The Unthought Known — SpiritScout

‘It always comes back to the same necessity—go deep enough and there’s a bedrock of truth, however hard.’ —May Sarton

2021

Recently I have been playing with an idea called ‘The Unthought Known’. While it may be a Pearl Jam song, it’s actually much more—a psychological term that describes our deep connection to intuition and knowing what is authentically true for us. The unthought known is what we know deep in our bones but cannot think, much less speak, because it feels too bizarre, scary, or even dangerous. It’s that recurring tickle of a thought that flirts in and out of our consciousness, but rarely sees the light of day in tangible form. The author Dani Shapiro introduced me to this concept and I found the idea of this truth-hunt fascinating. She was speaking about it in regard to her newest memoir Inheritance where she relates the story of growing up a blonde, blue-eyed Orthodox Jewish girl who never felt like she fit in with her people. It was an ennui she could never shake, until the day she received the results from a 23andme spit test she took as a lark. Shapiro is gobsmacked to learn that her beloved father is not her actual biological father. This validation of her deep knowing—despite the intense cultural conditioning she grew up with—this proof of what she knew, literally in her bones, is something I find very intriguing.

‘Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.’ —Leonard Cohen

There are so many things inside of us that we know to be true, but that we haven’t had the space or stretch of quiet to think deeply about until this past year of pause. These nudges are embedded in us, and we subconsciously base our decisions on them without always knowing why. Throughout our lifetime they silently clang in our proverbial ear, but they require time, introspection, and courage to reach full expression. A nudge might feel big, like questioning gender assignment, sexual preference, why one hates their career, or sabotages a relationship. The nudge could be simple like booking an overdue physical exam, or choosing aspirational sobriety for a month. Or it might be as common as changing a job, partner, or town to live in. It’s never just because. ‘Just because’ is only the crack in the bell; the sliver of light created is what leads to an acute awareness of what rings true: that another choice might align with desires that run deeper.

The unthought known that has been validated for me in this past year of restrictions is that I’ve been leading a double life. Yup, it’s true. Anyone who has met me would likely say that I am a full-bloom extrovert. At weddings I am rarely seated with my friends; I am the official ‘patcher’, the one who keeps the bride’s boss happy or the boring godfather bouncing in the conga line. I can be loud, bubbly, and easily carry a conversation beyond the cross-eyed stage, even with a complete stranger. Yet my happy truth, honed and polished in this past year of the pandemic, is that I am actually a highly sensitive person and a devoted introvert who craves solitude and long blocks of time dedicated to my interior life. I’ve been playing two ends against the middle for a very long time, but lockdown has helped me to claim my true nature, to actualize my unthought known.

Kids need kids, but kids also need time alone to be bored and to discover who they are inside.

I was often told as a child ‘You’re too sensitive’ and kids jeered me when I cried easily or reacted deeply in certain situations. I grew up in a big, loud family and a busy, fun-filled neighborhood, so the opportunity to be alone was rare. I remember hiding in closets to play with my Barbies or read Nancy Drew novels in peace. When parents are charismatic, high energy people it’s unremarkable when their child eschews her quieter inclinations and follows the crowd. I’ve led a high energy, seemingly extroverted life, and I can say with truth that I wouldn’t take any of it back. It worked for me at the time: extroversion helped me in my career, in my relationships, and in the quality of my life in general.

Extroverts blow dry (1990’s); Introverts air dry, (2000’s) ….LOL! I played the game, and then I found myself.

I do wonder how this misalignment of my natural energies affected my three naturally introverted daughters—it must have been obvious, and yet confusing for them. Their favorite line to me always was ‘Mom, isn’t it time for you to mediate?’ Over many years, with their gentle guidance, I have quietly reclaimed myself. I have always been a homebody, but I am getting better at arranging my precious time so that I am in my preferred mode of solitude as often as I choose: in nature, writing, reading, riding, cooking, thinking quietly, and walking. Ahhh—the blessings of the Third Age!

Despite our collective migraine and the traumatic effect on billions of lives globally, I can say that parts of Covid have worked for me (and I know many others who feel the same.) Every day has felt like a snow day: the fresh energy of schedule postponement and physical curtailment at home is something I have always loved, especially as a young child. I like the feeling of the emotional bumper guards that social distancing provides, and I like the idea that there have been strict rules of engagement. My craving for time chunks and project completion has been very satisfied by this pandemic. I’ve had my shelterbelt of dear friends to hike with and I have found our one-on-one visits to be soul satisfyingly delicious. I am going to miss the restrictions of my Covid cocoon mainly because they have helped me to openly practice, without pretense or excuse, how to live more authentically in my own skin.

I may have to leave my cocoon soon, but now I know how to fly!

Even tip toeing into the arena of thinking about the unthought known is by definition disruptive. We are culturally curated with a form of gaslighting, where our personal truths are subtly subverted—often for the benefit of others—to keep the peace, to people please, to follow the crowd. We stay too busy to decode our unthought knowns; we numb the messages with excessive activity, socializing, booze, and commitments. In my case, the ‘misassignment’ of my true nature was also cultural. I was raised in the boomer decades of 1960-1980 breathing deep doses of American-style patriarchal energy—“bigger, better, more: build that business and, at all costs—win!” (But only within the rules established by the men.) What I needed to thrive as a true creative was much more of the divine feminine energy that is now rising: more process over product, collaboration over competition, more quiet connection over cash-flow. It was like wearing the right shoes on the wrong feet all the time—doable but not renewable, and it created a kind of sore-footed personality dysphoria.

‘We must drink from the deepest wells of how things are.’ —David Whyte

Some people are calling Covid ‘The Year of Nothing’ but I emphatically resist that notion. I would call it ‘The Year of Everything.’ Returning to the status quo without reflection threatens all that has been revealed to us in this year of introspection, despair, and personal challenge. We each have an opportunity to ask ourselves the deep well questions: ‘What are my unthought knowns’:

‘What things don’t sit quite right with me?’

‘What do I excavate, examine, and name out loud?’

‘What gets saved, remedied, cherished, or repurposed?’

‘What gets left behind?’

In this magnificent historical moment, when the cultural consciousness is at a fever pitch and inviting every unthought known to be liberated. I say, ‘this is most definitely a something!’ This moment offers an invitation for our own re-wilding, the reclaiming of our deep instinctual knowledge. It is an opportunity open to our entire global community as we anticipate our emergence back into a society that has experienced a consciousness-raising growth spurt never witnessed before. We have finally reached the bedrock, the place where our deep knowing lives—and now, the truth-telling begins.