Lately, I've found myself looking more carefully at my life -- what I want it to look like and what I have to do to create that reality. I have moved closer to many of my goals, but there are a few that involve, as author Thomas Moore would say, "care of the soul" that I have not taken steps toward creating.

Although I often complain about not having enough time to meditate, read spiritual books, journal, or pray, lack of time really is not what has stopped me from achieving my spiritual goals. I simply have not committed my time -- and my energy -- to my spiritual pursuits in the same manner I have committed time and energy to other goals. I have to admit that I get a lot of things accomplished every day, just not those things related to my spiritual practice. So, I recently asked myself, "Why don't I put time and energy into the activities that are most important to me, the goals that will help me not only lead a more spiritual life but also help me feel my connection to God?" The answer I gave was simple: "Fear."

I have always considered fear the primary factor that stops us from moving forward on the spiritual path. We say we want to care for our souls, to nurture our spirits, to connect with our inner being and with the Divine Essence that creates all things. Yet, we constantly find roadblocks and obstacles in our way - or, rather, we place them there. Why? Because we are afraid to care for our souls, nurture our spirits, connect with our inner being and with God.

Each person possesses a personal fear all their own. Speaking for myself, I'm afraid that if I really achieve my spiritual goals I will be changed, and that those changes will cause other changes within myself and within my life that I don't desire or won't like. I might not want to do anything but sit among the Redwoods surrounding my house and meditate. I might neglect my children, my husband, my work, and, in the process, I might lose them all. In addition, I might change in such a way that I no longer fit in with so-called "normal" people. While I always have felt a bit like the "fringe dwellers" described by author Stuart Wilde, I would hate to feel all the more "different." I would not like to discover that other people regarded me as so different they no longer wanted to associate with me.

I also am afraid I won't be able to handle the experience of Divine connection. Most people who have delved into the study of Kabbalah, the Jewish mystical tradition, have heard or read the Talmudic story of the four who went into the Garden -- a space or realm where they directly experienced God. According to the Talmudic sages, four went into the dwelling place of God, thereby entering into the glory of God's heavenly kingdom. One was so overcome by the experience that he died, another went mad, and the third became an apostate. Only one, Rabbi Akiba was able to look upon God's holy place, delve into the meaning of God's holy words, and experience direct connection with God and survive unscathed. As the story goes, the reason for Akiba's ability to do so lay in his great wisdom and scholarship. The moral of the story is clear: Only a great scholar can experience God and continue living life as before.

I harbor some fear that like the second of those who entered paradise, I will go crazy. However, I would rather be like Rabbi Akiba who left the garden having experienced the Divine and was able to take this experience with him into the world. I am sure in doing so he was able to feel his Divine connection more readily, more often, yet he was able to live as did others, albeit with greater understanding, wisdom, spiritual connection. I believe he was likely able to be, as Jesus taught, in the world but not of it.

I, too, would like always remember that I am in the world but not of it…to know that I am a spiritual being having a human experience and not a human being having a spiritual experience. Yet, I am afraid that if I "enter paradise," I won't be able to do that.

While attending a Jewish conference (sponsored by ALEPH: Alliance for Jewish Renewal) a number of years ago, I took a class with Rabbi David Cooper, author of "God is a Verb." I asked him why we don't meditate like we want to, why we don't do the things we need to do to really have an experience of God. His response came in word: "Fear." This answer confirmed what I already knew. It's ironic that what we spiritual seekers say we most want is the thing many of us most fear.

I have been thinking of my vision for 2007 and of my resolutions. TO manifest that vision and to achieve my goals, I must recommit myself to walking Rebbe Nachman of Bratzlov's "narrow bridge." He wrote a song called (in Hebrew) "Gesher Tzar Meod," which means, "The Very Narrow Bridge." The song's lyrics are very simple: "All of this life is a very narrow bridge, and the main thing is not to fear at all." I have to remember every day and in every moment to keep moving forward despite my fear, to move through the fear, to use trust and faith as a "bridge" between my fear and my goal.

Our lives truly are narrow bridges. We just don't see them that way. Our beliefs make us see a solid floor beneath our feet, just as we see a solid table when we place our cup of coffee or tea down upon it. Our senses confirm these "facts." Both the table and the floor feel solid. In fact, neither is that, rather they consist of rapidly moving molecules and particles and air.

So, each time we take a step forward, do we really know that the floor, the road, the bridge, will support our weight? Do we know it is solid? No. We assume it is. We trust it is. We have faith it is. Thus, we move forward. When we have fear, we lack trust and faith. In response to that fear, we remain standing where we are. We do not move forward toward our goals.

When I used to drive down the mountain from my former home I'd pass a little sign that says, "narrow bridge." Just beyond the sign, indeed, lies a bridge. Despite the sign's warning, however, the bridge really is not narrow, especially in comparison with that particular road, which winds up and down the mountainside with barely enough room for two cars to pass comfortably. The bridge actually seems much wider than the road and much safer. Its white side rails offer the appearance of a bit of protection given that much of the road has no such barrier between the edge and the sheer drop off beyond. This sign and the bridge are a reminder to me every day that what we see, what we experience, are not always reality. We create our own reality, and fear is part of what we sometimes create.

Most of our lives we live in faith and trust. We have faith that our home will still be standing at the end of the day, that the traffic signals will change, that the road will not cave in, that our hearts will beat, that our lungs will take in air. Thus, we must also have faith as we pursue our spiritual goals, as we engage in our spiritual practice, that not only will we reach our goals, but that that attainment will move us in the direction we desire to travel.

We must realize that, despite what our mind and our senses tell us, despite our beliefs otherwise, we are always connected to the Divine Spirit. We were created in the Divine Image and were brought to life with a Divine Breath. We may not feel connected, but we are. We may not feel like partners with God in the continual creation of our lives, but we are.

When we acknowledge the reality of these facts, there is nothing left to fear. And the narrow bridge becomes a moment to moment meditation on our faith, our trust, our connection to God. Then we can remember that we are always in the world and not of it and we are constantly having a spiritual experience.