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Peace requires us to surrender our illusions of control. We can love and care for others, but we can not possess our children, our lovers, family, or friends. We can assist them, pray for them, and wish them well. Yet in the end their happiness and suffering depend on their thoughts and actions, not on our wishes.~ Jack Kornfield
I didn’t realize what a tight ship I run, that is, until my children and grandchildren arrived for a visit. You have to realize that I live in a very controlled environment, where predictability assures safety. Gentle, lighthearted conversation, belly-laughing humor, along with deep intimacy and Presence is the norm. Enter four adults and two boys under the age of seven and we have a decibel level and chaos not common in my (probably) overly controlled physical space. Upon their arrival, each of my dear caregivers and friends comment on the physical and energetic difference of my living space.
And when my family leaves, they notice my fullness of heart bursting with a panoply of emotions including grief from the void left behind, the memories from our past that cannot be relived, as well as the relief that with each visit we have fewer unexamined or unresolved issues together. I am left with equal proportions of deep grief and deep joy.
Each visit feels special in its own way, but the visit last March seemed particularly deep and a bit less fragmented than usual. There were less opportunities for long individual conversations, but more building of love and cohesion as a family unit. Perhaps because the boys are getting older there are more opportunities for connection that doesn’t involve physicality, of which I am completely and regretfully incapable. Jordan came a week early to have mama time – my boy and his mama – and a week later his girlfriend Emily, Casey, Kumar, River, and Luc arrived.
The background of this visit included a movie being filmed by Kumar with River, Keyahi, Luc and Amali as the stars. I was cast as the Oracle. 🙂 I have to admit that the Oracle participated in the game of Cards Against Humanity on two different occasions with adult family and friends during this visit. If you have not played this game, the liberation that results from this sort of catharsis cannot be measured by trips to a therapist or pharmaceutical medicine. Try it. You will be horrified and humiliated, but if you can weather it, you will experience the immense liberation that comes from casting out all of our inhibitions.
Luc, my four-year-old grandson, is an adorable handful. (He is the one under the table in the photograph.) I’m not sure what it is about second children, but I see this pattern over and over again. Although with Casey and Jordan, a milder version of the opposite was true, which was probably due to their wider age difference. Luc is the child who tests every boundary presented, often for his own safety, and at other times for his parent’s sanity. It’s a good thing Luc is so adorable, because his will is pretty fierce at times. Both of his parents adore him, have a high threshold for his willfulness, and continually provide him with love as medicine. Luc was the child who, at two years old, poked the cat eight times in order to learn she would scratch him every time when he didn’t honor her boundaries. Casey eventually needed to intervene, because he still didn’t get it. Casey and I have this sort of tenacity in us as well. When it can be harnessed, it is a useful life skill in an adult, but this quality in a child is not easy to parent.
First children are considered the hero child. Perhaps the second child needs to enter with a vengeance to show us who they are, possibly to topple the heroes from their perceived throne. My beloved caregiver and friend told me her theory – if they gave you your second child first, you wouldn’t have a second child. 🙂
Each time they come to visit we get closer and closer. There is so much gratitude for each visit, while at the same time the impending grief grows. The courage it takes for each of us to continue to open and not shut down in the face of the inevitable Great Grief is profound. I think my respect for them grows along with a certain capacity to hold the grief.
Luc is also the child who is completely uninhibited and forthright. He came to me and said, “You’re going to die.” Fortunately, after working with children for nearly a decade, I don’t get rattled by much. I replied, “Yes, I have to get my angel wings.” This gave me the opening to have the conversation with him I’d been wanting to have. I told him that I would be with him his whole life and he could always speak to me, but he wouldn’t see me with his eyes, only his heart.
Later that day, I had a similar conversation with his older brother, River. This conversation needed to be more sophisticated, because River is less in the magical thinking stage and more concrete. River has been precocious since day one and requires more Presence when engaging with him. If you have had one conversation with River, you know this about him.
This was a groundbreaking visit and auspicious in its timing, because my physical condition has begun to rapidly decline. I hope I have the chance to reinforce these beliefs, that as I move toward the end of my life, feel more like truths. Casey was a witness to these conversations and I’m sure she will reinforce them for the boys and for herself. Casey was the child who taught me about the other vibration. When one of her children is struggling, she can recognize the greater missions they have undertaken. I trust she will be able to find me.
Sometimes, children’s eyes can see what adults’ have forgotten. May they feel my love through the veil with their hearts and not their minds. And if they have trouble finding me, perhaps Luc can show them the Way.
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Your body is the church where Nature asks to be reverenced. ~ Marquis de Sade
Dispelling the Cultural Phobia Around Death
When faced with the inevitable challenges life brings, I have tried to meet each trial head-on, once I was able to tap into the hard-earned resources I have acquired through the years. The diagnosis of progressive multiple sclerosis in 2003, presented me with the greatest ordeal I would have to face in life. Mysteriously, when the symptoms began in the late 80s, I instantly grasped the profound level of disability that would eventually evolve from this illness. This resulted in the greatest fear of my life, yet I slowly began to move forward with the willingness to simply not know.
I and my family are coming to terms with the shortening of my life that used to be an abstract concept, but has become very real recently as my organs are beginning to shut down. Little did I know when the symptoms began, there was no treatment for this neurological disease. Meeting my death at 64, has presented my greatest challenge as well as my greatest opportunity. There may be no treatment for many of the these devastating neurological illnesses, but we ARE developing options to meet an inevitable and sometimes premature death, with more compassion, awareness, and humility. As our culture begins to meet death with greater acceptance, we are better able to care for ourselves and for each other. In doing so, we will be better able to meet our final transition with Grace and awe, knowing we are coming face-to-face with the Sacred.
Meeting the Unknown
When I recently realized my organs were shutting down, it took a while for my mind to grasp the significance. My modus operandi for meeting each physical challenge has been to just keep moving forward. Most of the acute obstacles to moving forward were in the form of injuries that had to be addressed immediately. Concurrently, there was the constant background noise, the signs of a continual downward trajectory in functioning. Injuries were easier to manage, because they had: the initial injury, a recovery time, and then finding a new baseline. Functional decline was more difficult to deal with. I was continually strategizing: being vigilant to avoid further injury, listening deeply to my body to what was wanting to be heard, and attending to the changes required. Due to the efficacy of this strategizing, I, and my beloveds, had become lulled into a form of denial that somehow strategizing could actually keep my body going, ad infinitum.
At this sacred time of shutting down a vibrant, generous, and loving life, I have begun my life review, which is a common practice once the shock and grief abate. Looking back, I am aware that I have lived a good life, yet as with any life well lived, I have also made many questionable and downright poor choices along the way. However, with this broader perspective, I am realizing that there really are no mistakes. Each supposed mistake was a learning experience that provided an opportunity for acknowledgment, forgiveness and led to more educated choices in the future. For me personally, it is about discerning how to live my life with greater integrity, authenticity, and grace as I move toward the doorway we call death.
It was merely ten days ago when it became obvious that my digestive system could no longer process foods as it had. Concurrently, my appetite plummeted and it was clear where I was in the trajectory of my life – that I was facing my death. I began to grieve acutely, revealing an understandable level of denial. I am aware of the many times I told clients that some denial is necessary during times of great change. I recognize that I could not have lived such a regenerative life without this ability to compartmentalize. My body was no longer wanting the fuel that would sustain it, so I knew my days were being drastically shortened and that I needed to consider my options carefully.
The Many Options Open to Us Now
Since Colorado passed the end-of-life options act last November and I had gone through the arduous process of securing the prescription, I had the comfort of knowing I had the safety net it afforded, should I begin to suffer needlessly. Another option would be to do V-SED – voluntarily stopping eating and drinking, a process my body had already begun. Although not eating felt voluntary on a certain level, I knew in my heart of hearts that if I were to live in full integrity, it would mean following the direction my body was leading. MAID and V-SED are both viable options, but they just felt too abrupt for this body at this time, given my lack of pain and suffering, at least at this time.
I knew my soul was ready to go and I wondered what it would take for the rest of me to let go and follow. My body was already beginning the process of letting go, but my mind had been strategizing for many years in order to live alone with this condition that demanded continually being in survival mode. Rejecting food appeared voluntary on the surface, but what I knew internally and was afraid to admit, was that it actually was involuntary and I felt to force it would be out of integrity. I knew my soul was ready to let go, to move on to my next adventure of going Home, but I felt conflicted, because it would cause others so much pain. Was I betraying my beloveds? Was I betraying my body? How could I possibly share this with others and feel their grief along with mine, when each of ours was so raw?
As I am sitting with the predicament, a new option has appeared. I could eat and drink only when there was the desire and open to my body’s natural timing. I could find the courage to completely let go of control, and see how this new way of being could serve me (and also serve others). Taking this option meant suspending any sense of knowing and opening to my loved ones’ love and generosity when I am the most vulnerable! This meant that I had to fully embrace being the recipient of so much love that it would stretch my remaining feelings of unworthiness that I knew I still harbored. To me, receiving love and not feeling deserving represents the last frontier of my arduous and sacred Work.
It is essential to clarify that this slow moving illness that is accompanied by very little physical pain is extremely unusual. If I had unbearable pain, acute cancer, ALS, or if I had less support or fewer resources, I would choose MAID in a New York second, as we said in New Orleans.
Given my propensity to struggle with letting go, I decided to write a love letter to my body/mind in the hopes it can finally relax and let go. Although it is very personal, I graciously want to share this with you, my devoted readers. Thank you for your unyielding support over the past months and years.
Love Letter to My Body
My dear loving body/mind, my precious vehicle for this lifetime,
You have served me well. Thank you for being a body with so much endurance and so much forgiveness. I am humbled at your service.
You have taken so many insults, so much abuse, and you have met it all with so much grace. You have had your bones broken, twisted, forced to go beyond your capacity, but you have served us well.
You grew two of the most amazing children I can ever imagine. And from them came amazing grandchildren and perhaps there will be more. I, Aliyah’s soul, will be watching, listening, ever giving my two cents, but always loving.
You have weathered quite a curriculum to teach me how to better love and that I am worthy of being loved. The former, I came wired with the ability, but the latter was more hard earned. I guess that is why it’s called a “curriculum.”
You have fulfilled your Sacred commitment to me with generosity and grace – I release you with loving gratitude. You are free to do what bodies do. You have served me to the utmost and I can’t imagine any better body to carry me through this life.
I will not force you to eat when your system does not want to digest. I will not trick your body with medications, I will let you shut down with as little struggle possible. I will help you let go, if your mind pushes you beyond your limits due to the guilt from perfectionism that has plagued you, or an unrealistic belief that you are necessary to lessen others’ grief. I will not abandon you. I will help you let go of needless suffering with whatever resources I have available to me with the same generosity you have afforded me.
Your mind has served me well. It has helped me be the first person in my family to have an advanced degree and use that in service to others. What better joy in life can there be? You have helped me to strategize an impossible curriculum with impossible circumstances. Without you I could not have accomplished living alone unable to move from the neck down for as many years as I have, touching so many lives. I learned to receive love and the greater challenge was I learned to ask for help.
Without my body and mind, I would have left long ago. We did really really well!
It is almost time to completely let go, to scatter joy to the earth, the air, and water, especially the water. We can know that we did what we came here to do. We can let go and let Love!
Weekly, Crestone’s Threshold Choir comes to sing a cappella at my bedside. Here is an example of one of their songs:
The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off. – Joe Klass
Ram Dass and Reb Zalman
I have always been an independent person. I have jumped off mountains in California and Maine with rappelling gear, I rode my motorcycle to Key West alone for weekends in college, and I learned to jump my very large thoroughbred horse when I was nearly fifty years old.
Today, I find myself unable to move from the neck down with continued weakening of any peristalsis in my body’s alimentary canal that moves food North to South, or East to West if lying horizontally, an asana I assume throughout much of the day and night.
My sense of autonomy has always been important to me and is fiercely defended by my will – condolences to my parents and gratitude to my husbands. One of the most difficult parts of aging and/or disability is losing one’s autonomy. 90% of the people who choose to end their life using medical aid in dying (MAID) is due to loss of their autonomy.
Erik Erikson, a German-American psychologist whose work was covered extensively in my Masters degree program at Tulane University in the 70s, developed a theory of human development comprised of eight stages from birth to adulthood with each stage ending with a developmental crisis that led to the next stage. He was best known for coining the phrase identity crisis.
Stage II of Erikson’s model involves developing a greater sense of self-control. It has been commonly observed that when individuals age, they revisit the psychosocial stages of development from childhood. Often children end up parenting their adult parents either physically, emotionally, or both. I believe multigenerational healings can occur during this reversal of roles, when unresolved issues from the past resurface to be healed. Occasionally, the trauma is too great to be reworked or it is just not time, which can be overwhelming. Families get through this time the best way they can. Perhaps, if people can cultivate a sense of empathy, either through counseling or other support systems, working with these crises can be extremely restorative.
In this essay, I will explore my own personal experience of how Erikson’s second stage Autonomy versus Shame and Doubt has manifested to clear residual shame and doubt during the end of my life. Each stage has its own particular challenge, it’s crisis of identity, but each stage moves toward healing, interdependence, and communion/love.
For me, letting go of control has always been a challenging requirement in this theater called life and often I do it kicking and screaming, with sometimes bone shattering consequences, quite literally. During major transitions, letting go and trusting the natural process of life has been a challenge for me. Giving away my power to external sources of authority in lieu of trusting my own inherent wisdom has been a related and recurring life lesson. Mediating between the two tendencies of deferring authority and needing autonomy during this end-of-life time has been challenging.
Last week, I experienced a sense of anxiety so huge that with my level of frailty, it could have ended my physical life. Nevertheless, I decided to sit with the fear, not an easy ask. This is probably one of the hardest spiritual practices, to sit in the place of not-knowing. (Ironically, all I really can do is sit, but I could have distracted myself, or quite honestly, having the lethal prescription, I could have chosen this as my exit point, if the suffering was too great.) There is no right or wrong decision. Each has their own sovereignty to decide for themselves. Instead, I decided to just BE with it to see what would emerge. Fortunately, I also have been given healthy doses of determination and stamina to meet these areas of limitation.
I sat and felt more and more fear until it was beyond overwhelming. I called my very skilled caregiver/fellow traveler to be with me, revealing yet another challenge in my life – asking for help. I just knew I could not go there alone. She tenderly affirmed she was there, completely present, and available for whatever I needed. With someone I trusted deeply to hold the container, I went there.
It was like entering a dense orb of anxiety that had been suspended in time. I was transported to the pregnancy with my first child, which had been one of the most joyful times of my life. Once it was time for her birth, however, I found myself feeling completely alone and unsupported, with no sense of trust in the natural process. Feeling that vulnerable, I asked the doctor for a cesarean which started a series of events that spun completely out of control. I was given a general anesthetic that upon awakening left me in tremendous physical pain and completely disoriented – Where is my baby? Two days later, when the confusion began to clear, I demanded they bring my baby to me and called my mother who got on a plane immediately. The doctors threatened me, because that was the 70s and they didn’t yet have the practice of rooming in, nevertheless, I persevered – alone, helpless, and disoriented, I persevered. Two days post cesarean, I developed a postpartum depressive reaction, the likes of which I’d never before experienced. I just did not have the internal resources to integrate the trauma. This was before midwives and doulas were welcomed in hospitals. I felt completely ill prepared for the onslaught of feelings of fear, helplessness, and shame.
Just recalling the memory makes me cry all over again. Then I realized that this orb of unresolved feelings, now relegated to my unconscious, were familiar and had recurred a few times later in my life. Each recurrence left me with the exact same feelings – fear, helplessness, and shame. It began to make perfect sense that it would resurface as I was preparing for another major transition – dying! With this awareness, I felt gratitude that this ominous trauma had reemerged into my awareness. I felt in awe of the natural order of life during this auspicious time. When confronted with the end of one’s life, the holes in our souls caused by past trauma can become more evident, along with the neurosis that had taken up residence. These are the places that most need our love and acceptance for healing. In our culture, I’m sure these karmic appointments often get medicated away. Again, no right or wrong. For me, this was an important piece to clear before my final transition of birthing myself through the doorway called death.
At this point, I would like to digress to the timely issue of aid in dying in our culture. Personally, I am grateful to have the safety net of having the prescription in my possession, whether I choose to use it or not. I am grateful I was able to open to my greater suffering necessary to meet the emotional crisis presented at this sacred time of transition. When I secured the prescription, I made an agreement with myself that I would not use it to avoid anything emotionally uncomfortable, but because I was ready to go forward. I intuitively know I don’t need to endure needless physical suffering. It is my style to confront obstacles for my greater good. I wouldn’t begin to make this decision for others or take it away. One of Erickson’s criticisms has been that he excluded the emotional and spiritual aspects of development. I don’t have that limitation in my toolkit. If you know me, you know I am fierce with passion and determination to fill these holes in my soul with love and joy (and anybody else who crosses my path).
During the aging process, losing one’s independence and sense of control in life can lead to despair as the body deconstructs. In his own words, Erikson reflected on his view of his life now in his 80s, You’ve got to accept the law of life, and face the fact that we are disintegrating slowly. Deconstructing the developmental stages that were so hard won when we were young is a mirror image which requires acceptance and letting go of will. From a spiritual perspective, one needs to shift from the egoic level to the spiritual, which is not a path for everyone. Sometimes, what is called for is just planting seeds and that is enough.
In their ninth decade together Erickson and his wife, his lifelong collaborator, expanded their theory which included issues that arise during the old age years. They identified the conflict during this stage as Integrity versus a Sense of Defeat (despair). The fruit of this tension can ripen into wisdom. The Ericksons further posited that the lessons during this time of life involve developing empathy and resilience, that having the courage of our convictions to move toward greater wholeness dispels the ominous sense of despair that so plagues many elders. This is not unlike Viktor Frankl’s theory of attributing greater meaning to adversity, a practice he developed while in the concentration camp with his family in the 40s.
In his seminal work, Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi described the importance of mentorship in one’s older years, or as he called it spiritual mentoring when he wrote From Age-ing to Sage-ing. (It should be noted that Reb Zalman was ordained as an Orthodox rabbi until he experimented with the “the sacramental value of lysergic acid” in 1962. His experimental style along with the cross-cultural influence, which included feminism and LGBT rights into Judaism, mysticism, and a rainbow prayer shawl he designed, inspired me to reconnect with my Jewish heritage in the 80s.) He traveled with other rabbis to India to meet the Dalai Lama. His holiness was interested in knowing how the Jewish people had survived with their culture intact, a significant issue for the Tibetan Buddhists in exile. If this interests you, read Beyond the Ashes, written by a rabbi ordained by Reb Zalman and Jew in the Lotus, a book that chronicled this journey.
If you read my last essay, you likely understand when I describe the anomalous quest of those of us who need to reach the summit of the Himalayas. Having been a psychotherapist and in therapy myself much of my life, I have had the privilege and opportunity to develop a huge capacity to ride the suffering with the faith that in doing so, I would eventually find liberation.
During the height of my anxiety, my prayer was for PEACE. Reb Zalman spoke clearly about anxiety, how it helps the ego become more translucent and transparent, to remove the opacity so the divine light can shine through. These words hold such TRUTH for me now.
It is my hope that anyone facing adversity find the same comfort I have found during this sacred time. Here is medicine for all who are facing life’s sacred transitions. It is a trailer from Ram Dass’ documentary Going Home:
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born. ~ Anaïs Nin
Much has been written about The Shadow, originally described by Austrian psychiatrist and psychoanalyst Carl Gustav Jung, a pioneer of Depth Psychology, an approach to psychotherapy close to my heart that includes the exploration of the unconscious and transpersonal aspects of the human psyche. The Jungian construct of the shadow involves those parts of the Self that we deem as flawed and unlovable, often due to early trauma, and therefore, relegate them to our unconscious. Eckhart Tolle describes it as the painbody, a semi-autonomous psychic entity of old emotional pain not faced, accepted, and let go of in the moment they were experienced.
Encountering the Shadow
Often these traumas have roots in our childhood, transferred by the unexamined (shadow) aspects of those in our family of origin whom we most trusted. Delivered as criticism or rejection, we learn to deny these injured parts to avoid further pain and, ironically, end up attracting to us exactly what we are trying to ward off.
Our shadow reveals our deepest wound, which also holds the key to our greatest healing. Our unexamined pain accumulates and combines with that of others’ to form a collective shadow. Wars have erupted due to our unconscious collective shadows. I believe by working to bring these aspects to consciousness, one person at a time, we can not only lessen the conflict in our own lives, but ultimately achieve world peace.
Robert Bly describes the shadow as the bag we drag around behind us through our life and when aspects of ourselves appear that create discomfort, we throw them into the bag as unclaimed, unlovable parts of our persona. The bag becomes heavier and heavier until we develop the courage to begin to take each dissociated part out to bring it into the light of consciousness.
In shamanism, the shaman, or healer, is seen as one who can walk between the human and spirit worlds to retrieve our discarded parts in order to restore balance to the soul, whether the imbalances are caused by fear, loneliness, addictions, or other ills.
Dancing With the Shadow
If we are courageous enough to enter into long-term, committed relationships, it is likely we will encounter the proverbial mirror that forces us to see our shadow projected onto our beloved. Discerning what is ours from theirs is the crisis and the opportunity of deep intimacy. For me, it took a series of divorces to realize who the common denominator was. During my first and most tumultuous marriage, it was easy to shrug off any criticism as his projections, but when I encountering similar criticisms during my second marriage, I began to recognize recurring patterns.
I don’t believe my rigorous life path of learning through relationships has been arbitrary. I believe it was specifically designed for me to learn and teach others self-love through the healing power of intimacy. As a psychotherapist, being of service has been a large part of my mission and doing my own personal work has been an essential prerequisite. I remember asking my former mentor, “Do I have to experience everything in order to be of service to my beloveds?!” Not everybody needs to experience a curriculum as extreme as mine, but as a psychotherapist, you can only take other people as far you have already gone.
From another former mentor, Werner Erhard, a complicated but significant leader of the “human potential movement,” I learned that in order to truly have a relationship, you must be willing to not have that relationship. To me, this meant that in order to truly have an intimate relationship with another person, I needed to be willing to risk it for my own Truth. This is not an easy principle to follow, especially when the ego is invested in maintaining status quo at all costs, but it is a tenet I have learned to follow more and more as I have matured spiritually. As Maya Angelou eloquently stated, “When someone knows better, they do better.” Choosing our Truth over our egos’ desires is the difference between feeding our shadow or feeding our authentic Self – choosing Love over fear.
Opening to the Teachings
From this end-of-life perspective, sitting still twenty-two hours a day, I have opened into what could be called my life review. Those who have entry into what some call the bardo or the life between lives, either through dreams, meditation, or visions, are able to begin a broader process of self-reflection over their lifetime and begin to identify the themes the soul has come in to work on. My many years in non-ordinary states of consciousness through Holotropic Breathwork, both as a practitioner and a facilitator, has helped me to access these healing states.
Throughout my earlier life I struggled with feeling victimized by energies outside of myself over which I felt powerless. This common pattern is often an imprint from the family of origin. My mother was my initiator in this journey of duality (drama). I was terrified of her and then of my teachers and went on to attract relationships that affirmed this worldview.Victim, Persecutor, and Rescuer are three different expressions of victim in the dramatic triangle. (For more information, see the Karpman Drama Triangle – three faces of Victim, a must for psychotherapists and addictions counselors!)
Drama vibrates at a low frequency and like attracts like. To maintain a low vibration, which serves to keep vulnerability at bay, a victim can only draw a persecutor or a rescuer, which then always switch roles. Shadow Work involves bringing each role to consciousness to allow vulnerability and intimacy, a high frequency.
Breakthrough From Drama to True Self
During my breathwork visions, for years I was a Jew in a concentration camp. However, one day, to my shock I suddenly became the Nazi – feeling the power/control of oppressing, enslaving, and murdering others. (This collective shadow, by the way, is the core of racism, or othering, a fear prevalent in the world today. A critical mass must be reached to bring this hatred out of the shadow, one person at a time.) I let myself marinate in these excruciating feelings until I felt the energy complete itself. I didn’t know what to think afterwards – feeling shame mixed with horror that shifted into empowerment, and even liberation.
For me during breathwork, as in life, the most arduous part of the process is learning to stay with uncomfortable feelings. I learned firsthand that it was much more comfortable to experience Victim than Persecutor; the latter forced me into shadow of the motherwound. However, by avoiding the pain, I suppressed my natural fire energy – creativity and passion (joy). I was so afraid of being my mother that I couldn’t fully be me! After this breathwork retreat, I knew my life would be different.
Staying in drama temporarily lessens anxiety, but the cost is one’s true power. The role of Victim (the one down position) was familiar to me. When people emulate the childhood abuser who appeared to have more strength and power; the Persecutor becomes their go to persona during conflict. The Rescuer (the one up position) feels the illusion of safety from the messiness of intimacy, by staying above the fray. Feeling less than was my shadow and Persecutor was the shadow of my shadow. Only when I allowed myself to fully experience this repugnant role, replete with abuse of power, shame, and fear, could I liberate myself and experience Wholeness. In that way, I was my own shaman.
Integration
During this sacred time of life review, I want to honor the teachers in my life of which I have only mentioned a few. I especially want to honor my mother who chose to play this role with me in this lifetime. Mother, I know you are with me and I look forward to dancing with you soon with less fear and more joy.
When a great ship is in harbor and moored, it is safe. There can be no doubt. But that is not what great ships are made for. – Clarissa Pinkola Estes
When I was a young girl, my father had a 1923 Ford Model T antique touring car that had a crank on the front that needed to be turned to start the engine. I’d heard you had to be careful it didn’t jerk your arm out of socket when you cranked it, it had quite a kick! The purpose was, in my seven-year-old understanding, to create a spark for the engine to start.
In looking back over the 40 years since completing my masters degree to practice psychotherapy, I recognize that I have played that same role with the people I served, to create a spark to get their psycho/spiritual engines going. This is neither a responsibility I take lightly, nor has competency come easily. It is a sacred task so deeply-rooted in my being that I believe I must have agreed to it prior to incarnating. My desire to serve has been just that pervasive throughout my personal and professional life and the joy I experience when their metaphoric engine gets running is profound!
Learning to hear the call of this sacred assignment began while I was still in single digits of age. In order to be effective, however, I had to reach a level of confidence that was not easy to come by. This journey toward self-love was wrought with many challenges, but I came into this world with a fierce desire to serve and I came to realize that in order to serve others, I first needed to heal myself. With this awareness, I started a life of seeking that led to many teachers and disciplines to help overcome my limitations. I’ve spoken before of my greatest teaching – to learn to trust my inner authority, which I believe is the only way to truly know one’s power. The experience of learning to drive a manual transmission in the late 60s served as a useful metaphor for understanding and developing this teaching.
Our parents and our older siblings serve as our first authority figures to help us practice vital lessons of personal power. When my brother was 21, he became my instructor and his 1968 GTO with a clutch that was about to fail became the instrument of my education. He knew the clutch could fail if handled recklessly and, believe me, he let me know it. What a set up for high tension. I knew if I didn’t learn fast, I’d be in serious trouble with my brother. What a perfect metaphor. My lack of confidence in life manifested as a fear of my own power (acceleration). Engaging the clutch unskillfully would immobilize the engine abruptly and infuriate my brother. Immobilization (shutting down) was my go-to strategy for warding off anxiety. My brother amplified the voice in my head creating reluctance, (fear). He taught me about the friction point, the point where the clutch and acceleration meet for forward motion. When met with accuracy, there was no damage to the clutch. To add to this tension, I was learning to drive a manual transmission in the hill section of Scranton, Pennsylvania. Engaging the clutch with your left foot on an incline could cause the car to roll requiring quick use of the brakes, also with your left foot. If there were a car behind me, catastrophe could ensue. The tension was great with the potential for collision with another car. You get the picture.
This mirrored a conflict that I refer to frequently in my life – immobilization versus empowerment, clutch versus accelerator. Applying the brakes offers more control, but I only have two feet! As I became more proficient at driving a stick shift, I felt less immobilized in life, less afraid of my power (acceleration). This has served as a good example of meeting my fears at the exact point where acceleration is required, to avoid stalling in the middle of traffic, to avoid a collision with fate, or my brother’s rage.
Another powerful metaphor was learning to waterski on one ski. Learning to ski on two skis was elementary growing up on a lake, but learning to slalom demonstrated the next level of proficiency. Learning to slalom, one needed to be able to shift one’s weight from two skis to one. This required shifting one’s whole equilibrium from two points of contact to one point of contact. Having the tendency to lose myself in relationships, the kinesthetic sense of balancing over my own center of gravity reminds me of learning to slalom. I often felt this shift after a divorce. After processing through the stages of grief, I always felt empowered when my center of gravity shifted over one ski, my ski!
And there is the snow ski metaphor when you have to lean forward as you ski downhill in order to navigate through the snow without losing your balance. Intuitively, we lean backwards to compensate for the downward slope. Leaning into issues sometimes means going against one’s intuition and one’s comfort zone. Thank you for indulging me in exploring these teachings.
Having spent most of my life in my body learning kinesthetically (in motion) to be still and listen deeply has been a huge gift that my ego would never freaking have chosen. Nevertheless, it has served me well. This carnal (physical) curriculum is not for the faint of heart. If my heart were anymore faint, I could never do terminal illness nearly as gracefully. As I live this end-stage form of neurological illness, I can see things in slow mo. My life force is growing exponentially as my body is weakening. My identification with this blessed vehicle is shifting to a greater me, the part of me that is more aware of other dimensions. There are times when my perceptions and my sense of love is so heightened that I know that transition to Spirit will be a minor step. Each time I experience this, fear of the unknown diminishes.
In their published work, James Lawley and Penny Thompkins assert that “metaphor is an active process which is at the very heart of understanding ourselves, others and the world about us.” I have much gratitude for the teachings that surround us when the intention is self-reflection that leads to empathy. After all, teachings that lead to having greater compassion for ourselves and others is the essential work of this time. As Clarissa Pinkola Estes so beautifully reassures us to not lose heart, because We were made for these times.
There is a feeling we have sometimes of betraying some mission we were mandated to fulfill, and being unable to fulfill it. And then coming to understand that the real mandate was not to fulfill it. And that the deeper courage was to stand guiltless in the predicament in which you find yourself. – Leonard Cohen
People are usually surprised to hear how I really feel about living my life under such extreme circumstances: being unable to move from the neck down after being a competitive athlete my entire life, living in a body that can barely keep me alive, having difficulty speaking audibly when tired and barely being able to whisper. It just boggles people’s minds that I could live my life with so much gratitude for being, so much gratitude for having as much independence as I have, defying what our medical establishment is able to tolerate due to the excellent, compassionate, spiritually-driven circle of women and men who surround me and care for me. The paradigm we have co-created has allowed me to focus on what I truly value – connecting deeply with the people I love and helping them to allow more Love in their lives.
I live an interesting paradox. My body is in hospice, but my mind and my Spirit are experiencing the most joy I could ever imagine in life. How can that possibly be? I could never understand it without living it. It is true that I cannot move, eat, eliminate, without complete dependence on others, however, there is so much I can do that I would never have been able to with a fully, functioning body.
My life has always been about service–service through my psychotherapy practice, service through my interracial gospel choir in New Orleans, service through my nonviolent communication groups and my caregiving and women’s circles, not to mention service to anyone who enters my house, including the UPS man. There’s nothing that gives me more joy than helping someone recognize and allow more beauty and love into their lives, especially self-love which is from where all love emanates. It is only through love that world peace can be achieved.
With my body slowly dying from a neurological illness, the progression happens gradually; I lose one function, one ability after another. Everybody goes through this process during aging, mine is merely accelerated. To me, death will be an adventure when the time is right. After allowing myself many years of grieving, I began to see the brilliance of this curriculum. Suffering is minimal. I believe that grief only becomes suffering when it is not fully felt. My suffering has been mostly emotional. If I’d had too much physical pain to bear, I might be having a different conversation. Earlier in the illness, I broke many bones during accidents: sternum, toes, patella, femur, but they have all healed. Unlike most people with end-stage illness, I am fortunate to have little neurogenic pain. Everything is firing from the neck up, so I am able to strategize my circumstances to avoid pressure sores from becoming septic, aches from becoming chronic, my mind from becoming stagnant, and to free my heart to continually emanate and feel love.
When one is moving toward the end of their life, often dreams can become more vivid. Upon awakening, recounting the dreams of my sleeping state often reveal inner work that is yet to be addressed. Sometimes my dreams merely clear emotional material that is clouding my clarity; dreams are always regenerative teachers. Lately, I have been experiencing my dreams as a bridge to the Spirit world, perhaps to aid my transition.
In one such dream, I was painting columns of an antebellum home a particular color well known to Southerners – shutter green. Shutter green is the color many shutters are painted in Louisiana where I lived and raised my children for 30 years. I frequently dream of the turn-of-the-century home where I raised my family. The house in the dream was clearly a variation of that home and magnificent property. We lived off a highway called Military Road where confederate soldiers were rumored to have marched, thus giving it that name.
In the dream, I was painting these columns with the woman who owned the house. I knew her name clearly. It was Monique (or Monica) Marie Crane. I remember feeling that it was essential to me that the woman feel good about the work I was doing. Her husband would be home soon and I wanted the column he would see first to be meticulously painted. Doing a meticulous job felt almost like a spiritual calling. There was no duress, no external pressure.
I remember looking into a full-length mirror and seeing a very pleasant black man! I can remember moving my arms to see if the reflection would move with me. It did. I was clearly the man in the mirror. The love I felt looking for the man was profound. I can still feel it today as I recall the dream. There was no sense of time, no feeling of enslavement, no sense of victimization. Pleasing others with my craft was deeply satisfying.
After I woke up, I felt such love for this man that I told my friend who is a hospice chaplain about the dream. She affirmed its significance and offered her own perspective. She saw how this man’s life appeared to parallel my life, that I’ve lived life’s circumstances with much gratitude and no feelings of enslavement, despite the lack of freedom of movement. As she described this, I felt the kinship with this man. I felt deep love that I cannot understand cognitively.
We live many lives in one life and perhaps we live many lives in many lives. The I who is, is constant. The I is forever.
We are one, after all, you and I; together we suffer, together exist, and forever will re-create each other. – Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
Well, today’s the day for my second physician’s appointment to determine eligibility for the new Colorado Aid-in-Dying law. A major factor determining eligibility is to establish that I am of sound mind.
To determine if one is of sound mind, a mental status exam is performed. The patient needs to be “oriented times three”, as we say in the profession. That means the patient needs to know who they are, where they are, and when they are – person, place, and time. Often a common question that is asked is, “Do you know who the president is?” Please please please, don’t ask me that question!
Allison, my primary caregiver, friend, and partner in discussing philosophy, spirituality, and geopolitical ramifications of the present day circumstances, etc., has been with me every step of the way through this end-of-life learning curve. Allison and I do not shy away from any topic, no matter the depth nor the breadth, and we share a sense of gallows humor that would make other people shutter. It is the sort of humor I relied on in the mental health center while dealing with continual heartbreaking situations. One has to be initiated, in order to share this type of Mash humor, in order to meet each moment. Allison and I are talkers, and when we talk we become so entranced with the content and our brilliance that we become somewhat disoriented, that identifying the date during such discussions becomes momentarily unreachable. We have this joke that when the doctor asks me the date, my reply will be, “Can I call my lifeline?”* It’s not that we are mental status-deficient, actually, quite the opposite is true; we allow ourselves to be transported. I hope and know that Allison will go on to do fascinating, significant Work in the world, when this work together is complete. I know our time together will be a catalyst for both of us. That is the nature of our connection, not a small ask from either of us.
The most common question I get from people is, “How are you able to be so present with this curriculum and be so lighthearted and present with other people’s suffering? Well, my answer is in two parts: I have people like Allison in my life who can go there with me, to be in my pain or to be in my excitement of going on The Great Adventure, both equally as important. Secondly, I have come to understand that I AM much more than my physical body. Realize that I live one injury, one choking incident, one errant bacteria or virus away from death. All my caregivers and friends are well aware of this fact. They, too, have been initiated, by loving me, watching my body weaken over time, and watching my life force grow.
Since I am not quite ready to feel the weight and magnitude of my meeting today, I will offer some other topics Allison and I find hilarious. After I have a choking attack where my eyes bulge and the caregiver is listening intently for that crucial in-breath, my mind is thinking about other things. As soon as I catch my breath and resume the ability to speak, I will often comment on something totally unrelated and banal. Perhaps there is a dissociative process happening, but as long as the choking is not life-threatening, my mind entertains itself, which then entertains my caregiver. Often, this is a moment where comic relief is needed. (I learned humor as a coping skill in my family of origin.) Many people find this type of humor tasteless. I’ve certainly had that reaction from people. Either you get tastelessness or you don’t. Either you experience relief from it or shock. It is, perhaps, an acquired taste. Nevertheless, sometimes we laugh so hard we have tears dripping down our faces. I know what dying laughing means.
When I assess people, I look at physical, mental, psychological, and spiritual well-being. Fortunately, for me the last three are functioning and developing well. Today, the doctor is assessing the first three qualities. Today, I hope he doesn’t ask me that question. Dissociating during a mental status exam would be counterproductive.
The shit is getting real. I am needing to accomplish a multitude of tasks in order to secure the medicine before I can even fully open to the grief for where these practical matters are leading. My grief is personal, but I also feel grief for the people who desire this right to lessen suffering at the end of their life, but don’t have a Masters degree, the capacity for humor, or a support system like I have. For them, the shit is very real and many likely don’t have the resources to complete this arduous task. My wish is for my words to reach them and they somehow feel comfort, that they can reach for the Love that is also reaching for them.
*This line is from the game show Who Wants To Be a Millionaire, aired in 2002?
For my patients who have used this law, I was honored that I could be with them every step of the way, ensuring that they were cared for, and that they had control of the final days of their lives. That’s what death with dignity really means. – Nicholas Gideonse, MD
When I was a child, I grew up on a natural lake. I was probably in the water eight hours a day. My family called me a fish. As I got older I learned to waterski– two skis, then one, or slalomming. I was on the swim team in elementary school, delegated to the 500-yard freestyle, because I was the one with the physical endurance to swim 5 laps, straight. During the summer I rode my horse, daily. In high school, I was in the snow ski club. And, in graduate school in New Orleans, I rode horses and ran road races in the scalding heat of the Louisiana summers. Needless to say, I was always physically active and athletic.
Running was the first ability I lost. I was 47 years old, with two children, a horse farm, and a psychotherapy practice. Within three years, I could no longer ride my horse and I started tripping and dragging my right foot. While carrying my computer, I fell on the wood floor and broke my patella in half, which led me to a walker. Although I dreaded using a walking aid, I was glad for the safety it provided. That was, until I fell on my walker and cracked my sternum.
With a cracked sternum, standing, sitting, any movement was excruciating. I’d bruised ribs in the past, but nothing like a sternum crack which required assistance for any movement. I was losing my autonomy. Around this time, I began having “accidents,” incontinence particularly disturbed my husband. This affected my dignity.
After failing to engage the brakes in my car quickly enough and finally stopping in the middle of a busy street, I realized that I would never drive another car and risk endangering a life. I was losing my independence. I was still able to drive the golf cart on the farm, which gave me some sense of autonomy, but all of the chores were left to my husband, which was not our agreement when we purchased a labor-intensive horse farm.
My husband was becoming more and more irritable and resentful. Burdening loved ones is another huge fear to an active person becoming disabled. Each of these losses could lead to major depression, but having been a therapist or in therapy much of my life, I have the internal resources to deal with these stressors. Fortunately, I was not financially dependent on my husband or the government. I cannot imagine the level of suffering people encounter, when terminally ill, who are less resourced than I, either internally or externally.
After cracking my sternum, I was almost relieved to sit in a chair where I was safe from excruciating injuries. “You don’t get the small stuff,” exclaimed the doctor who read my patella x-ray. So, sit in the wheelchair, I did.
Probably the two worst symptoms of progressive multiple sclerosis are heat intolerance and intractable fatigue. I used to call it “crying fatigue,” because all I could imagine doing was to lay on the floor and cry. It was not grief or sadness that led to crying, but intense exasperation, with no emotion attached. Only someone with chronic or terminal illness can understand this level of pain and suffering.
After Katrina, when we had no air-conditioning for a month, in the heat of the Louisiana summer. I remember stumbling to my car with my walker, turning the engine on, sitting in the air-conditioning and crying. I knew I could no longer live in this state of Louisiana that I loved, that the heat and the hurricanes were more than I could bear. I no longer had the endurance of the 500-yard freestyler or the independence to care for myself with a partner who was beginning to resent me more each day. We would move to Colorado. I thought that would solve many problems, but little did I know my life was about to, once again, change forever.
On the way to Colorado, a wheelchair accident resulted in my femur being shattered, the largest bone in the body. It was shattered so badly, that the surgeon had to scrape the pieces together, to screw the stainless steel plate to something. This is where my book Meet Me By the River – A Women’s Healing Journey begins and chronicles my life from devastation to deep gratitude and joy. (Shameless plug.) From the hospital, I was discharged to our new home in Colorado. Six months later, my husband/partner of 11 years left and I, reluctantly and not very gracefully, was to learn how to live alone with this degenerative, neurological illness. Fortunately, I had the financial resources to not be a burden on my family for at least a decade.
Many people facing terminal illness embrace a spiritual life for the first time. Even if they were religious, their beliefs take on greater meaning, much like a spiritual initiation.
I began to see these physical limitations as directed by a higher power. I no longer saw them as punishment or some failing on my part; I saw the Universe as loving and I saw how my ability to impact myself and others was much more effective in this condition. The healing in myself and others was profound. I began to love this illness and see it as a course correction that was leading me to my highest purpose in life. The joy I experienced was infectious. The help I could provide to others was more than I’d ever imagined, with an able body.
As the illness progressed, I began to assess the level of suffering I was experiencing. At some point I knew that my suffering would no longer be a positive catalyst; the suffering would be needless. This pivotal point is different for everyone, depending on their capacity to process the pain and suffering, their level of development, and the Mystery beyond our limited knowing.
In November, the Aid-in-Dying law became legal in Colorado. The most common reasons people choose Aid-in-Dying are loss of autonomy, becoming a burden on one’s family, loss of independence, financial concerns, loss of control of bodily function, fear of uncontrollable pain, loss of ability to participate in pleasurable activities, and loss of dignity. (I highlighted some of the issues that cause me the most suffering in red.) This law is well-crafted to protect the vulnerable from abuse: one must be in the process of dying, be of sound mind, be able to self-administer, and no other person can benefit from this choice.
Opponents of this law often use the word suicide to incite people, emotionally, in my opinion. I have assessed suicidality for 30 years as a psychotherapist. When suicidal, a person wants to die. I have talked many a person “off the ledge.” It is an insult and a misnomer to ascribe suicidality to a person in the sacred dying process, who is finally able to surrender and let go. What a harmful imprint this could leave for the family to carry. Words have power.
All of this being said, my first choice would be to die naturally. Unfortunately, people never die from MS, they die from “complications from multiple sclerosis.” The complications can be: sepsis from pressure sores, choking to death which has to involve a beloved caregiver trying so hard to keep me alive, drowning in my own fluids from pneumonia, or some other horror I don’t yet know about. The best option I could hope for would be failing to thrive, or starving to death, slowly. Keep this in mind when considering choice.
Societies that rule with a more parental, autocratic style usurp one’s sovereignty for making choices for themselves and their bodies, which includes how they might want to leave this beautiful world. These regimes characteristically manifest a disregard for women’s rights, or a disrespect of the Feminine. (I use “the Feminine” as a term applicable to either gender: having more of a tendency toward vulnerability, empathy, and sensitivity. These are values that have been punished for nearly 5000 years.) Hopefully, we are integrating more feminine values moving toward a kinder, less violent world.
In the meantime, if I begin to feel complete with this lifetime and ready to let go and serve my loved ones from Spirit, do not conflate this sacred decision with suicide. This is not suicide. I do not want to die. My life has always been about service and learning to connect more deeply in Love, I know myself and I know this intimacy and animation will continue, and, most likely, express itself in a much deeper Way.
Many years ago, a close friend who was a hospice social worker asked me to cover her hospice clients while she was out of town. I told her, “I don’t do death.” She then taught me something that was way beyond my 40 years. “Hospice is not about death, it is about life.” Because I had been experiencing subtle neurological symptoms for years and I feared a degenerative, life-threatening illness building in my body, this concept peaked my curiosity as it assaulted my logic. How could dying be about living? Almost like a Zen koan that evokes enlightenment by showing the inadequacy of the logical mind, I had the next two decades to contemplate this paradox, because two weeks ago I became a client of Hospice del Valle in Alamosa.
When I was considering entering hospice, I received desperate messages from friends around the country who had heard I was actively dying. After all, I must be actively dying if I was in hospice. This is one of the major misconceptions hospice workers encounter. Families usually consider hospice only in the last days or weeks of a person’s chronic or terminal illness, which, in my opinion, does a disservice to the patient and greatly limits the level of care available through the organization. The main purpose of hospice is to provide palliation to chronically, terminally, or seriously ill patients (not expected to live more than six months), which includes attending to their medical, psychological, and spiritual well-being and those of their families.
Living in a culture that is death-phobic, no one wants to mention the H word to a person who still has some life in them. What if hospice involved helping to reduce the suffering of persons deemed terminally ill, but still living for many months? The illness I have been living with is a slow, degenerative illness that has only affected me from the neck down. The effects have been devastating, but from the neck up I have been able to maintain a quality of life that is different, but regenerative in nature. Having been a psychotherapist for thirty years, my work has become more selective but much deeper, given my spiritual growth directly informed by what I consider my “spiritual curriculum.”
I had considered hospice for the last year, but since I was not actively dying, I did not consider it seriously. My most experienced caregiver who had worked ten years in a hospice told me that about 10% of her hospice clients lived an average of two years. Working through the necessary emotional stages, I engaged the closest hospice serving Crestone. To my surprise and tremendous relief, I have received care on every level I could imagine—physical, mental, psychological, and spiritual. They are an interdisciplinary team: MD, RN, CNAs, chaplain, and Family Support liaison. Whereas in home health, improvement needed to be noted, with hospice I could let go and receive care on all levels. This is supporting my dreamtime, depth of meditation, and, I believe, allowing me to begin a conscious death with open communication to my Guides on the other side. Intuitively, I have been able to let go and begin my journey through the Bardos.
I imagine that choosing to work in hospice naturally screens out individuals who are not comfortable “doing death.” My experience with each professional is that their level of skill, compassion, and care have surpassed my high expectations. I now know what my friend was saying; hospice has been about improving my quality of life, even though I can die within days. I can also live months and perhaps a year or so. That was never a possibility before I engaged hospice. I am a natural strategizer or I would never have been able to live alone while quadriplegic, but their expertise has taken this to a new level.
I will likely see 2017, but perhaps I might see 2018! With the help of my care team and now hospice, I can continue to lead my psychotherapy group on Skype, share my growing wisdom gained from living in stillness, and perhaps I’ll live to write another book!
Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it. – Helen Keller
I have been practicing Marshall Rosenberg’s seminal work on nonviolent communication for over nine years. Recently, I have been remembering his statement that every communication is an expression of either “Please” or “Thank you.” No matter how skillfully or un-skillfully the communication is delivered, all communications are either requesting something one needs or expressing gratitude. We don’t always get what we want or need from people, but we can always choose a response that is more conscious. A more conscious response will move the conversation closer to love and forgiveness; forgiveness of other, and more importantly, forgiveness of self. A less conscious, more impulsive reaction would likely keep the expression of pain going. It requires much skill to interact consciously with other human beings; I believe that is why we are here, learning with and from each other.
It is essential that we understand the feelings we are experiencing during conflict and that we understand the unmet need triggering the feeling. Identifying our feelings can take much spiritual maturity, because allowing oneself to be vulnerable during conflict is like what Stephen Levine calls, “opening your heart in hell.” Once one is feeling and need literate, conflict is easily reconciled. Here are some common examples:
Wife – You are always working, it’s like I’m a single woman in a marriage!
This is an expression of please. This is where the real work begins. The wife might only feel anger, but sadness or grief is always under anger. She might not even realize she is sad and missing her connection with her partner. In our culture, acknowledging our vulnerabilities is grossly undervalued, perpetuating an illusion that we are self-sufficient islands. Allowing one’s vulnerability, in my opinion, is how we can achieve world peace, one person at a time. At the core of this existential shift is the ability to find empathy for the self. To me, this is the prerequisite and the gift that neutralizes conflict and increases love of self and others. Once empathy is achieved, there is more self-reflection, and her communication might be, “My need for connection with you is not being met and I’m really sad about it. Would you manage your time so you can spend more time with me and the children? With practice, one can move more swiftly to vulnerability and affirming one’s love for the other can render more love.
Husband – I cannot do enough for you. All you do is nag nag nag.
This is an expression of please. It is important to hear beyond the pain. What he may be unable to express if he is not feeling literate is, “I feel so much pressure to provide financially, emotionally, and physically. I feel like I’m dying on the vine. I need some help here.”
The most difficult work is identifying the feelings and needs. Cultivating empathy for one’s self, leads to empathy for the other and will ultimately lead to feeling less isolated. This is the power of duality, or interacting intimately with others; the power of community.
Once self-empathy becomes natural, one can respond to these please requests with gratitude, rather than the automatic reaction of withdrawal or acting out our pain. Whether the communication is skillful or not, we can feel gratitude, because the other person is willing to express their unmet needs. Moving out of one’s own pain through self-empathy allows one to hear the other’s pain. Here is where love and connection can be restored and please can become thank you.
Recently, I reached out to a significant person in my life who has been disconnected from me, disconnected from my heart. As I move toward the end of my life, I know this is not truth. I reached out asking if we could reconnect. (Please.) I was met with a very cold, defensive response. I knew that we were not both in the place of reconciliation and I needed to honor that. In the past, I might have pushed for my needs to get met and it would not have ended well. I recognized the opportunity to honor where the other person was and more importantly, not to sacrifice my own well-being, knowing how open and vulnerable I am in my life right now. My reply was merely, Thank you.
And I meant those words, completely. “Thank you” to her for letting me know where she was. And, “thank you” to me for letting go, for having the wisdom to know that because we are disconnected on the physical plane, in another vibration where love is the only truth, we are connected forever.
All statements express please or thank you. Vulnerability is the key to open communication and inevitably leads to empathy. Empathy is the balm that changes poison (pain) to medicine (intimacy). You cannot give to others with an empty internal reservoir of love. This reservoir needs to be attended to constantly and consistently. This is the basis of most spiritual practices and the hope of heart-centered psychotherapy.
Marshall’s books can be purchased on Amazon, found in many libraries and YouTube videos are available online at no charge.
World peace can be achieved, one person at a time.
