Extending Compassion

"Truly, it is in the darkness that one finds the light, so when we are in sorrow, then the light is nearest of all to us." ~ Meister Eckhart

"Now I understand that my very brokenness is my connection to the unbroken whole. I have nothing to hide or defend; I offer the pain of my wounds and the fragility of my brokenness. The door of my heart is wide open; this is the door of compassion for myself and the world. I have opened my heart to my own suffering, and now I am ready to keep my heart open to the world's suffering. I realize that compassion is a living circle starting with myself and now going out to meet the world."
~Circle of Compassion by Gail Straub

Although the attack happened over 2 years ago, I am still grappling with its effects today. I spent the first year in a decisive effort to "get my life back". I went at it like a line backer with his head down barreling full speed ahead. I was going to get there. One day my daughter, Erin, told me that I was going at this like someone one who ran full force into a snowdrift to get to the other side and suggested that it might be easier to get a shovel and start slowly digging away instead. It was so painful to accept that my life was forever changed but slowly the light began to dawn and I began to see it clearly. When I accepted that life would never be the same, my suffering instantly faded. All that I was doing was accepting what is but that knowledge changed everything.
In the last year, I have found myself often frustrated that I am so emotional and, at times, fearful. Previously, I thought of myself as scrappy and fearless not some weepy worrier but, these days, I often cry without warning and feel as if I am"hanging out all over." I have lamented these changes and strived to get back to my former "strong" self. I did not realize that it was just another thread of the fabric of my former life that I was hanging onto.
I am a supervisor at a nursing and rahab facility. Most days we admit one or more new residents to the facility. Some come for rehabilitation and some come to stay long term. It is usually a very difficult transition for the person and for the family, no matter what the plan is. No one wants to be in a Nursing Home! In the 9 years that I have worked at Heather Knoll, I have admitted a lot of residents. My own brother was a resident there for 3 1/2 years. Like anyone that has ever been a nurse, I have taken care of a lot of people who are sick and scared and I have encouraged and comforted many families. What has changed is my ability (or should I say inability) to do this without feeling overwhelmed at times with emotion. In other words, I cry. I am not saying that I never cried before but now there are times when my heart literally breaks for them. I feel their fear and pain... I hurt with them. I remember what it feels like to be helpless, frustrated and hurting. I know that my family suffered greatly when I was in the hospital and that hurts too.
It has become quite clear that I will never be the same. I am broken and fragile and very very real. The shell that protected this heart is now paper thin with many tears but that is not so bad. I have learned through my own suffering that I was most "helped" by the people who could be fully present and feel the pain with me. That's all that any of us need- the loving presence of another. That is the salve that soothes the wounds and helps to heal our brokenness. It is the gift that gives us hope and lights our way to the wholeness that we seek. That is the gift of compassion that we give first to ourselves and, only then, can we extend true compassion to the world.

Parable of the Hawk and the Garage

"It is compassion that removes the heavy bar, opens the door to freedom, makes the narrow heart as wide as the world. Compassion takes away from the heart the inert weight, the paralyzing heaviness; it gives wings to those who cling to the lowlands of self."~ Nyanaponika Thera

I have spent the last 3 Saturdays with a couple of new friends. Bob is an accomplished hammered dulcimer player and Wendy is a harpist. Their music is truly a gift of love and always leaves you with a quiet sense of peace. But, as much as I appreciate their music, I feel an even greater appreciation for their gentle spirits. Last weekend as we sat and talked Bob shared a story of an event that happened to him recently. It touched me so deeply that I wanted to share it today.
Bob is a farmer and went into his garage and heard a great racket. He was startled to see a hawk anxiously attempting to get out by repeatedly flying into a small window at the back of the garage. The poor hawk saw what he believed was his only way out and continued to hit the window in hopes that he would escape. All the while, behind this great bird was a very large garage door that was wide open but, in his desperation, he never looked behind him. He just kept ramming into the small closed window over and over again. Now, a hawk is a very large wild bird and Bob is a gentle man who had never confronted a wild animal such as this. However, he felt compassion for the animal and decided that he had to do what he could to help. So he put on heavy work gloves and climbed over the equipment in the garage and reached for the bird. Gently but firmly Bob placed his strong hands around the birds wings. Amazingly, the hawk did not resist but instead turned his head and looked square into his eyes. Bob then carried the great bird to the door and opened his hands and set him free. Instantly, the hawk spread his mighty wings, let out a screech of thanks and flew away. I believe that the hawk felt the love that poured from Bob's hands and heart and saw the gentleness in his eyes. He was helpless and in great need and God reached out guided him to safety with Bob's hands.
I have always had an affinity for hawks. The strength and grace of their flight inspires me. They glide through the air and continually have a view of the expanse of life. Their flight appears effortless. The thought of this beautiful and powerful creature submitting to the offer of help by a human being is nothing less than incredible. Bob's gift of compassion opened the door of freedom. The wise hawk's acceptance of this gift gave him wings to soar freely once again.

How often have I missed the open door to freedom because I was unable to receive a gift of compassion? Today, I will remember the wisdom of the hawk that did not resist a loving gesture of compassion even though it came in the form of a human and pointed him in a direction that he would have never imagined.

Healing a Painful Memory

"Even within the seemingly most unacceptable and painful situation is concealed a deeper good, and within every disaster is contained the seed of grace...
acceptance of the unacceptable is the greatest source of grace in the world."
Stillness Speaks by Eckhart Tolle

The problems that I have had with digestion have hit an all time high. Lately, I have been truly miserable. I have thought about the metaphysical meaning behind the problem in an attempt to learn what my body is trying to say. Digestion is the process of assimilation. It is the process by which food is broken down and converted into absorbable forms. What is not useful to the body is then released.
It is obvious to me that I am having difficulty with assimilating some part or parts of my life right now. I have tried to understand what more that I can do to confront and accept the attack. I mean, it happened and I can't change that. I have cried a ocean of tears about what has happened and the ways that my appearance and life have changed. I have talked and read and released and learned and yet I am still hurting. Is there no end to the suffering? Will I never be the same?
These are the questions that have continually risen in my mind and heart recently. Last week I went for routine bloodwork and ended up crying as I sat in the chair during the procedure. I was embarrassed and frustrated with myself. How can something so simple and only slightly uncomfortable bring me to tears? Then I started talking and what I had to say surprised me. I began to share with a few close friends and family, my newly acquired fear of needles and intense pain aversion. Now, no one likes to hurt. We all try to avoid pain but this is intense. The mere thought of something that needs to be done that is uncomfortable will leave me quivering with fear. In fact, an intense desire to scream wells up inside of me and begs to be released. And, the words that form in my mind are, "No more pain! Enough!!"
As I began to share my fear of pain, the truth behind the fear finally emerged. I have spent much time and allowed myself to feel the pain of many of my losses but I had never looked at the horrors of the hospital. Every day was filled with incredible suffering. There was pain that defies expression... there are no words that adequately describe the pain that every day held. Each and every day was a series of procedures or treatments that caused pain. This was on top of the unbelievable pain that I felt from the burns. It hurts to even allow myself to see that part of the story. Bill will never know the suffering that he has brought to me. He meant to "mame" me (his words) but he will never know the rest of the story. He won't know the endless days of excruciating pain that I have endured. Only those closest to me experienced it with me. My children, in particular, were there with me for much of it. They stayed with me around the clock for weeks. They cried and I saw the suffering in their eyes with no ability to soothe their pain. I have been very hesitant to talk with them about the hospital because they suffered also.
But finally, last weekend, I began to talk about the hospital with a friend. He listened and let me cry and I told him some of the painful memories from the hospital. When I talked with my daughter, Erin, that day I shared some of what I was remembering. And my very wise daughter said a few things that I will never forget- "When we are in pain, there is a part of us that wants to be acknowledged." And later, when I told her that I am reluctant to talk about the hospital because, "It's been over 2 years now and people are tired of hearing about it.", she reassured me that, "You have 3 kids that were there with you and we will never be tired of listening to you. We need to talk about it too." And so we remembered, together, some of what we experienced in those weeks that I was in the hospital. And we cried... and I felt less alone and the pain in my belly started to recede and healing of these hidden places began.
Finally, I am beginning to digest another part of what has happened. Only then can I assimilate them into my life... only then can I learn from them and be more and not less because of what has happened. The seed of grace that allows me to see the deeper good will finally move me into that place where I can experience more acceptance of the unacceptable.