Shards of Suffering

A recent viewing of the Canadian film, "Maudie" is the fodder for a reflection on suffering. Based on the life story of Nova Scotia artist, Maude Lewis, the film invites us into a life that was filled with extreme physical and emotional suffering. Maude was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis at a young age, and additionally entered into a marriage that was colored with the dark hues of violence. Even so, her art, and the legacy she left behind, reveal an indomitable spirit and a playful heart.

Let us be frank in our conversation - there is nothing good or pleasant about suffering. It is not nobel or beautiful. Suffering hurts. Long-term suffering wears us down, squeezing life from our bones. Whether it be mental, emotional, or physical, pain costs us dearly in every part of our being.

What then of our suffering - truly nothing good? Perhaps I write in haste. If our suffering may be alleviated let us endeavor to that end. If not - it may be desirable to ask ourselves this: as suffering slowly carves away bits of oneself, what is left that cannot be taken by loss, hardship, pain or distress? Whatever the answer, it reflects one's deepest truth.

Suffering will prune us, shearing away limb, twig and leaf until our roots lay exposed. It can take us to the cliff's edge of darkness where we peer into despair. And then... and then choice: drown in despair for what has been stolen from us, or exalt in the strength, truth, and wonder of what is revealed in the pruning. 

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” (Kahlil Gibran) This may be so. I have known many who have suffered beyond comprehension, and they emanate a great light illuminating a heart of strength, compassion, and resolve. Perhaps it is that their suffering carved away the unnecessary bits of their humanity, leaving an essence for which we all strive. On the other hand, I have known some whose suffering broke them, making them in turn breakers of others. 

If you suffer, you truly have my compassion. I have only this for comfort - seek your deepest, truest self, beyond the pain, beyond the loss. Cling to your roots, be greater than despair. There is a place within, beyond this world of hurt, that is pure, brilliant, true. This place is your refuge - seek it hungrily. 

Flowing tears and aching hearts.

Something to ponder...

Living amongst the shards,
B 

Shards of Governing

With both provincial and federal elections on the horizon for 2019, political discourse of various flavors flourishes. I am grateful for the range of perspectives and the passion that drives much of this conversation; grateful that humanity continues to strive for some version of good life, good community, good villaging. 

As our dialogue continues to unfold, I would invite us to bring to the heart of our telling a simple, though not easily enacted, dictum: "a village will be as healthy as are the most vulnerable within its walls."

I do not point to any particular political platform or party. Rather, I seek to rally us, the body politic, to address, first and foremost, the wellbeing of the homeless, the jobless, those struggling with mental illness, those suffering from intimate partner violence, those whose color, race, or religion has made them targets of hatred. Let us ensure that every child is fed, safe, and loved. Let us safeguard every adolescent so that they are mentored, affirmed, challenged, and brought into the community of adulthood without abuse or violation.

Elections bring us to a crossroad - a time of choosing. Whomever is chosen, challenge them to enact policies that honor and protect our elders, our babies, and those in their working years whose taxes fund our communal needs. 

I encourage robust and deep conversation, balanced upon an even deeper listening to each other. When we acknowledge "I am not well until my neighbor is well" then we have begun to be authentic government of the people. 

We, the body politic, are stewards - of the earth and its creatures, of the global village as it grows and evolves, of the local village and its many-layered interweavings. Let us dialogue - not against what we do not want, for that creates very low energy, but instead for the good life that we desire. May the true work of stewarding enflame our hearts and empassion our action.

Listening and listening

Something to ponder...

Living amongst the shards,
B

Kaleidoscope: Shards of Yesterday

My Christmas reading this year is Will Ferguson's book, "Beyond Belfast" which is a telling of his 800 km hike along the Ulster Way in Northern Ireland. Ferguson is an exemplary storyteller, bringing the reader along on his journey by way of insight and humor. 

Irish history, like Middle-east history, like African history, like... human history is a story of conflict and resilience; suffering and hope; striving, subjugation and... more subjugation. As I pour myself into Ferguson's telling I find myself asking a question that has arisen many times in my contemplations: "Why do we allow our yesterdays to determine our todays?"

I'm not suggesting that we forget the past (not sure this is even possible without surgery and drugs on a mass scale). Nor do I propose that the past does not impact the present. Clearly our todays are shaped by the years in the rearview mirror. I am merely asking us all (us homosapiens) to consider honoring the story of yesteryear's sorrows, wounds, successes, and dreams as exactly what they are - a retrospect! Finished! Wisdom-foder. 

The short term for this is forgiveness - not forgetting and not holding on; letting lived moments, ancestral moments, all of our moments slip down the flow of time to make room for the possibility of new life, of a new today. Perhaps much of the world's current conflict and sorrow arises because we have chained ourselves to archival memories that bear no space for reinvention. 

What does this negative space look like? It looks like the conflict between Sunnis and Shiites; north and south; Irish Unionists and Nationalists; east and west... pick a team, pick a cause, pick a memory to kill for and watch today die in the ashes of yesterday's fires. 

From marriages to countries - yesterday forms us and yet it is our power of choice that will define us. Perhaps this New Year is an opportunity for a new storytelling, one that honors ancestral lineage by birthing today into a nova lux.

Honoring and letting go.

Something to ponder...

Living amongst the shards,
B

Shards of Uncertainty

Tidbits of recent news are lingering in my thoughts this evening: Oil prices are low; civil wars in several countries are causing immeasurable suffering; weather patterns are increasingly erratic; suicide rates are on the rise...

So much hurt in our world; so much anxiety. How are we to move forward when we are surrounded by this cacophony of sad news?

Perhaps the answer is to found in comments from a participant at a workshop that I recently facilitated. In considering her own wellbeing and her need to increase her vitality, she said, "I need to build a stronger village around me."

This strikes home for me. When we feel isolated we despair. In the village, however, all have a place, all are supported - mutually holding and being held. if there is an antidote for despair it may be found within interwoven threads of the village's mosaic. 

In an era of increasing individualism and growing isolationism, sowing the seeds of village is perhaps our most important endeavor. That leaves us then with one simple question - how do we grow village?

The soulfulness of village.

Something to ponder...

Living amongst the shards,
B

Shards of Re-membering

I met with six friends yesterday with whom I graduated from high school...34 years ago. We haven't aged a day. Well, we haven't aged significantly since we saw each other a year ago. 

We caught up on kids, cancer, vocation, losses, travel... and of course a thick helping of conversation regarding classmates with whom we've lost track.

All in all it was an evening of remembering. Or perhaps more accurately it was re-membering. To re-member is to bring into membership again that which was perhaps lost or pushed out. 

In re-membering stories we weave back into the tapestry of our life those threads that have been dropped, torn, or maybe just faded. In sorrowing, for example, the recollection of a loved-one returns that person to the communion of our inner being, back into membership with us - lost physically, reclaimed emotionally.

My classmates and I reclaimed old stories, experienced anew from a more mature lens, a different lens. We salvaged long forgotten tales, not to stir the pot of old wounds, rather, to bring back into the membership of our life mosaic reminiscences that are precious in both their wounding and their wonder. 

Re-membering.

Something to ponder...

Living amongst the shards,

B

Shards of Falling Leaves

There's a big 'ol grandmother poplar outside the Hospice office window. She has stood her ground, deeply rooted, next to the Stoney Creek for countless decades. She is my mentor...

One of the stories she whispers from within the cool fall breezes is about leaves. 

In the early spring, before the nights are warm and as the days lengthen, she wakens from her winter slumber. Sap rises, and the first stirrings of rebirth are witnessed in the swelling buds of new leaves. She dares to hope, dares to believe through winter's grief, that life might continue. 

Against all odds, the buds unfurl to reveal the fluorescent green of soft young leaves. Her joy is ecstatic as one by one by one they unfold, covering her in a cloak of brilliant verdence.  The weeks ease by, June morphing into July and the heart of summer. The leaves have changed, deeping in hue to the darker green of mature foliage. The soul of this great grandmother poplar rejoices in being nourished, and in turn nourishing each and every limb and branch, twig and leaf.

The weeks slip by and soon cool autumn evenings invite the harvest moon to spread an early frost. A shiver runs down her limbs as the first tinge of gold touches her cloak of green. A leaf falls, gently drifting to the ground - tree tears, and soon she is in awe of the bronze, copper, yellow and gold that adorn her every branch. Even as she cries out in wonder, though, her heart shrinks back in grief at what is to come. Soon they will be gone, and the life which she shared with her emerald mantel will soon be a memory.

The last leaf is ripped from her in the grip of a winter storm and she is left bereft. She dared to love again, to taste hope in spring's viridescent promises of renewal, of communion. 

In her sorrow she recedes to a place at once forlorn and familiar. She goes into her roots, her being flowing down to dark places where grief will begin its slow transformation of her being. 

Dark, cold, slow, unknowing, uncertain, alone. 

Until...  with the coming of early spring, before the nights are warm and as the days lengthen, she wakens from her winter slumber and dares to Love again.

Ah, grandmother - your tears and your joy mingle in the telling of your tales.

We take but one breath in this life - a startled inhalation at birth, and a slow exhalation at our death. In between - is beginnings and endings, birthings and dyings. Grandmother poplar teaches the way, how to hope, how to live, how to grieve. The rhythm of our breath, in, out, is the rhythm of starting again, of rising from the dark ground of our sorrowing to reemerge into this world of prasine wonder. 

Life and death... it is who we are.

Something to ponder...

 Living amongst the shards,

B

The Color of the Human Spirit

“The human capacity for burden

is like bamboo;

far more flexible

than you'd ever believe at first glance.” 

(Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper)

In my work as a journey-mate to sorrow I am a bearer of stories of human tragedy and loss. The phone rings; a shaky voice asks if they may come and water the couch at the Hospice office with their tears. Face-to-face, stillness fills the room - calm before the storm. Then comes the story... of a diagnosis, dread, months, weeks, days, and the bitter sweet aroma of death. Or perhaps it is a telling drenched in the loss of tragedy - vehicles, drugs, children, spouses; worlds shattered, communities broken.

I hear these stories, over and over - and I am grateful. I give thanks that I am privileged to sit at the feet of these mentors of human resilience. The mother who's son died of an overdose - her eyes hot with anger at a world gone wrong; her heart flayed and laid bare. She thinks she will die from her grief, but she will not. She will breathe again, smile again, and will love, with a ferocity to shake the mountains from their roots, the son she now holds in her heart. 

“Life doesn’t get easier

or more forgiving;

we get stronger

and more resilient.” 

(Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free )

Robert, who's wife died from cancer after 40 years of marriage. He is lost, and anxious, and lonely to his bones. Jennifer's baby died in the womb one week before he would have been born. She feels shame, fatigue, and longing to suckle a son she never met.

I hear only a minute fraction of the sorrows of humanity; enough though to know that the human spirit is immensely powerful. It will be bent, crushed, torn, and violated; nature will bear down upon it with savagery; all manner of evil will assail it. And when darkness lays heaviest upon the human spirit it is then that it rises up and shouts at the universe, "I will not be overcome!"

“The oak fought the wind

and was broken,

the willow bent when it must

and survived.” 

(Robert Jordan, The Fires of Heaven)

Whatever troubles you today know this - you are strong. You are bones of the earth, power of the wind, depths of the oceans, brilliance of lightening strong. If your heart is torn in grief - you will overcome. If you are drowning in despair - you will overcome. When you feel lost - you will overcome. When you are betrayed, violated, persecuted - you will overcome. Nothing has the power to assail you for you are made from Love and Love always overcomes.

I leave the last word to author, Steve Goodier:

“My scars remind me that I did indeed survive my deepest wounds. That in itself is an accomplishment. And they bring to mind something else, too. They remind me that the damage life has inflicted on me has, in many places, left me stronger and more resilient. What hurt me in the past has actually made me better equipped to face the present.”
(Steve Goodier)

The Color of the human spirit...

willow in the wind, roots in the earth, stars in the heavens.

Gold

is always

gold

always!

Bend it

melt it

stretch it

burry it

still gold

You are gold

Resilience

To Ponder Further:
- From the Bible: " For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control." (2 Timothy 1.7)

- From Sikhism: "Make chastity your furnace, patience your smithy, The Master's word your anvil, and true knowledge your hammer. Make awe of God your bellows, and with it kindle the fire of austerity.
And in the crucible of love, melt the nectar Divine. Only in such a mint, can we be cast into the Word." (Adi Granth, Japuji 38, M.1, p. 8)

- From Hinduism: "
The Lord lives in the heart of every creature. He turns them round and round upon the wheel of his Maya. Take refuge utterly in Him. By His grace you will find supreme peace, and the state which is beyond all
change." (Bhagavad Gita 18.61-62)