Nothing more whole

Right in the middle of your most profound difficulties, maybe the difficulties you've spent your whole life trying to avoid, there can be the birth of something new.Perhaps an illness, a loss, or a disappointment leads to a new kind of strength, intelligence, compassion, or kindness. Perhaps it leads to gratitude for your human faculties and for your relationships with people around you. And perhaps a deeper understanding of human suffering, and of the nature of life itself, that had previously been denied to you.Your attempts to turn away from difficulty, to pretend that all is just fine, can rarely come to much.They arise from your fear that your heart will be shattered, that there will be nothing of you left. But hardening your heart to keep you safe leaves you rigid and frozen, disconnected from what can support you most.Your attempts to stop difficulty getting to you also stop life from getting to you. And life will always, somehow, find its way through.And so this is the logic behind the words of Menachem Mendel of Kotzk

"Nothing is more whole than a broken heart"

Things are not always what they seem. Sometimes your attempts to hold harm at bay themselves cause you great harm.While you hold the world away, you can live only tentatively in the shadows of your own life.And eventually, perhaps, you turn towards it all in welcome or in acceptance, allowing yourself to feel so much that your heart can break open and life come flooding in.And you discover at last that difficulty and heart-brokenness are guests, uninvited and unwanted, who turn out to be the greatest teachers.

Photo Credit: Linh H. Nguyen via Compfight cc

On Comparison

Comparison - the key to so much suffering.Obvious comparisons that cause us difficulty - comparing ourselves with others (what they have, what they do, how they look), and with standards (I should be able to do better than this, I'm useless, my efforts are not good enough).These comparisons keep us in perpetual dissatisfaction and self-criticism, a state of never being sufficient.Less obvious, our comparisons of life now to life in the past or in the future - everything was so much better when I was younger, before I had children, before I had to work; or will only be ok when I'm more grown up, when I'm promoted, when I'm famous, when I have time to myself again, when I retire, when I live in a different town, when I'm not confused or scared any more.These comparisons keep us in stasis, unable to live now because of a life lost or a life as yet unrealised.Both kinds of comparisons absent us from the life we're already in, telling us always that life is not to be lived here, or now, but elsewhere, always elsewhere.Can you see how deeply much of the marketing that surrounds us is invested in keeping us comparingamplifying our dissatisfaction, our restlessness and our rootlessness, rather than turning into the fullness of what's already here?Giving up comparison does not mean giving up hope, or giving up aspiration. And most significantly it does not mean giving up commitment to improving things.But it does mean giving up our disowning of this moment, this place, this ground upon which we stand - the only moment, place or ground we ever really have.

Photo with thanks to Kate Atkinson

A monster calls

"I didn't mean it," Conor said.You did, the monster said, but you also did not....Humans are complicated beasts, the monster said. How can a queen be both a good witch and a bad witch? How can a prince be a murderer and a saviour? How can a person be wrong-thinking but good thinking? ... The answer is that it does not matter what you think, the monster said, because your mind will contradict itself a hundred times each day ... Your mind will believe comforting lies while also knowing the painful truths that make those lies necessary. And your mind will punish you for both.

From 'A Monster Calls', by Patrick Ness, a short, haunting, beautiful tale about human complexity and longing that's far bigger in scope and reach than its 'children's fiction' label might suggest.It's a story about love, and our longing and fear of being seen for who we are. And it's about the innumerable ways we'll twist ourselves out of shape in order to avoid saying what's most true, because we're scared of being judged, and ashamed at our own contradictions. And what might be possible when we nevertheless summon the necessary kindness and courage to speak.

And a hymn, to those moments in life when a fearsome choice is to be made between turning away from truth, or turning towards it - which are also moments where we choose between turning away from or towards ourselves, and the people around us.

It reminded me how often we prefer the illusory security of holding back, even at great consequence to our lives, rather than the vulnerability of speaking up.And just how much of our lives, and how many of our institutions, can be elaborate constructions for distancing ourselves, right when we most need - and most fear - turning towards one another.

Photo Credit: Simon & His Camera via Compfight cc

Blinded to half of our lives

The separation of subject from object brought to us so powerfully by René Descartes in the 17th century (and which I wrote most recently about here) gave us new ways of understanding and manipulating the material world which in turn gave birth to modernity. His work ushered in an age in which at last science, technology and medicine could seriously take root. You don't have to look far to see how much this has made possible.But you have to look more closely to see how it has also led us into a deep misunderstanding of ourselves.In the 19th century August Comte built on Descartes' position to create logical positivism, which argued that nothing in the human world could be considered to have authority unless it could be objectively measured. For positivism what was real about people included behaviour, action taken, money earned, measurements made. Feeling, meaning and stories were distinctly second class as far as truth was concerned. In a stroke, positivism declared much of the experience of being alive, the unique subjectivity that makes us most human, to be irrelevant, a marginal footnote to the real stuff of existence.We've enthusiastically taken positivism into the heart of our institutions and as we've done so we've understood ourselves and others primarily as objects and as consumers - a surface, materialist understanding that leaves a huge part of ourselves behind. We relate to people primarily through how they can be 'of use' to us, what they can get done. And consequently we are often at war with ourselves, suppressing and denying our longing for something real, something that has depth, something that's more than surface.It should be no surprise that positivism was seized upon enthusiastically by the architects of that most modern of human institutions, the organisation. By reducing people to surface and to measurable activity, and by discounting the rest, the early factory owners could have people become extensions of the machinery of production. It is at work in so much of what's considered 'best practice' in contemporary management - in behaviour frameworks, performance grading, the banishment of the inner world from the workplace, the label 'human resources', and our insistence that people fit in rather than bring themselves forward fully.Positivism is so prevalent and so often unquestioned because, in many ways, it works - just as long as you are happy that people stop being people so they can become part of the machine.But it fails to take account of so much of what we are - symbol-making, metaphor-creating, meaning-seeking beings who navigate our lives wondering, dreaming, fearing, hoping and longing - and that our measurable doing is just the tiniest part of it.

Photo Credit: Billy Wilson Photography via Compfight cc

Alice Herz-Sommer

pianoAlice Herz-Sommer, who I wrote about in August, died this week, aged 110.A survivor of the Holocaust, she cultivated a commitment to see beauty everywhere, and a deep interest in the lives of others. In the midst of our ordinary, everyday worries perhaps the memory of this woman - who knew such difficulties and brought such grace and gratitude to her life - can help us to see our lives, our work, and our frustrations with new, and more hopeful, eyes.[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8oxO3M6rAPw]

Photo Credit: Tekke via Compfight cc

Five-fold symmetry

You step off the train, in a hurry. So much to do.Will you get it all done? What will other people think? Will you keep your job? Where will you be in a year, five years? Can you pay the bills? Will you get what you want? When will you get to rest? Will you find fulfilment? Satisfaction? Will you have to keep on pushing, putting in such huge effort? Can you stay in control of it all?So many things to worry about.And, as always, the platform meets your foot with exactly the right amount of resistance so that you can stand. Gravity holds you. Generations of human invention and discovery make possible the lighting, the locomotive pull of the train, the sliding doors, the clothes you are wearing. The air composed of just the balance of oxygen and other gases that you can breathe. And the lives of your billions of ancestors in oceans and on land, together with the extraordinary creativity of evolution, give you your eyes, mind, heart, body - the five-fold symmetry of your hands and feet.All so that this, you, and your life, are possible.So what if, as well as your fear and worry, you oriented to the day with the sense of wonder invited by this extraordinarily unlikely confluence of circumstances?

Photo Credit: Ezu via Compfight cc

Actually asking

If your requests to others aren't resulting in much in the way of action, you might like to look at whether you are actually asking anything at all.

"That office needs tidying"

"The rubbish is collected tomorrow"

"We're spending more on travel than we should be"

"This is really difficult"

"It's my birthday next Tuesday"

may sound to you like clear requests for help. But they quite possibly sound nothing of the sort to the people around you.Indirect requests are a manipulation, a demand that others show they love or respect you by being able to work out what you really want. But when you don't get what you were expecting the result is frustration and resentment. And confusion, for everyone else, when you've become annoyed, or angry, or withdrawn - and they don't understand why.Over time, such vague requests erode the foundation of your relationships even as you're trying to get people to come in closer.Please, if you want to enrol others in supporting you, ask them directly for what you want.It creates so much more possibility and dignity for all of us.

Photo Credit: Neil Kremer via Compfight cc

All the same

Seen against the ever-present certainties of our lives - we will die, we will grow old, all that we build or create will eventually fall apart - differences between us drop away. We are all the same.It's so hard to live consciously with this in mind, to reach out across the space we imagine separates us and be open to one another. So hard to share our fear, our longing, our truest hopes. So hard to stay present long enough to look deeply into the eyes of others, to fall into them, allowing ourselves to know and be known.Why so difficult? Perhaps because of the shame we necessarily picked up along the way: sharpened every time we had to be told not to do this or that, to be this way or that way in order to fit in with our families or with our culture. Because of our self-doubt and our inner-criticism, which make it so hard to love ourselves fully (a pre-requisite for allowing ourselves to un-self-consciously love others). And because we are afraid.And so we hold back, always reserving some distance even from those who love us the most, because that way it feels as if we'll hold on to some measure of safety. Or we judge others, resent them or hate them, turning them into less than human-beings in our hearts, because it makes us feel better for a while.Even though we know that our deepest connection with one another is precisely that which can save us from the void.This is the great ethical work, so difficult to do and so necessary, which calls to us - learning the sensitivity to respond and be open to other people, who we take to be so different from us but with whom we share common ancestry, and common destiny.For we are intimately related.Family.

Photo Credit: Vexela via Compfight cc

Living your own life

"In the end, we need to feel that the life we lived was our life, not someone else's, that it was chosen rather simply our following the instructions on the box, and that we stood in a respectful relationship to that which is larger than ordinary comforts and provided a deep sense of meaning, of satisfaction, and reciprocity. Then it may be said that we have really been here, living the life we were meant to live. The task, and the path we take in addressing it, will be different for each of us, but that is the gift we are asked to share, the gift of our separate selves."

Beautiful, important words from James Hollis, who has written insightfully about what it takes to live a life that matters, to ourselves and the people around us.For today, no more than that, and a link to the full article - essential reading if you're asking big questions about what your life may be for, beyond getting what you want.

--

The book of his I've been most enjoying reading recently is Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life: How to Finally, Really Grow Up.  It's beautiful, profound, clear and practical, filled with wisdom for any of us who've woken up with the realisation that in all likelihood more than half of life is done already: when life starts saying 'this is it - time to turn towards living while you still have the chance'.

Photo Credit: Ennor via Compfight cc