Swimming in Compassion
Every Person – Radical Hospitality
It is kind of a “best practice” for spiritual directors/companions to tell you their niche(s) of clients. I honestly believe I can work with most people and today my blog will focus on those who live with chronic illness(es) and pain.
I am a spiritual director/companion who lives with chronic illness(es), pain, and auto-immune disorders. One of my own spiritual practices is reminding myself that vulnerability is a beautiful form of strength and some days I need to remind myself of that multiple times when society’s versions of strength and capability are the only images we see. I know that some of you reading this blog may live with chronic pain and illness(es) too. Or, someone you love or work with, or have some type of connection with may also live with this, and it might help you to hear me reflect on it. Of course, as I explore this, let me say right away that I am not an expert on your pain and illness, but I am an expert on mine. In fact, I am the only expert on my pain and illness, just as you are the only expert on yours. This does not exclude the healthcare providers that assist us in the management of illness(es) and pain but it does center us as the experts because we are the ones who live with it.
I have a room in our home that I like to call my Soul Room. It is a room painted with a warm yellow accent wall that is adorned by star lamps and twinkle lights that cast a soft glow into the room. It is where I intentionally reflect and rest, study, and write. It is a sacred place and it is a sacred space where I sit with what is, or lay down with what is, rather than what I wish it would be.
On one wall, there is a beautiful picture that, Laurel, one of my healing practitioners painted, and it is of a peaceful-looking woman with a darker complexion sipping a cup of tea. Right underneath it is a poem I like entitled, “Let Yourself Rest” by Jeff Foster. In much of his writings, Jeff talks about his own journey with illness and depression. In this poem, the only one I have displayed in my Soul Room, Jeff writes:
If you’re exhausted, rest.
If you don’t feel like starting a new project, don’t.
If you don’t feel the urge to make something new, just rest in the beauty of the old, the familiar, the known.
If you don’t feel like talking, stay silent.
If you’re fed up with the news, turn it off.
If you want to postpone something until tomorrow, do it.
If you want to do nothing, let yourself do nothing today.
Feel the fullness of the emptiness, the vastness of the silence, the sheer life in your unproductive moments.
Time does not always need to be filled.
You are enough, simply in your being.
You are enough, simply in your being. I long to believe that in every ounce of my being, and I can say with all sincerity that I have many more days now when I believe that than I used to have. This is another spiritual practice of mine: Gently reminding myself that I am enough simply because I exist.
We All Have a Journey to Wholeness
Back in 2017, I started reading Brené Brown and listening to her Ted talks. She is a research professor at the University of Houston in Texas and has spent the last two decades studying courage, vulnerability, shame, and empathy. She’s the author of multiple #1 New York Times bestsellers including The Gifts of Imperfection and Daring Greatly. She is known for her “give it to you straight” guidance, and her humor, all wrapped up in a southern accent while wearing cowgirl boots. She is known for saying things like, “You have to walk through vulnerability to get to courage, therefore, embrace the suck.” She doesn’t believe that cussing and praying are mutually exclusive. Anyone with that type of raw, brave, irreverent sassiness is going get my attention for sure and to put it all out there with a southern accent to boot!
In February 2017 I tuned in to her Ted talk called “Listening to Shame” and it began to transform my life and give me language for some of what I was feeling, and still do. In that Ted talk, she said, “Vulnerability is our most accurate measurement of courage. Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change. Shame is the swampland of the soul and it drives two big tapes: 1) Never good enough, and if you can talk it out of that one it’s 2) Who do you think you are?” She goes on to say that “Empathy is the antidote to shame and that if we’re ever going to find our way back to each other, vulnerability is going to be that path.”
And yet, the path of vulnerability feels so scary and anxiety-provoking. There is something toxic in the trifecta of white supremacy, capitalism, and religion that teaches us to only show our strengths and not our weaknesses. That teaches us to show restraint with our emotions. To not need one another. To not be humble.
In her Ted talk, Brene went on to say that “Vulnerability is absolutely at the core of fear, and anxiety, and shame, and very difficult emotions that we all experience, BUT, vulnerability is also the birthplace of joy, of love, of belonging, of creativity, of faith, and so it becomes very problematic as a culture when we lose our capacity to be vulnerable.”
I find spirituality inherently vulnerable. It speaks to connections between ourselves and each other, and to Something Larger that we can’t see, and it speaks to believing in those connections, even if we don’t fully understand them. Spirituality is also about how we seek and express meaning and purpose in our lives. It speaks to the bigger questions about our who we are, whose we are, and why we’re here. I find all of this incredibly vulnerable.
Writing a blog on spirituality is also a vulnerable experience. I think for all of us who are writers, it feels incredibly risky to put your words, thoughts, and heart out there for others to see. What if people don’t like us for saying what’s true for us? What if we make others mad? And yet, I find that if I close my arms over my body in order to protect myself, I stay closed off, and that’s not how I want to live either. There must be a balance that can feel protective enough yet open, honest enough yet warm, and truthful enough yet humorous at times. Finding ways to stay open and vulnerable is part of my personal spiritual path.
Perhaps we should just acknowledge that this being human is really all wrapped up in vulnerability. The words of Rumi, the 13th-century Sufi mystic, help me with this. Sufism is the mystical branch of the Islamic faith tradition, and Rumi’s poem “The Guest House” reads this way:
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
This is a favorite poem of mine, not the least because every time I read it, I feel something new, learn something different, and lean into a little more. For me, there are some deep truths that he touches on in this poem and I offer them to you for your own reflection. In Western Christianity, there is a practice known as Lectio Divina whereby a person reads a Bible passage, meditates on its meaning, prays about it, and then contemplates it a little more. It’s not meant to be a time of analysis but a time of drawing near to your understanding of the Divine and what this passage might mean for you in that particular moment and circumstance of life. That being said, Lectio Divina can be used with any writing that you name as sacred, not just the Bible, and not just from the Christian tradition; therefore, I encourage you to spend time with this poem by Rumi in a Lectio Divina process to learn how it speaks to you personally. What’s true for you right now? What jumps out at you, and why? What’s missing from the poem that you need to add?
There are times when turning to the mystics is what helps me most, especially on my toughest days. I love reading Julian of Norwich’s writings. She is a Christian mystic from England who lived with chronic illness and pain and almost died at one point, having gotten so sick that the Priest was called in to administer Last Rites. During her times of sickness, she had visions which she called Divine Revelations of Love, and through them drew ever closer to the God of Her Understanding. Through it all she found a way to say and believe that “All will be well, all will be well. All manner of things will be well.”
It’s so difficult to believe that all will be well when we’re in the midst of our struggles, whatever they are, and so for me, knowing just a portion of what Julian experienced, I feel drawn to her work because I, too, seek deeper understanding and connection with Love in all its forms. I also feel a kinship with this 14th-century mystic who shared her vulnerability and let herself be known in the ways that she could, so that seven centuries later, her words are still speaking and bringing healing to so many.
Have You Heard of Hildegard?
There is another Christian mystic whose story resonates with me and that is Hildegard of Bingen, a 12th-century German Benedictine Abbess, who was a writer, composer, philosopher, visionary, and physician. As a doctor, she combined the physical treatment of physical diseases with holistic methods centered on spiritual healing. And while all of this is fascinating to me, what moves me on a visceral level is that she did all of this while suffering from horrible migraines. I know what that feels like! Historians describe her as “sickly from birth”. My mother sometimes described me that way too. St. Hildegarde had a lifelong struggle with chronic illness and her spiritual visions started when she was about three years old.
There’s something about our blessings being right next to our wounds I think, but that is so deeply personal, and I think it’s something that each individual needs to discern, in their own way. We explore this mystery in spiritual direction/companionship sessions. What you won’t hear me saying is that we experience pain and illness so we can know more, learn more, or become more compassionate. What you will likely hear me say is that pain and illness change our perspectives, re-order our lives, help us understand and embrace our humanity on a deeper level, and that these, along with others you might name, are gifts that are given to us when so much else is swept away. People who live chronically acutely know that any giftedness we might claim comes with a cost. Hildegarde, Julian, Rumi. They suffered.
I’ve told you a little bit about Hildegarde and Julian’s struggles with chronic pain and illness. It is not my understanding that Rumi suffered in this way but it is believed that he was born in modern-day Tajikistan and he and his family had to flee when they were invaded by Genghis Kahn; in other words, Rumi and his family were refugees and migrants, and he never saw his homeland again. Later in life, his greatest teacher and beloved companion, Shams of Tabriz, had a traumatic disappearance, and many believe he was murdered; this trauma was deeply wounding to Rumi and Sufi scholars contend that this moved Rumi “toward a period of what would seem like madness.” Rumi is well-known for his prolific writings but one of his shortest verses is this: “The wound is the place where the light enters you.” I believe he said that because he knew pain on a cellular level.
My own spiritual director reminds me that in the Christian tradition, the cross and the resurrection go hand-in-hand. You don’t get to resurrection and a new life without death and dying. This of course is not a debate about “atonement theology” and the Christian understanding that Christ had to die because of our sin. I believe this speaks to the larger, universal truth that no one escapes suffering, but that it doesn’t get to have the last word either.
People often ask me what spiritual direction is. Spiritual direction is soul companionship. A spiritual director is someone who has gone through significant training and who is equipped to companion you on a spiritual path. A spiritual director is someone who listens deeply, bears witness to your truths, and accompanies you and the Divine as you navigate life’s greatest twists, turns, and transitions. I see my own spiritual director once a month. I pay her for her time and her willingness to accompany me as I seek deeper understanding and connection with Love in all its forms.
One of those forms of Love is self-love and self-compassion.
My spiritual director has been known to invite me to offer myself the same love and compassion I would offer to one of my patients who is struggling in the same way I am. I am no stranger to fear, anxiety, uncertainty, and the agony that you feel when you wait for test results, which lead to diagnoses. I know who I was before all my chronic issues started about a decade ago and I know who I’ve become as a result of their unexpected but now constant presence in the guest house that is my life and body.
Swimming in Compassion – Wild Swimming
In one particular session with my own spiritual director/companion, she invited me to picture myself swimming in compassion. Being held by life forces larger than me. Breathing that in, resting in it, feeling it, welcoming it. She knows me well and knows that though I’ve grown in self-love and self-compassion, I’m still a little quicker to show that to my patients, and sometimes need a gentle reminder that I, too, am worthy of it.
Later that same day I sat down and created an oil painting of myself swimming in compassion. Now, lest you think that one of my gifts is oil painting, let me assure you it is not; however, I had a vision of what swimming in compassion might look like, and I had specific colors come to me in that vision, and so I drew what I saw, and felt. I hung the picture on my bedroom wall near me where it is the last image I see before I fall asleep, and the first image I see when I wake up. It comforts me and it reminds me that I am swimming in compassion. From myself. From my wife and family. From my beloved friends and larger spiritual community.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, it planted another seed in me. I have a friend who lives in Seattle and swims in Puget Sound every day of the year, no matter the weather or temperature. I was intrigued by that and she sent me an article to read about “open water swimming.” I read the article, researched some more information on how to do this safely, and decided to try it. One of the ways that chronic illness and pain impact my body is that it raises my core temperature. On one particular day, I desperately wanted to cool down and I thought, Hey, I’ve got a lake near me, why don’t I give that a try? My first-time swimming in Lake Whatcom was in 40-degree water and it was magnificent! It was mystical. It was an encounter with the Divine Feminine waters of birth and rebirth. It was an experience of being submerged, held, loved, and known.
Open water swimming is also known as Wild Swimming. This seems aptly named and it is definitely my experience of it. So much so that I’ve done it a lot since then. I personally use and am grateful for a combination of Western and Eastern medicines, so why not add cold-water swimming to my treatment plan? It certainly won’t hurt and my experiences with it have taught me that it actually makes me feel better.
Swimming in compassion. Swimming in cold water. It’s all wild. And worth it.
To be clear, this is my story and song. Some of it may resonate with you, and some of it may not. Some of my treatments and coping mechanisms may resonate with you, or they may not. That’s okay either way. I’m practicing being authentic and honest and allowing you to see my vulnerability.
Sharing our vulnerability feels scary and as Brene Brown says, “[It] is absolutely at the core of fear, and anxiety, and shame, and very difficult emotions that we all experience, BUT, vulnerability is also the birthplace of joy, of love, of belonging, of creativity, of faith, and so it becomes very problematic as a culture when we lose our capacity to be vulnerable.”
I don’t want to lose my capacity to be vulnerable. I hope you don’t either.
My body teaches me time and again that I have to make course adjustments every day, sometimes multiple times within one day. Being a spiritual companion to those who also know what it’s like to live this way is one of my niches.
In closing, I offer to you the brilliant words of the author Danna Faulds who says,
Let go of the ways you thought life would unfold; the holding of plans
or dreams or expectations – Let it all go. Save your strength to swim with the tide.The choice to fight what is here before you now will only result in struggle, fear, and desperate attempts to flee from the very energy you long for. Let go.
Let it all go and flow with the grace that washes through your days whether you receive it gently or with all your quills raised to defend against invaders.
Take this on faith; the mind may never find the explanations that it seeks, but you will move forward nonetheless.
Let go, and the wave’s crest will carry you to unknown shores, beyond your wildest dreams or destinations.
Let it all go and find a place of rest and peace, and certain transformation.