I’m sitting out here in a back yard that over the last couple of weeks has really begun to feel almost like my best friend. It’s a beautiful night in September. I’ve got a fire going and I’m sitting out here listening to the crickets.
I’m aware of an abundance of love in my life – in my relationship with my wife, in our community. I have the opportunity to go deep into my healing and my recovery work. And I’m blessed to be able to walk alongside others as they do the same.
And for the first time, maybe the first time in my life, I’m actually aware that I’m worthy of it.
And that might sound like a pretty arrogant thing to say, but the truth of the matter is: when you grow up in a household that’s riven by dysfunctionality, you don’t really get to see a lot of sunshine – when there’s a constant storm of emotional abuse, maybe physical abuse, or sexual abuse, broken up only by these brief moments where the love actually seems unconditional – but that’s nothing more than the eye of the hurricane passing over.
But you latch onto these things. You learn to take them inside. Let them feed you. Let them hold you through the next storm – ‘til the next moment of clarity, the next moment of sanity…
The Pirkei Avot is a collection of theological teachings, maxims, and wisdom from the Rabbinic Jewish tradition. A few years ago, a member of our community passed on a little wisdom to me from that source. We got to talking about service, how we carry ourselves into the world, and what we feel our path is. And he said to me, “it’s important to remember to give from your surplus and not your supply.” It’s a simple statement, but there’s a lot of power behind it. So often, we get caught up in taking care of the needs of others or the day-to-day activities that we forget to take time for ourselves.
This week has been a perfect example of that. I had a lot of chores to do around here; some yard work. I ended up doing quite a bit of yard work over at my Mother in-law’s house. I spent time in the kitchen cooking. I fielded a phone call or two from a friend of mine who was in need.
And I am blessed to be able to do all these things; I enjoy them.
But the truth is, as it got a little closer to the end of the week, I started feeling a little bit ground down; a little bit outgunned. And I realized I hadn’t taken enough time for myself. So, this afternoon, I’m going to be out here in the garage. I’m going to carve a spoon or two. I’m going to listen to some music. I’m going to enjoy this absolutely gorgeous Saturday afternoon…
In certain circles, people will talk about “doing the work.” And we throw that phrase around, and we make the assumption that everybody knows what we’re talking about, but the truth is not everybody does…If I had to define it, I’d say it’s actually got three parts to it, at least as far as I see it: listening, feeling, and reclaiming…
Some people will tell you that empathy’s a gift; that it’s a blessing – you were born with it, and that your job is to walk through this world feeling everybody’s pain and being a healer. Other people like Carl Jung will tell you that it’s a defense mechanism; that’s a skill you learned in order to survive the demands of a dysfunctional household, where knowing the right things to say – or the right things NOT to say – was a skill you picked up in order to avoid pain – maybe even emotional or physical abuse…
Maybe it was ten years ago; maybe it was a little bit longer. I was starting to get the call to step away from the 9-5 world, and into all of this…
I have a teacher who’s fond of saying, “I have a gift, but the power is not mine,” and I make no claims to anything.
All I know is this: If you can find what it is you’re truly here to do, and walk that out into the world; let it shape you, and let it carry you, then that’s just not a gift for you…
When faced with the suffering or ill health of another person in need of prayers or some more immediate form of support, the most caring among us will frequently – perhaps even reflexively – offer to hold space for that individual.
Our hearts might be in the right place, but sometimes our efforts fall short of our intentions, and after a quick prayer, or maybe a phone call or two, we step back and continue on with our lives. That’s fine, of course, if they’re only asking for minimal involvement on our part. But if they’re not, how do we know if we’re really up to the task?
Another way of viewing this is through the lens of “bearing witness”. Typically, this is understood as recognizing the person’s affliction. But how often are we actually willing to go beyond that simple act of recognition and to meet the person where they are, so that we might be able to provide them with the support they really need, instead of what we ourselves deem appropriate?
Yesterday, we gathered for a ceremony in the back yard while most of the rest of the civilized world 9-5’ed. As is generally the case whenever we get together, our focus quickly turned to the state of the world.
Our conversations are usually free-form and heavily seasoned with laughter and wry observations. That’s not to say our ceremonies are unstructured or lack direction. The form is there, though largely marbled through the meat, instead of plastered over it like a cast. There’s a necessary sacredness in coming together with laughter, especially in a world which seems to base so much of its existence upon cruelty, greed, conflict, and fear.
Eventually, we got around to the topic of peace, and how we might bring a little more of it into the world. As a great deal of our work is based upon the Medicine Wheel – or at least the version presented to us in the teachings of Grandfather Joseph Rael (aka Beautiful Painted Arrow) – I attempted to approach the question from this perspective.
The path of the Wheel begins in the East, with the rising of the sun. From there it follows the sun through the sky as it passes into the South, West, and North.
Agriculturally speaking, the East is where the seed is planted.
In the South, the garden is tended. It’s a time of expectation and uncertainty. Will there be too much rain or too little? Will the temperatures run to extremes? Will there be enough food for us all come the harvest? Will we have to deal with insects, deer, or rabbits?
In the West, the questions fall away, and the results are gathered in. We fill the cupboards and begin the necessary preparations to take us through the winter.
In the North, the long, dark time of howling winds, warm fires, and taking stock of the past year’s endeavors, we sustain ourselves on whatever we’ve put aside. If we planted good and healthy crops during the spring, that’s what will feed us as the snow piles up and the windowpanes rattle. If, instead, we’ve planted weeds and thorns, then that will be the source of our nourishment for the winter.
Perhaps, then, the process of peace begins with asking what we’d like to feed ourselves and our loved ones with and simply planting it. We can’t transform the crops once they’re in the ground, but we can learn to pay attention to the seeds we’re sewing.
It’s a blessing to have these things in our lives: fruitful and light-hearted conversations with the Elders of our tribe, an afternoon to sit and write after a morning of errands, pruning the squash vines, and removing the surface rust from a jointer.
Maybe this is how we sew a little peace into our corner of the field…
I spent the morning out in the yard pulling weeds. I’m a lackadaisical weeder at best, but they’d finally gotten to the point where I could no longer convince myself they were “helping the garden.”
After a few hours of that, I grabbed a quick lunch and sat on the front porch covered in dirt, drinking coffee and watching some honeybees working the Russian Sage.
The neighborhood was traffic, crows, and thunder.
As I write this, there’s a slight breeze, a quickening rain, and a tornado warning for the next half-hour or so. But the cat is sleeping comfortably, and the air is full of birdsongs, so at least for now, it appears that we’re okay.
My intentions are to get back out there and cut the grass once everything blows through. That’ll probably take another hour or two, so I’m content to sit here typing away, listening to the rain and the rumble of the thunder.
When I was a kid, thunderstorms used to terrify me. I remember wrapping a pillow around my head so I wouldn’t be assaulted by the noise. Now, the fiercer they are, the more I love them. Apparently, there are some things in life we begin to make peace with as we get older…
As you start to move deeper into your recovery, and the patterns you’ve known for years or even decades begin to fall away, you come to understand just how lonely this work can be. But that’s whole point of it.
Everything seems to turn a shade of gray. The places you used to go no longer interest you. Friends become distant or disappear altogether. Or maybe, you’re the one who disappears. You no longer try to hide your feelings behind an obligatory smile or a lifestyle that doesn’t quite fit the way it used to. When you do make an effort to be in their presence, most of the people you once considered an essential part of your life now seem little more than acquaintances. They no longer get you, and they tell you that you’ve changed; that you’re sullen and you’re not as much fun as you used to be.
If you’re feeling lonely, maybe it’s because you’re finally leaving behind the stories that have held you back. You can’t become healthy while remaining sick. You can’t change and expect things to stay the same. You can’t fully take care of yourself and spend the ever-dwindling minutes of your life pleasing others. And here’s the thing: Recovery isn’t about making other people happy. It’s about throwing yourself into the pursuit of your own healing as deeply as you can, regardless of the opinions of others, so that when you choose to step out into the world, you’re able to do so as a more complete, healthier, and far more honest version of yourself…
In working through the often-arduous processes of my spiritual healing and emotional recovery, I’ve been blessed to have found myself in the presence of Elders who’ve taught me about the practice of putting our prayers on the wind. When we do this, we speak these things out loud so that, like seeds, they might take flight, land on fertile ground, sink deep roots, and potentially grow into something that feeds us all.
While I’ll never claim to speak for anyone else, my personal belief is that it’s necessary to discover whatever it is we’re here to do…and to do it. It’s not like toting it around in your pocket, pulling it out when you need it, and putting it back when you’re done. It’s saying yes to something that shapes our very lives; changes us into the vessel it needs to bring it out to the People…
Bonja the Bodger 