I-Ching 4 Youthful Folly

I kept drawing Hexagram 4-Youthful Folly, and the more I sat with it, the more confused I became. I should know by now that I must let the I-Ching unfold on it’s own, especially with retrograde at play. My impatience became more of a worry, then became more of an annoyance. The hexagram reads:

“Be on guard for the careless or rebellious attitudes characteristic of inexperience. Just as a youth requires instruction, this is a good time to focus on learning lessons from a patient teacher or life experience.

Is there a circumstance in your life that you have failed to comprehend, perhaps because you didn’t appreciate its inherent complexities? Be respectful of anything or anyone who has something to teach you right now. which of you is currently the student, and which of you is the sage”

I was in no mood to learn more lessons, but that told me it was probably time for the next humbling. The old saying, ‘when the student is ready, the teacher appears’, had me on guard. I knew the Universe was always ready to teach lessons, and I needed to approach everything more as the next adventure instead of being afraid.

I wasn’t sure what I was afraid of at this point, but with the last few lessons on not getting comfortable, I wanted to be ready to serve as I landed in even newer territory. The energy shifted the second I got off the plane at Gold Coast Airport, and the journey continued.

I was working through a meditation retreat when everything formed into one big, massive wave. I noticed that I felt completely removed from this layer of caring what other people thought. I had already shed plenty of those layers, but in a place where eyes spot you as the odd one out, I used it as a challenge to showcase why I came to this side of the world, to begin with, to showcase a new way of being.

It would do me no good to hide, shy away from hard conversations, and fully immerse myself into the environment and community I was trying to serve. The humidity felt good on my skin, the air was thick and I could feel my breathing change. I already knew I was in for something special and was not emotionally prepared for the people I was about to meet.

Hour after hour of deep meditation, the air kept changing and my mind was in a state of trance that left me in an altered state of the consciousness I wanted to believe in. I could hear cries of pain, cries of joy and cries of sorrow during the meditations.

Naturally, it left me wondering what it was we were all going through and, more importantly, going through together. Day after day, hearing different stories and immersing myself in the lives of others, I wasn’t sure who I was any longer as all our stories had similar themes as we questioned the self. Day after day of meditation and energy, all our cries started to sound the same, and all our pains felt familiar.

All of our worries became irreverent, and it was out of the goodness of our hearts that we cared enough to ask ourselves what it would take to change for the better. The outside world was at war, and so was our inner world. As an outsider, it was easy for me to observe it all.

Still, with the constant altering during meditation, I felt like floating consciousness trying to make sense of the whole experience. Was this really happening? Was I on the other side of the world listening to stories from people I may never see again? I was, and it felt like the most important thing I could be doing- listening with all my heart to as many people as possible.

The days continued to blend into each other, and even though I was mentally exhausted, I was also extremely energetic. There had been a local, older retiree in his 70s who ensured I arrived safely to my destination every morning and every night.

On the last morning that he drove me, I asked him if I could buy him coffee as he seemed pretty tired. We watched the sunrise, and deep feelings overcame me, feelings I did not understand. Early on in the trip, during our rides, he had shared how he beat cancer, and ever since, he became a ‘bit of a softie’ for people he drove for and the friends in his life.

I told him he wasn’t a softie. I told him he probably just valued life differently and now wanted to spend the rest of his time caring for people because what was more important than that at the end of the day? At the end of this life? He looked at me and said, “You too. That’s what you’re doing, so I have to make sure you get there safely.”

We both looked at each other, had a moment of silence, and looked toward the ocean. I began to cry. Everyone had become the student and the teacher simultaneously. I felt like an adult and a child all at the same time. Timelines felt like they were collapsing.

For the next few days, I would continue to spend time along the coast with different people I had met in Kingscliff who had something to teach me about myself, about the world, but more importantly, about our human spirit and our curiosity of one of the most asked questions: “What’s the point of this all?”

This feeling, this state of being, felt familiar. Like a child, feeling small, and the constant gathering of the sunrise and the sunset, it didn’t matter that we weren’t all ready to ask or ready to learn. We were secretly looking and gathering together. Every person became a portal.

I had promised myself I would go as deep as possible to experience this new state and stage of life fully. If I took this work to the next level, I would have to shift internally on a new level before I could shift the reality I wanted to see. I wanted to see the shift in others as well.

We cannot see what we wish for this world if we do not shift ourselves first. I didn’t want to limit my openness, and I know there is power in vulnerability. What was the point in hiding anyway?

The days seemed longer, and it felt like someone was always ready to tell me something, no matter where I went. Like most of us who ignore each other with phones or AirPods or just keep it moving, I did my best to stay in the moment and allow the person to express themselves however they wanted to, no matter where we were.

Little interactions at the grocery store became life lessons. The universe was speaking loudly through us all, and I asked myself how much we unknowingly miss by dodging opportunities to hear strangers speak. It feels like the divine is always trying to find ways to reach out and be seen and heard, to help us confirm, and validate our ideas.

I continued to catch myself in deep moments of trance during the day, listening to stories from people I may never see again, thinking, “Where am I even?!” Then, I’d fully return to myself and realize I was exactly where I needed to be: present, listening, being. I gave up trying to be right, gave up trying to be a certain way, gave in to being teachable and experienced the forbidden side of getting close to strangers. Youthful Folly, I get it now.