Ours

Compassion for Self and Others

Full Writing, Ours, Uncategorized

There was a CBC program quite a few years ago, in the Ideas series, that was called The World of the Child. One of the many speakers was educator, John Holt. His comments still resonate with me.
I think the social virtues are overflowing, they are surplus. People have enough kindness for others when they have              enough kindness for themselves–otherwise not. … My very strong feeling is that if children are allowed a growing up            which enables them to become adults with a strong sense of their own dignity and competence and worth, they will              extend these feelings to include other people.

The key thought here, one that strikes me both as profoundly true and equally difficult to reaize, is that kindness to oneself is a precondition for kindness to others and that a sense of our own worth is a precondition for a sense of the worth of others.

We perhaps think more readily of kindness and compassion as something directed towards others more than, and even rather than, towards ourselves. It seems to Holt that kindness towards others is an overflow from kindness to ourselves or else it is absent. I agree and would like to try explain it by speaking first of compassion as a caring space around the pain of another–and ourselves, and seeing the alternative as a wall around ourselves behind which we hide and from which we attack others as a kind of sniper.

When someone brings their pain to us (or vice versa), the best we can offer is not advice, answers, or a defensive wall, but a caring space, a safe place, a place of compassion, a space that is empty, so to speak, rather than filled with our own “clutter.” This largely silent and listening presence allows another to be where and how they are, without defence or pretence. If our own compassion has been stretched far enough by the joy and sorrow of our life, then we can, in some limited way, offer a space of compassion around the pain of another, that makes real to them, that there is something vaster than their suffering, and that this sorrow need not take away all their meaning and hope, even though it still may feel that way.

One personal memory that comes to mind here, from a slightly different angle, is the two and a half weeks, I was able to spend with my mother, at the end of her life. She found very difficult the time between when she had concluded her life, so to speak, and when she actually died. there was nothing I could “do,” except to “be” there, which I sensed was better than not being there. Later it struck me that the basic gift we have to offer one another is precisely our presence (which comes from the Latin words “being-there”), and that any gifts, skills, and actions do not replace but only build on that presence.

But to have that uncluttered but caring space to offer, we need to become free of the need to defend or justify ourselves or to attack someone perceived as a threat. This is something most of us can probably manage only on occasion We may perhaps best consider this as a direction to move towards, a place at which we may never fully or consistently arrive. To the extent that we feel insecure or threatened, or in a situation that appears in some sense dangerous, we need to build protective walls around ourselves. These walls become ever higher as we feel the need to hide behind them. They readily become a fortress from which to attack others. And they seem in the end to become a prison that entraps us.

The only way out, it seems, is to have a sense that our sacred worth is something that goes with who we are and not with what we achieve or possess, all of which can be lost in an instant. As Holt suggests, it may well require that someone see the sacred worth in us and treat us accordingly, especially as children, before we can come to see and feel it in ourselves. This is not to deny that there are situations in which trust and openness are not possible or advisable. It is to say that they are possible only when we are moving towards a sense of our own worth as intrinsic, as going with our very existence, as something we are, and so as something that we cannot lose but only lose sight of, or fail to realize in a way that is deeply felt.

To the extent that we do have that sense of sacred worth, we are able–in appropriate situations–to be without walls of defence or offence, and to have an empty space around us, a caring space, a home space, where others can enter and remain and leave, without being imprisoned or rejected but accepted.

Henri Nouwen, a writer who speaks of personal growth as rooted in sacred worth notes that the Greek word for compassion means to feel in your guts, and the Hebrew word means to feel in your womb. In both cases, it means to sense in your deepest centre. To be compassionate to another is to feel something of their pain in our own guts, which implies an openness to let it enter safely and without barriers.

Other writers, such as Sharon Salzberg and Wayne Muller, stress repeatedly as we noted last week that there is some measure of suffering in every human life, that life sometimes just hurts. And so all of us need some compassion, including compassion for ourselves. To achieve such compassion for ourselves and gradually extending beyond ourselves to others can be a slow and difficult process. The usual practices of reflective reading or podcasts, moderate exercise, healthy diet, conversations with friends, some outreach activity and the like, can be helpful.

Perhaps also helpful is the recognition that life sometimes hurts and that to feel sad or hurt or other painful feelings, are part of life, that they are not something to blame ourselves for, and do not detract from our sacred worth. A nineteenth century cleric, John Vianney, commented that suffering passes but having suffering does not. I think his thought is echoed in the Oedipus plays and the writings of Viktor Frankl, that these sorrows can be a source of inner strength and wisdom. It seems, however, that this is a process that occurs only over a period of time, and perhaps with the support of intelligently caring others. To recall again favourite words from Henri Nouwen: the true friend is not the person with the answers, but the one who sticks it out with you when there are no answers.

May each of you discover more and more a profound and enduring compassion for yourselves, and one that gradually radiates to all who come within the circle of your light.

October 24, 2021

Wisdom from Sorrow and Joy

Full Writing, Ours
The past five weeks, I have had the privilege of teaching a class on Greek Mythology. This experience followed several months spent with a five-year old friend who became totally immersed in these stories and with whom we explored many ways of looking at them. Revisiting these ancient stories, with their many layers and rich imagery and symbolism, was a profoundly moving and enlightening experience. We came to see that the many gods and goddesses, heroes and heroines, and the vast array of stories about them were expressions of real forces of nature and real feelings in people, and of the many kinds of energy that flowed within and from them.
Hestia and Hermes together, for example, expressed at once the need for a home, a place to feel safe and cared for, and also the need to move beyond where we are now, to cross boundaries of thought and feeling and activity. The perilous journey of Odysseus, paralleled by the largely untold journey of Penelope, his wife, suggested that it was really an inner journey. In the words of Dag Hammarskjold in Markings, this is the longest journey, the journey to the core of one’s being. It makes possible, in the word of the poet Rilke, “the love that consists of two solitudes that protect, border, and greet each other.”
In looking at these stories through the lens of the sacred worth of the person (and actually of all that is), which implies an equality, mutuality, and interdependence, one theme especially emerged for me: there can be much suffering, great and small, in a person’s life, but this suffering need not be permanently destructive. It need not take away the meaning of our lives, but can, over time, and with the help of one another be the source of inner strength and wisdom.
The prolonged and seeming endless time of pandemic has, for many, occasioned a weariness of spirit, an undercurrent of continuing irritability, a sense of enforced isolation, and even a tension with those with whom we may have become even closer. As we listen to or watch radio or television, we may find strong feelings of impatience, annoyance, or anger at those who seem to us to have uninformed, wrong, and hurtful opinions. The uncertainty of the future, not just for ourselves, but for younger generations, may also weigh heavily upon us. We may also have an uneasy sense that our own difficulties seem somewhat small when compared to the overwhelming hardships faced by many on our fragile planet.
In the midst of all these events, I have been struck by an underlying theme that seems to run through all the ancient Greek stories, whether men like Oedipus or Odysseus, or women like Penelope or Psyche. It is the theme of wisdom through suffering that flowers in love, echoed in the words of Oedipus: “Love can transform all pain.” That theme if find echoes in more recent authors, such as Rainer Maria Rilke, Viktor Frankl., Sharon Salzberg, Wayne Muller, and so many others.
Sharon Salzberg, who co-founded the Insight Meditation Centre, suggests that we recognize the whole variety of feelings, including the more difficult ones, and allow them to be there. At the same time, we can regard them as visitors, and not let them have the run of the house or see our identity in them. She writes “It’s because of visiting forces that we suffer. … greed, hatred, jealousy, fear. They’re not inherently, intrinsically who we are, but they visit. And they may visit a lot, they may visit nearly incessantly, but they’re still only visiting.“ She often says that some things just hurt and there is no denying that fact of life. As a result, she says that we need  to have compassion for ourselves rather than judging ourselves–or others–so harshly.
Wayne Muller adds that suffering blows either as a gentle breeze or as a strong wind through our lives; that is, either in a lesser or greater degree. It is important to recognize the hurt, and to allow ourselves to feel it in a safe place, either by ourselves or with a caring other. Then he says that it can be a resource for growth rather than a paralyzing force. Viktor Frankl, even out of his horrendous concentration camp experiences, says that meaning can be found in the midst of unavoidable suffering. Rilke adds a similar theme. He writes that even our sadness, uneasiness, pain, or depression may well be accomplishing something in us that we do not yet realize. Frankl also recalls experiencing the beauty of a sunset and thoughts of his beloved wife and the surge of inner joy they brought.
There are many joyful experiences, large or small that can evoke a thankfulness in us that counters our sadness. Theologian Karl Rahner observes that if suffering and anxiety call into question the meaning of our lives then the experience of joy, truth hope, and all the positive things in life give a yes answer to the question of meaning.
Daniel McGuire says we “see the bird in flight, the rose in bloom, the infant blessing us with smiles,” and “the complexities and the beauties of our setting,” and reflect that “there is more to this than meets the eye..”
In sum, the little everyday experiences that occasion a smile, or call forth a tinge of gratitude in our hearts, or lift our spirits, can remind us that life is a precious gift. They instill the conviction that it is worthwhile to be alive even if it sometimes hurts.
May all of you experience today and every day moments of joy and  gratitude that lighten your heart, deepen your compassion, and bring hope to those with whom you are in touch.

Norman King, October 18, 2021

Reinterpreting Ancient Stories and Our Own Life Story

Full Writing, Ours

In renewing my study of Greek mythology, I tried to discern the experience behind the stories, the basic life questions they raise, the answers found in these ancient tales, and the continuing light they shed on our current life situations. At the same time, I tried to look at them through the lens of the sacred worth of the person, the fundamental equality of human beings, and the perspective that the outer events portrayed are inseparably a projection of inner events. The long journey of Odysseus back to his home in Ithaca, for example, is essentially a story of his inner journey to his most authentic self, his inner home. He is then able to share that home with his wife, Penelope, who has made that same inner journey in solitude as well.

The story of the Athenians’ choice of Athene over Poseidon as patron of their city, for example. reflects the priority of wisdom over power. There is a recognition of the raw power of the sea, of rampant vegetation, and of the wild horse. Yet preference is given to the ships that sail the sea, the cultivated olive grove, and the tamed horse one rides. A similar choice is reflected in the resolution of conflicts by jury rather than vendetta, that is, by reasoned decision rather than violent destruction.

The story of Oedipus, echoed somewhat in Shakespeare’s King Lear, reflects a profound transition in the understanding of power, wisdom, and love. It occurs as a result of his passage from successful king to suffering exile. Initially, reflecting a view of power as domination, he is provoked to violence and kills the person who turns out to be his birth father. He next solves the riddle of the sphinx, which asks what has four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three in the evening. The answer is a human being at three stages of life. This is an illustration of Oedipus’ cleverness, yet also of his failure to grasp its deeper meaning, which points to the brevity and fragility of life. Finally, he is made king and receives its queen as a reward, so to speak, an example of love as possession. When the painful truth of the situation is unveiled he loses all royal authority and goes into exile, blind and physically week, In wrestling with his tragic situation and the suffering it entails, he comes to an inner strength and wisdom, and his last words to his daughters expresses his realization of a deeper sense of love. He proclaims his great love for his daughters and tells them that such love can change all pain.

A reinterpretation of the story of Narcissus helps to shed further light on a renewed vision of power, wisdom and love. After running from closeness to another, Narcissus discovers an image of himself as lovable, as one who is capable of giving and receiving love. If we translate this story as a dawning awareness of the intrinsic worth or value of the person, we may have a starting point for a new interpretation.

In this perspective, wisdom becomes a profound experiential conviction of the worth of each human person, and, in some way of the whole universe. Power becomes empowering not domination. Based upon the recognition of the worth of the person, it becomes the capacity to bring something to life, to summon the growth and fulfillment of the person, not the unreal need to put something to death in that person. Love is transformed from the attempted possession of a person to a genuine concern for their well-being that befits their intrinsic worth.

Last week, we referred to Howard Thurman who calls us to listen for the sound of the genuine in ourselves, which Thomas Merton calls the true self, which the Quakers describe as the inner light, and which Wayne Muller calls the song deeply within ourselves. This, I believe, is the voice of our own sacred worth. Thurman goes on to invite us to listen as well for the sound of the genuine in others. Then our hope is to have others listen to the sound of the genuine in us. When this opening occurs, there is a mutual, respectful encounter, which enables and summons both or vulnerability and our security. Finally, Thurman holds that we may come to hear the same music, the same sound of the genuine flowing through all that is, through everything. The starting point, the foundation, appears to be, a gradual awakening to our own sacred worth, as did Narcissus, though sometimes with great pain, as did Oedipus. It may be aided by the caring of others, or hindered by their indifference or even hostility. It can be fostered by the world around us and the experience that the universe is friendly. It may be clung to when it is not felt or when our feelings push us toward self-rejection. All of these may be the crack that lets the light in, and gradually lets the light of our own sacredness shine beyond all barriers.

When these ancient stories are reflected upon beneath their surface words and images, they perhaps echo the challenge of the German poet, Rainer Maria Rilke in his Letters to a Young Poet: “Go within yourself and probe the depth from which your life springs.” And: “Always trust your own feeling. …Then slowly and with time the natural growth of your inner life will bring you to fuller awareness.”

May each of you discover and hear and appreciate the sound, the song, of the genuine within yourselves, and within others, and may you learn to sing its melody more and more in your everyday life.

Please visit our website: www.touchingthespirit.ca
Norman King, October 10, 2021

 

“The Sound of the Genuine.”

Full Writing, Ours
After last week’s reflection on solitude, I came across words of poet, Rainer Maria Rilke, and educator Howard Thurman that really resonated with me.
These are the words of Rilke
“Love your solitude and bear the pain of it without self-pity. … Be glad that you are growing, and realize that you cannot take anyone with you; be gentle with those who stay behind. … Love life in a form that is not your own, and be kind to all the people who are afraid of their aloneness.”
He seems to be saying that we must learn to follow our own path, a path that is largely discerned in the silence and solitude. At the same time, respect and kindness to others is also an inseparable responsibility. It recalls undercurrents in the Greek myths of Echo and Medusa, which stress that is essential to find our own vision and voice, and not simply parrot the voice of others or have our own inner voice denied. The story of Narcissus reminds us that a necessary dimension of this challenge is to discover an image of ourselves as lovable and able to love.
Howard Thurman was also an author and civil rights leader who played a leading role in many social justice movements. He held that inner transformation is the basis of positive social change. Here is the quotation I came across.
“There is something in every one of you that waits, listens, for the sound of the genuine in yourself. It is the only true guide you will ever have. And if you cannot hear it, you will never find whatever it is for which you are searching. … The sound of the genuine is flowing through you, … Cultivate the discipline of listening to sound of the genuine within yourself. … Sometimes there is so much traffic going on in your mind … and you are buffeted by these, and in the midst of all of this you have got to finds out what your name is.”
The sound of the genuine appears to be the voice of our inmost deepest and sacred self, a self that remains and echoes within us throughout our lives, even if it can sometimes be muffled and drowned out by many noises from the society around us, that can hook into our tendency to superficiality, fear, hostility, or indifference.
Author Kathleen Norris tells of her experiment with children in an elementary school inviting them first to make noise and then to make silence, and afterwards to write down their response. While their comments on noise were largely cliches, their descriptions of silence were much more imaginative and profound. In one instance a young girl wrote: “Silence reminds me to take my soul with me wherever I go.” Without the self-awareness that comes from solitude, we may easily forget to take our soul, our genuine and true self, with us, and leave it behind in our work, our relationships, or our social involvements.
Spiritual writer Thomas Merton speaks extensively of what he calls the true self and the challenge of going beyond the false self, which seems to be the self that leaves its soul behind. For Merton,  this is a passage from the surface of life, fed by illusions, fear, and hostility,  to its inner depth and meaning, nourished by truth and love. The false self is the part of us that keeps forever busy on the surface of life, views its self as an isolated unit in competition with everyone else, and identifies blindly with the slogans of its nation or culture.  This is reminiscent of J. Afred  Prufock in the poem by T. S. Eliot. Out of fear and inability to communicate, he measures out his life in coffee spoons.
Merton insists that we are more than our possessions, our rivalries, and our social role; we are more than our surface wants, our fears, or our hostilities.  Rather there is in everyone a secret beauty in the depths of their hearts, in the core of their reality.  At the centre of our being, he says, there is a point of pure truth, like a pure diamond. He is speaking here of what we have called the sacred worth of each human being, as a unique person, who yet shares a common humanity that may be expressed in an enriching diversity. For Merton, that sacred core remains as at once and always as a gift and a call, even if we fail to discern, acknowledge, or honour that worth in self or others.
To tune in to the voice of our true self and our sacred worth is, I believe, what Howard Thurman means by listening for the sound of the genuine in ourselves, and what the child means by taking our soul with us wherever we go. It is reminiscent of a comment of Jane Ripley  who has said that what is important is not so much what we say or sing as where we speak or sing from.
What initially might seem as coming from the opposite direction, but amounts to the same reality, is expressed in the famous line from Leonard Cohen’s song Anthem: There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” Oscar Wilde’s story, The Selfish Giant, tells of the giant who builds a wall around his house and garden to keep everyone out, and finds that it is always winter Then a crack appears in the wall and the children creep in, and it is once again springtime. The walls we build around our self are like the walls of what Merton calls our false self. They prevent new life from entering in. But if we live behind these walls and live from them, we also fail to be in touch with and live from our own true self. We become homeless, away from the true home of our inner sacred core. They prevent our light from getting out.

Once again, we see the importance of a sense of worth, uncovered and affirmed in solitude and friendship, which frees us to be attuned to that sacredness, and more and more to learn to live from our genuineness.

May you come more and more to listen to the sound of the genuine in yourself–and in others. And may you take your soul with you wherever you go. 

Norman King, October 04, 2021

A Few Thoughts on Solitude

Full Writing, Ours

In preparing the Greek mythology class, as well as readings from the poet Rainer Maria Rilke and other reflections, the theme of solitude has come up many times.

In the story of Odysseus and Penelope, they are separated for many years because of his involvement in the Trojan war. On his long journey home, he hears the beautiful singing of the sirens, barely escapes from the Cyclopes, is invited to stay and become immortal by Calypso, is washed up on the island of Phaeacia where he hears his life sung for him at a banquet, and finally returns to his wife Penelope. During his absence Penelope has been showing the same heroic qualities of inner strength as she weaves out a solitary life and relies on her intelligence and wit to protect her home from those who would invade it.

From a certain perspective, what seems to be involved here is a struggle on the part of both Penelope and Odysseus that takes place for each in solitude. In this struggle they come to recognize their limits and mortality as well as their deeper longings. From this hard won wisdom, they are now capable of a profound love for each other which gives meaning to their lives.

In a very similar way, Rilke writes: “Your inner solitude will be a support and a home to you. It will be the starting point of all your journeys.” He suggests that this solitude can be a source of profound awareness: “Go into yourself and probe the depths from which your life springs.” Elsewhere he writes: “Slowly and with time the natural growth of your inner life will bring you to fuller awareness.” From this solitude can arise a profound love: “the love that consists of two solitudes which border, protect, and great each other.”

Solitude differs from loneliness. Loneliness can be described as a felt absence and isolation that is unwelcome. This sense of isolation has been made more difficult and painful as a result of the prolonged pandemic which often evokes an irritability and weariness of soul.

Solitude, distinct from loneliness, is a time of quietness by ourselves. It may be initially uncomfortable, but if we are able to be immersed in life with awareness and openness, that time in our own company can be a time to reflect on our life, our experiences, our relationships, our place in society. One example that comes to mind is the difference between being alone by oneself in an unfamiliar and somewhat cold hotel room, and being by oneself in a home that knows or has known the presence of people with whom we have shared our lives. One place tastes of absence and the other of presence.

We are each a unique person, and there are no carbon copies of any of us. We are also quite complex, with a vast variety of backgrounds, life-situations, experiences, reactions, thoughts, feelings, and much more. We are to a considerable extent a puzzle, a question, a mystery to ourselves, as well as to one another. Solitude, time spent quietly by oneself, is a way to journey to and get in touch with our inmost self. This dawning awareness may come from reading something reflective, going for a walk at dawn or twilight, spending time in a natural setting, listening to music, or engaging in some form of meditation. This need not be seen as a probing into oneself from without with a kind of psychological pliers.. It can be simply allowing what is within to arise, hopefully in a gentle way, to the surface of our awareness. As an example, if we go to a pond and stir up the bottom with a stick, everything becomes murky and cloudy. But if we and the water become perfectly still, the water becomes clear and what is at the bottom can be seen.

Part of this process is to allow our feelings to arise in a safe place for us and we may find that one feeling dissolves and another emerges. What is helpful is to recognize that all of us share the whole range of human feelings from sadness to joy, from anger to compassion. It is also important to recognize that while we have such feelings we do not either have to deny them to ourselves or unleash them on others. We can simply notice them and let them be, somewhat as we would notice a cloud floating by.

Sometimes we may find it to difficult to sit quietly by ourselves. Then it can be helpful to be with a caring other person with whom we may discover our own feelings through conversation in a context of trustworthiness and trust. Or we may share these feelings with another whom we can trust..

If we try to spend some quiet time by ourselves, we may at first feel uncomfortable. We may recognize that we are in fact living most of the time in what we could call our hurt or fear or angry town. I think that these are part of all our experiences. At the same time, we may also gradually be aware of something in us that is deeper than all of these feelings. It is who we are beneath and beyond and more than these. We may also sense that this is a place of sacredness and worth, even if we are not often there. And it is our real home.

We might say that we are truly free when we are at home to our inmost self and can then be truly at home to and even a home for one another. In the words of Rilke, to discover a “ love that consists of two solitudes which border, protect, and great each other.”

May your loneliness turn into a solitude in which you discover your true self and its sacred worth May you find your true home within yourselves and live there and from there. May you become more and more a home for those near to you and a place of compassion for others.

Norman King

Remembering What Is Essential

Full Writing, Ours

We have spoken lately of the importance of being in touch with and naming our own deepest experience, especially through images and stories. Stories of real depth, like the ancient mythologies, can also be approached from many angles, perhaps most helpfully through the lens of our sacred worth.

This past week, I began teaching a five week course on Greek Mythology. Besides looking at their original context, we can ask what these stories look like through the inclusive lens of the sacred worth of each human being and of all that is. From that perspective, we can also ask what their wrestling with basic life issues can offer to us today.

Sam Keen, a writer mentioned before, says that every mythology tries to answer in story form basic life questions. These concern our search for meaning in our lives, for a sense of identity and worth, a sense of purpose and belonging. He suggests that, instead of taking their answers, we try to uncover their questions. Then we can ask these questions of our own life story. Some of the questions he suggests are these. Where did I come from? With whom do I belong? What is the purpose of my life, my vision? Whom should I imitate? Who are the heroes and heroines? Who are the villains? Why is there evil in the world? Who are my helpers, guides, allies?

He adds that we have inherited a life-script, a story, a mythology from our family, education, culture, religion, and the like. The challenge is to sift through this inheritance and decide what to keep, what to refine, and what to discard. In his words: “The task of a life is to exchange the unconscious myth with a conscious autobiography.”

I would add that the challenge is to see as clearly and truthfully and deeply as possible, to see with the eyes of the heart. This is the difficult challenge to learn to see beyond our childhood scripts, our fears, our insecurities, our hostilities, our judgments. We may recognize that earlier images of ourselves and of the script we have been following are not an irreversible fate or a lifelong prison sentence but, to some extent at least, are optional and open to change. With the help of caring others, we may gradually come to look at ourselves, and others, and life itself, with a sense of our own worth and with eyes of compassion.

An example of a change of vision is offered by author, Stephen Covey. He tells the story of sitting on a subway when a man with four young children enters. The children are acting up and creating somewhat of a disturbance around them. With what he believes is restraint, he suggests to the father that he might do something to control his children. The father replies that he believes that is so, but that he does not know what to do since they have just left the hospital where their mother died an hour ago. Immediately Stephen’s response is transformed to one of compassion because he sees the situation differently.

An example from Greek mythology is the story of the sirens. These are creatures who sing so beautifully that whenever sailors are passing, they are irresistibly drawn to the island of the sirens. In so doing, their ships strike reefs and they perish. One approach sees this as a tragic tale which says that our life is over before we get to experience fully its beauty.

Yet we can ask if it there is another angle of vision that may see it differently. Perhaps its enduring lesson is that it is essential to experience beauty in our lives. Along the same line, the Muses (from which we get our word music), are part of the makeup of the universe and therefore necessary to our lives. Whether it is the beauty of music or of a starry night or of the conversation with a friend, these are essential to a meaningful life. We are more than a human having or a human doing, but are a human being. We need in our life things that are for their own sake and not just a means to something else.

I recall one evening class in which an elderly women told of a fire in her house which destroyed the house itself and all its contents. As she and her husband stood outside and watched with a tear-filled sadness, her husband said to her that it would be alright because they still had each other. Amid such a tragic loss, something deeper remained.

In a similar vein, after the death of his mother and his own flight from Nazi persecution as a teenager, social theologian Gregory Baum recalls that he sought a vision of life that could outlast tragedy. This is a way of looking at life that takes into account both its joys and sorrows, yet retains an underlying sense of hope in its lasting meaning. Psychiatrist Viktor Frankl offered a similar perspective in the light of his own experience in a concentration camp.

Of course, story and music and friendship, and other things in life that are for their own sake, can fill us with the conviction of meaning. Ethicist Daniel McGuire has expressed it: “People see the bird in flight, the rose in bloom, the infant blessing us with smiles,” and they proclaim: ‘There is more to this than meets the eye.’‘ In simple terms, there is a central line from the story, The Little Prince: “What is essential is invisible to the eye.” Experiences and stories such as these can enlighten and heal us. They may assist in transforming the pain of the past into a resource for the present and future.

May you more and more discover and experience deeply the music of your soul, the bonds of friendship, a life-giving script, and all else that is essential and of lasting value in your lives.

Please visit our website: www.touchingthespirit.ca
Norman King, September 19, 2021

Growing from Past Experience

Full Writing, Ours

One of the thoughts recently expressed is that we may look at and name or interpret different events in our lives from different angles. We can look at our lives and the world of persons and things and happenings from different eyes. We may see the same behaviour of a child as coming from anger or from hurt. How we see affects how we act. In the case of the child, we may act with hostility or with compassion. Our attitude and action towards ourselves follow a similar pattern, and many often be abusive, judgmental, or simply blind in a way that is unhelpful.

Counsellor and writer, Wayne Muller, tells of a common situation. A young women, who was physically abused by her father in childhood, continued to ask, “Why did he hurt me? Why was I hurt.” After a time, and when he sensed it was appropriate, he asked her to let go of the “why” and just say simply a few times, “I hurt.” As she did, she began to weep as she allowed herself to feel the wound, the ache, the sadness, and the healing process began to unfold.

Muller comments that we would rather explain our hurt rather than feel it. We are drawn to think that if we can find a reason why, we can ensure that we can avoid any hurt in the future. Yet, he adds, hurt is an inevitable part of life. It blows through every life, sometimes like a gentle breeze or other times like a violent wind. It may arise from simple events, like a cut finger. Or it may be cruel and unjust, like the abuse of a child.

He comments: “Once we remove the question ‘why,’ we may see our pain face to face, accepting it for what it is . Then we can begin to truly grieve, which softens the pain. The deep hurt and anger and sadness can then lead us to letting go, to forgiveness, and to healing.” He refers to author Stephen Levin who also observes that examining what we feel, not analyzing why, can gradually open a path to our heart and to joy.

We have previously added the caution that, along with the importance of feeling and then naming our experiences, we need to do so in a safe place, whether in silence by ourselves or in the caring presence of a trusted other.

In another work, Muller stresses that we must be careful how we name ourselves, since the way we name ourselves colours the way we live. We may too readily names ourselves as a child of an dysfunctional family, as an addict and so on. These can imprison us. Regardless of the shape of the sorrow or victory or grief or ecstasy we have been given, there remains in us, he insists, an inner light that is always alive. I would call this the light of our sacred and inextinguishable worth.

Here as in other situations, the angle of vision, the eyes through which we look at ourselves, and others, and life, are crucial. Some of the ancient stories emerged in a patriarchal context. Theologian Rosemary Ruether addresses this issue by saying that while these stories are patriarchal, they also involved a wrestling with matters of life and death. We can leave aside the patriarchal wrapping and distill the insights of that wrestling. In many folk tales, for example, the hero is male and the one rescued is female. In Sleeping Beauty, for instance. It is a young woman who is awakened by the kiss of the prince. Extracted from this framework, we may draw the insight that it is who we are, not just what we do, that can evoke a true response from another. Conversely, we are most fully awakened by another who sees behind our thorny hedges to the person that we are and summons us to see and live from that awareness.

Along similar lines, spiritual writer, Sam Keen, asks how do we know whether or not in our life journey, we are following a creative and meaningful path. His response is that the path of greedy and fearful egocentricity is always the wrong direction and that the path towards compassion is always the right direction. “Whenever you are confused,” he advises, “keep heading in the direction that leads towards deepening your love and care for all living beings, including yourself, and you will never stray far from the path of fulfilment.”

As we said in the previous reflection, we cannot change the past but we can lessen its hold on our present and future. Instead of prisons that ever enclose us, we may then regard the as part of the4 resources from which we can move forward. We are more than the worst thing that has been done to us or that we ourselves have done. These certainly affect us and can push us in certain directions. As we become aware of them, they can lose their hold on us, and we can move in a different direction. As a simle example, we may view ideals differently. Instead of contrasting where we seem to be now with alleged ideals and using them as a club to beat ourselves down, we can try another route. We can start with the conviction of our sacred worth, that is not undermined by any shadows in our lives. Then we can ask, starting from where we are, what is a good direction to move towards.

One way of looking at this is that in our life journey we have been hurt by others mistakes and by our own,. We may have made some questionable choices. At the same time, in that process, we have been gradually gathering ourselves into our own hands. If we have put that self in less than ideal ways, the gathering or integration of ourselves has nonetheless occurred. We can take our progressively more gathered self and give it a new direction. We can take who we are an walk down a different path.. Outward change may not occur, but an inward transformation is occurring. There is a little poem about a person walking down a certain street and falling into a hole in the pavement. With some difficulty, they struggle to climb out. The next day, they walk down the same street with the same result. After a few days they decide to walk down a different street.

May you more and more in your life journey follow the path of your own sacred worth, with a compassion for yourself, and one that gradually radiates in wider and wider circles, as you see yourself as a unique person, a human being, an earthling, and a child of the universe.

Norman King, September 12, 2021

Reinterpreting Inherited Scripts

Full Writing, Ours

We have been speaking of the importance of being in touch with and naming our own deepest experience, and stressed that images and stories name these far better than everyday language. We added further that stories of real depth, like the ancient mythologies, can also be approached from many angles, perhaps most helpfully through the lens of our sacred worth.

Some of our own experiences can also look differently at different times in our lives. Some events during high school, such as our early romantic adventures, seemed dramatically serious at the time. Looked back on after many years, they now seem hilariously funny. Some painful experiences of the past we now realize have been helpful in our growth. My own struggle towards fluency in French during a three year stay in Quebec City gave me a realization how every language and culture provides a window to life, and that each is at once enriching yet limiting. Many colleagues there, for example, found the English distinction between “like” and “love” very helpful. I found the French word “épanouissement,” richer than any English translation, such as “flourishing” or “personal development.”

We have spoken before of how the script or story by which we form an image of ourselves and name or interpret our lives first comes to us from those who took care of us–or failed to do so even adequately–in our early childhood. That family script in turn was influenced by the predominant cultural script or by that of a minority group to which they belonged. As we grew, something within us may have pushed against that inherited image and script, or in some way accepted it and made it our own. One writer, Joan Halifax, says that to think of painful childhood experiences not as “gifts” but as “givens.” We cannot change the past but we can lessen its hold on our present and future. Instead of prisons that ever enclose us, we may then regard the as events from which we can move forward.

In his book on folk tales, The Uses of Enchantment, psychologist Bruno Bettelheim writes that our greatest need and most difficult achievement is to find meaning in our lives. This task involves developing our inner resources, and sensing that we may make a significant contribution to life. What most helps the child to find meaning, he says, is the impact of those who take care of the child, and the cultural heritage, especially through stories, such as folktales. These stories help the child by providing images for all their positive and negative feelings, and give them confidence that they can deal with and grow from their struggles. Like the fairy-tale hero they may feel lost at first, but be assured that they will find their right place in the world and develop meaningful relationships. Hansel and Gretel, for example, wander lost for a time, but gradually discovers hidden treasures,. These are their sense of self-worth and compassion.

We might add that those who take care of the child may succeed or fail in different degrees. But, the heritage of stories can enrich and expand the child’s vision of self and life. This development can occur through exposure to stories of real depth. These are that take into account and help to name all our spiritual richness and complexity and depth, as well as our inner wounds and failures. What we need in a story is a vision of life, an image and a script, that enable and challenge us to celebrate our joys, survive our sorrows, share our lives, and help build our world. The truth of a story concerns not so much the facts of the story–whether or not it actually happened. It concerns more deeply the vision of life the story contains: the picture of what a human being is and what life really means.

What is involved here is the situation of our own story within a larger story. The larger story can help us understand and interpret–and change–our own story. Yet this wider story, which may come from nation, culture, religion, etc., can itself be confining, limited by setting our own group against those of others. Spiritual writer, Richard Rohr, stresses an inclusive both/and rather than a dualistic either/or approach to life. He says that our own and our “tribal” story needs to be seen in the context of a still wider. more universal story, one that is part of the perennial wisdom of humankind. Joseph Campbell’s story of the hero or heroine and Thomas Berry’s Universe Story would be examples of this wider context. In our perspective, that wider context is the unfolding of the vast universe in the direction of the sacred worth of each and every human being and of all that is.

May you find a story that holds you in respect and compassion for yourself and in ever widening circles for others.

Norman King. September 05, 2021