God (or Whoever) that it was time to leave his wildly successful band Genesis and strike out on his own?
(Actually it was an eagle: Eagle flew out of the night.)
Now. Who in their right, self-respecting mind would believe—let alone act on—such groundless, surreal directive?
He didn’t.
I could not believe the information…
However, he also didn’t deny it was true.
…just had to trust imagination…
Even so, he couldn’t do anything about it for a while. Pesky things like love, guilt, and legal contracts kept him hanging in an excruciating limbo. He knew he was becoming something else but was rooted where he was for the time being.
To keep in silence I resigned. My friends would think I was a nut.
In other words, he did not bow to this guidance, confidently stride up to the band, graciously back out, immediately pick up a solo career and write this elegant song summing it all up.
Nah. Struggle ensued. Many dark nights of the soul strung together. For a while he resolved not to make any more music at all. But as we know, he did. He eventually returned reborn, writing songs like this.
It so rarely makes sense.
I learned this Peter Gabriel factoid years ago and obviously never forgot it. Each time I hear the song I am reminded of what I’m constantly forgetting: that what feels right often doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. At least not at first.
Have you ever had a deep knowing that you had to do something, or a fleeting feeling of rightness that came like a lightning strike—so quick you might miss it if you blink, yet so indelible that you find yourself acting on it anyhow?
When I first sat down in the home I currently live in, there was a lightning strike: a giant, resonant, coming-from-everywhere “YES.” I said the word the second my lil bootie plopped down on the previous owner’s sectional sofa. I didn’t know it at the time, but that “yes” was a vow: one that held through what became the longest, most torturous bout of fear and panic I’ve ever experienced.
The process of acquiring and moving into this place scraped me clean; kept me from feeling any joy during what was, objectively, a happy development. As often happens with big moves, all this ancient stuff buried deep in my psyche—themes of safety and scarcity and my very citizenship on this planet—was systematically churned up, reworked, sorted, replaced. It was like multiple dental procedures without novocaine. I was taken right up to the edge of what I could manage, what I could stand, in every way.
Ultimately, once I connected to the resources I needed and found some ground again, I emerged new, better, happier. This new home is great. The “yes” was right about this move, very much including the dark night of the soul that led to so much growth. My system got boiled and all that was no longer serving bubbled up to the top for me to work with, learn from.
The “yes” was undeniable, and it pulled me through the fire.
More recently…
Earlier this year, the name Soul Writing had to be dissolved, as (we learned) it’s already in trademarked use by someone else. I may have written about this before, but my initial response was another mysterious lightening strike: not the word “yes,” but rather a bizarre sense of relief at this development. I know, what? It made no sense, but like ol’ Petey on the hill, I trusted imagination.
Now, five months on, no new obvious name has emerged, and trust is getting a little harder. For one thing, it’s making it rather difficult to share about this work. Names sure are handy ways of talking about stuff, and Soul Writing had been the perfect shorthand for what happens in this wee universe I’ve been stewarding. Without a name it’s very hard to promote, to encourage, to hustle, to pull folks in, to do all those things we business owners are supposed to do to, ya know, keep things ticking over.
And yet, pretty constantly, that bigger voice, the eagle, intuition, is feeding me really, really strange information. Like, you’re fine. Like, you have what you need, you always will. Like, don’t do anymore. Like, go toward your joy. Just love people. Keep your heart open. Relax. You don’t have to work as hard as you think you do.
“Butbutbut,” croak I, “scared…how… afloat … will die … dude, eagle, have you seen my bank account?… bills… survival… gah…”
The relief was real. Trust it.
Indeed, as I periodically shine flashlights into the dark corners of my being, looking for the panic that ‘should’ be there, it’s weirdly elusive. Just like that “yes” brought me through the crisis a few years ago, the currents of mysterious relief are keeping too much terror from building up in a given moment.
It makes no sense. And it feels realer than anything. Just like that trippy experience on that grassy hill at night was for Peter Gabriel, even if there was no clear path from where he was to where he’d end up. Even if the ensuing months were obscured, dark, scary, exhausting, he had to listen; had no choice.
And I guess so do I.
What about you?
In a time when less and less is making rational sense, what guidance lives in you? What nonsensical, irrational hit have you had that ultimately proved right, even if you had to swim through a dark time to reach its shores? Please share in the comments.
