I know and truly love someone who is so sunk in her misery and self-pity that I have had to make the terrible choice to stay completely away, at least for the time being. Perhaps if I were stronger spiritually, or more mature in some way, I might be able to be in relationship and maintain the integrity of my own spirit. But not now. And the being apart has helped me understand myself better.
Today's reflection (in Diane Mariechild's Open Mind -- Women's Daily Inspirations for Becoming Mindful) puts a new perspective on why a person might allow life to become so negative, so burdensome.
"My mother felt sorrow for those who had no spiritual practice or religious beliefs...Such people are often bitter and angry at what they term the unfairness of life."
But more important for me -- because I cannot get into the head of another person, and so cannot say for certain that this applies to my friend -- is turning the thought to myself and my relationships.
I think it's not enough to say I have a spiritual practice. There must be active searching for meditation time, disciplined dedication to setting aside everything else for complete focus on my spirit. In setting aside this toxic relationship, I have given space for the things of the spirit -- love, compassion, understanding, self-awareness -- to relax and make softer the unyielding and hurting place I was in.
With that space and softness, I begin to see how I was buying into the negativity in order to stay in the relationship; that there was something in the hurtful mix that served a purpose for me. I simply would not have become aware of this had I remained close to this person because remaining close to her meant remaining far from my Self.
My sister, Joan Sparks, sent me this text today: "We all have freedom. We cannot control our circumstances but we can choose how to deal with them."
Sometimes those choices for freedom are so hard. They can be inexplicable. The choice I have made to stay apart seems cruel, I know. Yet I now see that I had to remove myself from a destructive cycle for my own sake, and that is reason enough as long as I do so in the context of a deeply felt spiritual life and journey.
For now, I am glad that the circle of the old relationship is over. I pray that a new circle might begin, even as I know that I have no control over whether or not it does.
I would love to hear from you. Please click on 'Comment' below, or email me at carold.marsh@gmail.com. Thank you.
Showing posts with label right action. Show all posts
Showing posts with label right action. Show all posts
06 April 2013
23 May 2012
Redeeming Pain
Recently, someone said to me that the attention I pay to the migraines -- specifically, writing this blog -- is insulting to anyone who has "real," life-threatening diseases like cancer. The comment seemed so beside the point to what this blog is about, to what I am about, that I tossed it aside without much consideration. But this morning, it has come back to me as relevant for many of us living with chronic pain, and so I want to address this issue: our pain is often minimized, misunderstood or even derided by others.
(Just to put the subject to rest so I can get on with this post, I have never equated my migraine pain with the horrors of cancer and like diseases. But that migraine pain is not life-threatening is no reason to leave it unexplored or to refuse to learn its lessons.)
If seeing is believing, then the pain of diseases like migraine or, say, fibromyalgia, is not to be believed. Ours is a society rooted in the visible, the concrete, the material. What is invisible, untouchable, ineffable, tends to stay on the periphery. I write about pain and spirituality, subjects that are peripheral at best; often more comfortably ignored than attended to.
Additionally, it is so much more gratifying to deal with the fixable: the broken leg gets a cast; the degenerating discs in the spine benefit from physical therapy; the surgeon removes the problem pancreas. There is a lot of trauma and suffering here -- God forbid I should be mis-read as minimizing the pain and difficulty of broken bones and surgeries -- but the difference between the well-documented mechanics of setting a bone and poorly understood migraine pain means that the former is healed while the latter worsens.
Finally, there's the matter of objective versus subjective: objective as in verifiable or confirmable by numerous persons; subjective as in verifiable or confirmable by just one person. We see a surgical scar or an arm in a cast and we can agree: she had surgery on that knee, or, he broke his arm skiing. But how to verify or confirm chronic pain that has no outward, physical manifestation? All we have is the individual's report about pain that we cannot experience for ourselves.
Chronic pain is not visible. It's is, by definition, not fixable (if it were, it wouldn't be chronic). And it is absolutely subjective.
Kind of like the life of the spirit.
We are human, we sufferers of chronic pain. We whine every once in a while. We get depressed when a promising new medication has no beneficial effect. We become angry at our restricted lives, friendships neglected, jobs lost, parties unattended. We suppress a sigh at yet one more doctor who stands, long before we have our concerns and questions addressed, with his hand on the doorknob while mumbling about not being late for the next patient. We get tired of people telling us how good we look, as though this proves we must not be in very much pain; or implying we should just suck it up and get on with life; or insisting that our pain is not worthy of consideration because we are not dying.
So what redeems the pain? Perhaps we are in an unfixable and subjective situation, but can we not refuse to remain invisible? And how to do that without indulging in self-pity or assuming the victim role?
We let the pain reach us, teach us. We do precisely what the world wants us not to do. We do not just go away because we make others uncomfortable: we pay attention to our pain and we share what we have learned. We let it incise its way into our spirits and into our spiritual lives, carving out that place that is then ready to receive the wisdom, presence and peace that have arisen from our refusal to deny our reality.
We allow our our pain to be our greatest teacher.
I would love to hear from you. Please use the comment link below, or email me at carold.marsh@gmail.com. Thank you.
(Just to put the subject to rest so I can get on with this post, I have never equated my migraine pain with the horrors of cancer and like diseases. But that migraine pain is not life-threatening is no reason to leave it unexplored or to refuse to learn its lessons.)
If seeing is believing, then the pain of diseases like migraine or, say, fibromyalgia, is not to be believed. Ours is a society rooted in the visible, the concrete, the material. What is invisible, untouchable, ineffable, tends to stay on the periphery. I write about pain and spirituality, subjects that are peripheral at best; often more comfortably ignored than attended to.
Additionally, it is so much more gratifying to deal with the fixable: the broken leg gets a cast; the degenerating discs in the spine benefit from physical therapy; the surgeon removes the problem pancreas. There is a lot of trauma and suffering here -- God forbid I should be mis-read as minimizing the pain and difficulty of broken bones and surgeries -- but the difference between the well-documented mechanics of setting a bone and poorly understood migraine pain means that the former is healed while the latter worsens.
Finally, there's the matter of objective versus subjective: objective as in verifiable or confirmable by numerous persons; subjective as in verifiable or confirmable by just one person. We see a surgical scar or an arm in a cast and we can agree: she had surgery on that knee, or, he broke his arm skiing. But how to verify or confirm chronic pain that has no outward, physical manifestation? All we have is the individual's report about pain that we cannot experience for ourselves.
Chronic pain is not visible. It's is, by definition, not fixable (if it were, it wouldn't be chronic). And it is absolutely subjective.
Kind of like the life of the spirit.
We are human, we sufferers of chronic pain. We whine every once in a while. We get depressed when a promising new medication has no beneficial effect. We become angry at our restricted lives, friendships neglected, jobs lost, parties unattended. We suppress a sigh at yet one more doctor who stands, long before we have our concerns and questions addressed, with his hand on the doorknob while mumbling about not being late for the next patient. We get tired of people telling us how good we look, as though this proves we must not be in very much pain; or implying we should just suck it up and get on with life; or insisting that our pain is not worthy of consideration because we are not dying.
So what redeems the pain? Perhaps we are in an unfixable and subjective situation, but can we not refuse to remain invisible? And how to do that without indulging in self-pity or assuming the victim role?
We let the pain reach us, teach us. We do precisely what the world wants us not to do. We do not just go away because we make others uncomfortable: we pay attention to our pain and we share what we have learned. We let it incise its way into our spirits and into our spiritual lives, carving out that place that is then ready to receive the wisdom, presence and peace that have arisen from our refusal to deny our reality.
We allow our our pain to be our greatest teacher.
I would love to hear from you. Please use the comment link below, or email me at carold.marsh@gmail.com. Thank you.
03 July 2011
Remembering God
"If you pass by the gardens of those who remember God, sit down happily." Prophet Muhammad
I have realized that I need to take especial care of my health and my spirit during the month of July. The heat and humidity of Washington, DC are again taking a toll on me, as the migraines both increase and become harder to bear. And - what is good news albeit poor timing - we'll be moving by the end of the month.
So I shall take the month of July off from this blog. It is essential that, in the midst of the packing and planning, ill health and pain, I ensure that I have the space and time to sit down happily in the gardens of God.
I will begin to post again during August, 2011.
May you enjoy tranquility and gentle challenge this month.
16 February 2011
Reading "The Pain Chronicles" - Four
NOTE: I am not writing this series of posts about Melanie Thernstrom's The Pain Chronicles: Cures, Myths, Mysteries, Prayers, Diaries, Brain Scans, Healing and the Science of Suffering (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2010) as a book review. I do highly recommend this book for anyone who is suffering chronic pain or is close to someone who is, but I am not trying to make the case for that. It's really a matter of inspiration: a book written by a chronic pain sufferer would naturally hold interest for me, giving me much to ponder in relation to this blog.
************************************************************************
What if all this meditation and quiet mind and calm spirit that I am learning from Buddhist spirituality and Christian centering prayer is making me complacent, passively accepting of the painful fate the migraines leave me with? This question has arisen for me before, but never more so than while I was reading Thernstrom's book. I was struck by the active, energized and persistent approach she took with her doctors.
"I had previously undergone treatment with other doctors; each time the treatment failed, I had switched doctors again." (page 215)
"The only thing I had wanted from a doctor was a cure. The first seven doctors I brought MRI films to were not inclined to offer this, and neither, I realized ten minutes into the consultation, was the eighth." (page 245)
My health insurance is a basic HMO which gives me only limited ability to switch doctors, but, truthfully, it had never really occurred to me to switch either from my first neurologist, whom I saw for three years before he left the HMO, or this current doctor, whom I've been seeing for another three years. Six years with two neurologists and still in enough pain that I am not working and am living a relatively constricted life: were I like Thernstrom and other patients she describes, my doctor visit history would look a lot different.
There is a perception about meditation and acceptance and peaceful spirit that these practices encourage passivity in a person: Oh, well, my head is splitting, I'll go meditate (or pray) and endure it. It's my karma. It's God's will for me. Shiva wills it. Etc.
If I have wondered this about my spiritual practices, it has not been too often, because most of the time I am reveling in the peaceful presence that has replaced my anxious self. Not to mention that I do not believe in a God that would "will" either my pain or any of the various and excruciating kinds of pain in the world. But I have wanted to explore recently the question of whether there is enough of the right kind of action in my peace. And I think that phrase, "the right kind of action" is the key.
Action that arises out of my old anxious self is awkward, hurried, driven, off the mark. Even if I were told that such action would lead to a migraine cure, I would likely not pursue that cure: to live life in that kind of fearful anxiety is a small hell on earth. I'd rather be full of peace and manage the pain that isn't being cured. Yet this is not a simplified, either-or proposition: there does exist action that arises out of the peaceful, accepting, surrendered place in which I prefer to remain.
So, "the right kind of action" means action that is founded in the deep stillness that is God's presence within, or right mind, or no mind, however one prefers to say it. Action that arises out of the depths of stillness is graceful, deliberate, focused. Surrendering to peace does not mean inaction in the face of circumstances that call for action, it means remaining peaceful, letting go of the inner dialogue of resistance and judgment, and simply proceeding with what is necessary in that moment.
Perhaps I would have changed doctors twenty times when acting out of that inner stillness. Perhaps I would have turned instead - as I have these past five years - to alternatives like acupuncture, diet, and spiritual practices. The outcome isn't the point in this discussion, because what might arise from my anxious self may look a lot like your action arising from a calm center.
It's a matter for continued reflection and self-honesty. Perhaps I can be more pro-active in suggesting things to my doctor, perhaps I can push a bit harder on referrals to other specialists. It's good to keep an open mind - calmly.
I would love to hear from you. Please use the Comment box below, or email me at carold.marsh@gmail.com.
************************************************************************
What if all this meditation and quiet mind and calm spirit that I am learning from Buddhist spirituality and Christian centering prayer is making me complacent, passively accepting of the painful fate the migraines leave me with? This question has arisen for me before, but never more so than while I was reading Thernstrom's book. I was struck by the active, energized and persistent approach she took with her doctors.
"I had previously undergone treatment with other doctors; each time the treatment failed, I had switched doctors again." (page 215)
"The only thing I had wanted from a doctor was a cure. The first seven doctors I brought MRI films to were not inclined to offer this, and neither, I realized ten minutes into the consultation, was the eighth." (page 245)
My health insurance is a basic HMO which gives me only limited ability to switch doctors, but, truthfully, it had never really occurred to me to switch either from my first neurologist, whom I saw for three years before he left the HMO, or this current doctor, whom I've been seeing for another three years. Six years with two neurologists and still in enough pain that I am not working and am living a relatively constricted life: were I like Thernstrom and other patients she describes, my doctor visit history would look a lot different.
There is a perception about meditation and acceptance and peaceful spirit that these practices encourage passivity in a person: Oh, well, my head is splitting, I'll go meditate (or pray) and endure it. It's my karma. It's God's will for me. Shiva wills it. Etc.
If I have wondered this about my spiritual practices, it has not been too often, because most of the time I am reveling in the peaceful presence that has replaced my anxious self. Not to mention that I do not believe in a God that would "will" either my pain or any of the various and excruciating kinds of pain in the world. But I have wanted to explore recently the question of whether there is enough of the right kind of action in my peace. And I think that phrase, "the right kind of action" is the key.
Action that arises out of my old anxious self is awkward, hurried, driven, off the mark. Even if I were told that such action would lead to a migraine cure, I would likely not pursue that cure: to live life in that kind of fearful anxiety is a small hell on earth. I'd rather be full of peace and manage the pain that isn't being cured. Yet this is not a simplified, either-or proposition: there does exist action that arises out of the peaceful, accepting, surrendered place in which I prefer to remain.
So, "the right kind of action" means action that is founded in the deep stillness that is God's presence within, or right mind, or no mind, however one prefers to say it. Action that arises out of the depths of stillness is graceful, deliberate, focused. Surrendering to peace does not mean inaction in the face of circumstances that call for action, it means remaining peaceful, letting go of the inner dialogue of resistance and judgment, and simply proceeding with what is necessary in that moment.
Perhaps I would have changed doctors twenty times when acting out of that inner stillness. Perhaps I would have turned instead - as I have these past five years - to alternatives like acupuncture, diet, and spiritual practices. The outcome isn't the point in this discussion, because what might arise from my anxious self may look a lot like your action arising from a calm center.
It's a matter for continued reflection and self-honesty. Perhaps I can be more pro-active in suggesting things to my doctor, perhaps I can push a bit harder on referrals to other specialists. It's good to keep an open mind - calmly.
I would love to hear from you. Please use the Comment box below, or email me at carold.marsh@gmail.com.
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