Spiritual Lessons from The Gun Control Debate

This is perhaps a weird topic to relate to spirituality, but it is timely and something that we are all extremely aware of right now. Whether you believe in people's rights to own guns, are a rabid Second Amendment fan, or think all guns should be locked up, we can probably all still agree that things have gotten a little bit out of control. The question is, who should make these decisions, and when do we stop believing in our personal freedoms over the common good? From a spiritual standpoint, are we learning the lessons we need to learn by continuing to allow everyone to make their own decisions, or are we teaching our race a spiritual lesson by our choices or lack thereof? My understanding of spirituality is that we are all here to learn our lessons. If you fail, by refusing to learn something or by choosing to take your own life rather than experience the lesson, you have to come back and do it again. When I shine this particular light onto the issues surrounding gun control, I can interpret this as follows: No matter what decision we make, there is a spiritual lesson in it for each of us individually, for the victims who are yet to come, and for us as a collective. In other words, our mission, should we choose to accept it, is to grow past this place of arguing over who is right and what rights we should have. I actually saw a clip of a guy on YouTube today, saying he was so pissed about how people were handling the gun-control issue that if he didn't get what he wanted, he was going to start shooting. An oxymoron if ever I saw one, with an emphasis on the "moron." But from a spiritual standpoint, when we see his actions and say, "this cannot be allowed to stand," he is a catalyst for change. So was Adam Lanza, in fact, though it is difficult to think of him – or anyone who commits a crime – in these terms; it is the most advanced of our souls who choose to embody in a difficult or cruel form, thereby teaching us the lessons that we need to learn (hard though they may be). What this means in the biggest picture sense is that we have free will, to act or not act as we choose. My partner, Greg, channels a group called The White Lodge. If you don't know what channeling is, it can sound pretty far out, but Greg describes it as being a radio tuner that only gets one station - a collective of souls, if you will, who speak to him from someplace other than earthbound form. Greg is a reluctant channel - if they hadn't chosen him to do his work, he never ever would have asked for it himself, so say what you want about it being crazy; for the better part of the last decade, for us, it just "is." This unasked for gift has led me to long discussions with this group of evolved beings. After Hurricane Katrina, I asked them how that terrible destruction of human life and property could have happened. They told me that it was dreadful on one level, but it had discharged a tremendous amount of karma; viewed from that level, the interconnection and orchestration that caused that particular series of events was beautiful. I chewed on that one idea for at least a year before I could view it from their perspective. Now, looking back on what happened a month ago in Newtown, I wonder if, on a spiritual level, there was a collective agreement - an exchange of sorts: these souls choosing to give up their lives and their physical bodies so that they could evoke change for us all. Before you completely dismiss this idea, isn't this the same gift that once, a long time ago, a teacher called Jesus made for us so we could learn? Isn't it possible the sacrifice the teachers and the children made is the same? I am grateful for the conversation the country, and most of the Western world, is finally having about gun control. I think it is long overdue and it's finally leading to some real change, while still allowing Americans the right to bear our beloved arms. I also hope that the sacrifices of all those little children will be enough to see these changes through to the end. Otherwise, we can always choose to learn our lessons the hard way — the next time around.