Nikayla: You just survived Hurricane Helene, a catastrophic disaster by every measure. Can you share the story of what happened?
Eden: I had just come home from leading a retreat about the Luminous Darkness. I was supposed to be at an EcoDharma teachers retreat, but I had a very, very strong intuition to come home. I’m grateful I did. My husband did not have to go through Helene alone. I’ve cultivated a really deep, beautiful friendship with the land, and I felt like in those few days, I was able to make closure.
This storm was supposed to be big, but no bigger than the other storms we’ve experienced there. One of the reasons we moved to Asheville was because it was deemed to be a safer place for climate change. We were actually in the process of starting an EcoDharma center.
It rained for three days, completely saturating the land, but it really came down to a pivotal moment that Friday morning. Huge rivers came out of the blue, and surrounded the house on both sides. Everything started to quicken and accelerate, and we knew we were in extreme danger. Then a landslide took down our house, and took me along with it, and for a number of minutes I tumbled into the underworld. I thought I was being killed. A slim gap opened up in the mud and debris, I heard my husband desperately calling my name, and I followed his voice through the chaos.
Sometimes it takes a storm like this to wash away the facade of separation, to wake us up to what is absolutely essential, and helps us let go of everything that is not.
We spent the next week with a neighbor. Their house was intact with a back-up generator, and they were helping everyone in our mountain region. We lost our home, all our belongings, and very nearly our lives. There was no preparation for a storm like Helene. This experience was, what I’m calling, a multi-dimensional awakening.
Nikayla: Multi-dimensional awakening? Please, tell me more.
Eden: There was no planning for a near-death experience. Having now survived, the experience really underlined and emphasized the degree to which, in a world of emergence, living in 360 degrees awareness, being devoted to our practice, being present and in our bodies and awake to the fluidity and constant movement of life is our best preparation.
That’s changed my understanding of the role of practice. There was a beautiful invitation here, as well as a grief, to really let go and surrender and deepen into the trust of awareness itself. We cultivate this deep trust through practice. That’s what I really want for people, deeper trust in life. The practice has also helped me cultivate joy alongside our losses, and recognize the relationship between grief and joy. A number of people have commented that my husband and I, ‘alongside what we know has been a time of grief and loss for you, you seem so joyful!’ That’s what the practice gives us. The more we are aware of our impermanence, the more we are dedicated to not missing a moment of our time here.
This was also an awakening to true nature. Across the region, beautiful people showed up with open hearts, generosity, with sleeves rolled up ready to help every day. There’s so much misinformation and conditioned momentum for the story that humans are bad, untrustworthy, or unkind.
At a community gathering soon after the hurricane, I read the Rumi poem ‘Don’t Go Back to Sleep.’ So much was awakened in people for this disaster. The spirit of community and the potential for community touched people across party lines, belief systems, and lifestyles in a way that everyone is hungry for. There’s a real hope as more of these storms unfold through the world, people will wake up more fully to the true spirit of community, and understand that community is perhaps one of our most important investments right now. Sometimes it takes a storm like this to wash away the facade of separation, to wake us up to what is absolutely essential, and helps us let go of everything that is not. This was also a recognition of nature’s might, and the power and potency of these storms as an accelerating climate crisis.
The Hurricane was as beautiful a religious experience as it was devastating.
Nikayla: I’m hearing in your story what I’ve heard again and again, that the climate crisis may be an opportunity for the actualization of the collective.
Eden: Yes, it is certainly one of our collective spiritual teachers. If we choose to meet the climate crisis with fear and go into a hyper identified emergency prep mode, then I believe we are missing the point. The actual invitation is to become present and relationally awake, not just to the movements in the human world, but the more-than-human-world and the invisible world. The invitation is to be adaptive, flexible, and fluid. To be people who can respond consciously to the unknown and the unfathomable, because though we know there is an acceleration, we don’t know how it will take form. These fires and floods keep surprising us. We have to let adaption and emergence be our focus.
Any experience that reminds us of impermanence is an awakening. My friends joke, ‘Eden, you’ve devoted your life to impermanence, did you really need this reminder?’ When I was 11, an avalanche of impermanence came through my life. My father was unexpectedly diagnosed with cancer, and he died very quickly after. His death inspired me to come to practice at a young age, and ultimately become a teacher. I had a deep prayer then that our collective impermanence would be a part of what helped humanity to wake-up. I have a hope that as more of the dismantling occurs of our society or life-as-we’ve-known it, more rather than fewer people are positioned to respond consciously for these hard lessons in impermanence.
NJ: You mentioned being ‘relationally awake.’ Relational mindfulness is important to your practice, and your approach to practice. You even wrote a book on relational mindfulness. Can you say more on how relational mindfulness helps us meet the climate crisis, both now and in the future?
Eden: As a young practitioner, there was an awareness that came to me in meditation: how we treat ourselves and how we treat the world are one in the same. There is a real tear in the fabric of human relationship today, a growing tear, levels of othering and polarization that require a very tender heart to bear witness to. When I transitioned from living in simplicity as a monastic in a silent, wilderness setting to the city of Los Angeles, it was clear to me that people, including myself, needed support in bridging the divide between sitting meditation and our conversation, conflicts, activism, or romance. The point is for there to be no separation, and to show up in the spirit of relational presence wherever we are.
So in my book, I wrote nine principles that came very simply and in clarity from sitting meditation, and they all start with our relationship to ourselves. The principles are: intention, sacred pause, deep listening, mindful inquiry, turning towards rather than away, transparency, not taking personally, taking responsibility, and compassionate action.
Nikayla: I hear a strong relationship between relational mindfulness and the practice of skillful conversations.
Eden: Yes, skillful conversations really begin with inquiry, meeting everyone wherever we are with openness and curiosity. Inquiring ‘who are you?’ rather than assuming, and really being willing to listen and receive. That’s the same quality of attunement we want to bring to a garden we tend to or the land we are stewarding. ‘Who are you?’ I’m listening. Show me. So much can be learned by getting out of the conditioned habit of assumption and labeling life, letting curiosity lead.
If we choose to meet the climate crisis with fear and go into a hyper identified emergency prep mode, then I believe we are missing the point.
Nikayla: You wrote a book, titled The Luminous Darkness. Darkness is a recurring theme in many of your teachings. I’m curious to hear about what you think darkness has to teach us in these times?
Eden: I’ll start by saying that practice truly invites us to recognize and celebrate the full spectrum of life, nature, and consciousness. From dark to light. From yin to yang. The dominant paradigm seems so bent on a hierarchical perception, a separation where light is held as higher than dark, where fast is held higher than slow, where summertime or spring or the generative aspects of nature are held as higher than the reflective, restorative aspects. This hierarchy has pervaded human history, caused tremendous harm, and is the seed of every -ism we face today.
So that’s one starting point.
Seventy-percent of the world is artificially lit at night, ninety-percent in the United States and Europe. We’re overlighting the planet. Throughout human history, all our ancestors spent a great deal of time in physical darkness and under the dark night sky. I believe there was powerful and medicinal transmission that came from more time spent in physical darkness. Alongside the loss of physical darkness, we’re in a period of time when there’s so much fixation on knowing and labeling with the rational mind. There’s much less support for people to drop into respect and reverence for the mystery itself, for not knowing, for kinship with the invisible realm. I see a real connection between the overlighting of planet Earth and the overlighting of human consciousness.
As a young meditator on the path of enlightenment seeking enlightenment, I tried to push away the dark. I learned to turn away and reject shadow. I learned to see the practice as a kind of attainment of a state rather than an embrace of the full spectrum. This experience is what inspired me to write Luminous Darkness, subtitled An Engaged Buddhist Approach to Embracing the Unknown. We’re facing times of such uncertainty and unknown, we’re being asked to bear witness to so much that is difficult and unfathomable and hard to comprehend. I offered the book as a frame for how to meet the unknown with fresh perspective, respect, and reverence rather than with fear.
One last thing I’ll add: I mentioned earlier that after Hurricane Helene hit, I felt like I received a new teaching about the fluidity, flow, emergence and the water element. My body was taken down by flooding and mudslides. In the moment of thinking I was being killed, there was such a clear recognition that there is no ending, there is no conclusion. Every ending is a beginning, every beginning is an ending. We live in flux and change. From that experience, my understanding of adaptation and fluidity in our emergent world was informed in a fresh way. I think those are the two core elements of resilience we need to be cultivating for the climate crisis because we are continuously in flux.
Being fluid allows us to respond from the full spectrum of light and dark. The Tao teaches that even in the symbol of the Tao, in the darkest dark, there is a drop of light. In pure light, there is a drop of dark. We’re always living in the fluidity of this spectrum. There is nothing that is just light or just dark. The more we learn to be open to that nuance, the more whole we experience ourselves and our lives. I think the more peace and poetry there is to our life, the more clearly we are seeing.
My husband and I are moving with fluidity through big changes right now. We don’t know where our next landing place will be. There is a good teaching in that. Liminality is a good practice opportunity. And we’re in a very collectively liminal place, right?
Nikayla: Yes, we are indeed. You also teach sacred activism for our liminal times. Can you tell me more about the sacred activist concept and framework?
Eden: Sacred activism was coined by Andrew Harvery. He said that sacred activism is “the fusion of the mystic’s passion for God with the activist’s passion for justice. The fusion creates a third fire which is the burning, sacred heart that longs to help preserve and nurture every living thing.” From a young age, I have related to that third fire, that passion to serve. I come from a family of activists and artists. Growing up, I witnessed how easy it was for the dominant paradigm to perceive a split between the sacred and activism, and to only see activism as a very limited form of expression–people loudly protesting or holding actions. When you open up activism to mean more, we can recognize that third fire in all of us, that fusion between our love for life and our deep call to serve. Sacred activism can express itself in millions of ways that each of us can show up in service, depending on who we are, what we bear witness to, and what medicine we have to offer. Living as a monastic for seven years was an expression for this third fire for me.
‘Passion for God’ we could call love or devotion for Life, and ‘passion for justice’ we could call our choice to act, to respond consciously, to be engaged in service. I think it is very much the foundation of engaged Buddhism and the EcoDharma movement.
Right now I’m finishing up teaching sacred activism for a six week course with Bioneers, and there are people participating who do such a diverse range of work–lifelong social justice and environmental activists, parents, artists, movement facilitators. They all recognize that what they’re engaged in as having a much deeper purpose and the need in these times for an embodied approach to change-making.
Nikayla: Can you tell me more about what sacred activism might look like in not just practice, but performance?
Eden: It’s about integrating the yin and yang, contemplation and engagement, the inquiry that we bring to our spiritual practice with our willingness to roll-up our sleeves, get out there, and take risks on the behalf of change-making. It’s about seeing the full spectrum of how we might be change-makers.
… all light, all vision, all imagination, all creativity arises from darkness.
For courses on this topic, we study some of the historical sacred activists who inspire us like Gandhi, Harriet Tubman, or Martin Luther King, Jr. There are many contemporary models, people who really moved from the depths of their heart and served in a way that was carried by a boundless generosity. Sacred activism also requires some really practical work too. In conventional activism, people get wildly burned out, drained and depleted, stuck in overwhelm or caught in finger-pointing. That’s some of the shadow side of conventional activism. We do a lot of work to help people find more equilibrium in their work, remembering that it’s not what we do, it’s how we do it.. This involves grief work. This involves looking at our personal relationships. This involves finding balance.
Conventional activism starts with the premise ‘There is so much need out there. I need to shape and position myself to meet as many of those needs as possible, as much of that need as possible.’ The person burns out. When we start with embodiment and presence, the understanding is that your practice is the biggest gift you have to offer.
When we turn it upside down and begin with the place of honoring one’s commitment to capital-S self, rather than small self, one’s commitment to relationships, one’s devotion and embodied connection with Earth, service comes from that ground so people are resources and don’t get depleted.
Nikayla: What you’re describing reminds me of this term I’ve heard recently, ‘spiritual infrastructure’ for the movement.
Eden: Yes, that’s a great phrase for it. I think of sacred activism as working with the pillars of presence, personal practice, and partnership with nature. So much our ‘spiritual infrastructure’ comes from our relationship with the natural world. How deeply are we willing to resource ourselves through the natural world? Listening to the invisible realm? Listening to the more-than-human realm? How can we let ourselves be vessels rather than do-ers?
Being a vessel carries a much more effortless quality than being a do-er and living in the illusion that it’s all up to me. I also encourage people to play with the premise of ‘protecting what we love’ rather than ‘defending against what we fear.’ In my younger years I was more a sort of self-righteous activist. There was such a tendency to defend against what we fear rather than recognizing that in every single moment I can make a choice to protect the field of life. There are ways I can engage relationally. There’s a quote I love by adrienne marie brown: ‘I love the idea of shifting from an inch-deep mile-wide movement, to a mile-deep inch-wide movement.’ She’s pointing us to inquire, in any moment, wherever you are, how deep are you willing to go to in how you relate with life?
Nikayla: I love to hear how you teach the means of movement work. I would also love to hear about your vision of the end. The vision of the future feels, to me, like such an important vision to return to again and again. I’m wondering, can you share a sacred activist vision of the future?
Eden: The more time we spend in darkness, the more available we are for dreaming, for dreams to come through us. I like to remind people that all light, all vision, all imagination, all creativity arises from darkness. So, I think the vision of the future depends on who the vision is coming through.
For the sacred activists it’s important not to spend a lot of time in the realm of concepts and ideas, not up in the realm of positions and opinions, but to drop down, and spend more time embracing the unknown. Through deep and embodied listening, we can really allow for fresh dreams and visions to come through us. That’s visionary activism.
I’m a facilitator for The Work That Reconnects. I love the practices for ‘conscious use of the imagination.’ Moral imagination was a term coined by Martin Buber, a theologian. We do some fantastic rituals to connect with beings of the past and future, and consciously use our imaginations beyond the habit of fear and anxiety. To really sense into and dream together a more life-affirming vision.
Nikayla: Would you like to share any dreams of the future that have come through you?
Eden: I’ll say that in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene, witnessing and experiencing the benevolence, the collaboration–it was a revolution in the relational field. That’s a huge part of my hope for the future. We don’t know what the future brings. We only have a choice in how we show up and respond. We have so much choice in every moment. What I witnessed in my community affirmed the world I want to live in, affirmed what I know is possible. The community that came together in the aftermath of Helene actually reminded me very much of the monastery where I trained, where people were showing up in selfless service everyday and recognizing the potency and joy of serving and caring for one another. The quality of care we bring to each other is a very useful investment of our energy.
I’ll also say we need so much celebration woven into our activism and practice. Humans are a funny bunch. We can take ourselves too seriously, take what’s happening too conceptually. The more we can get into our Earth-bodies, and be together in our Earth-bodies in celebration, the more we can be in touch with our true nature.
Some of the things I loved about our land are the times that I spent there in morning rituals, dancing with the trees, listening deeply to the creek, singing to the garden, and just being in celebration of the natural world.
For those who feel inspired to learn more about Eden’s books and upcoming offerings, please visit Deborah Eden Tull. In February 2025 begins her yearly 6-month Heart of Listening: On Behalf of Our Collective training and the application deadline is January 15. For those who wish to contribute to or share the GoFundMe that Eden’s Zen community started for her post-hurricane recovery, you can find it here.
Don’t Go Back to Sleep
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.
by Rumi, translated/interpreted by Coleman Barks
