More time driving this week. Solitude, easy roads, no phone, no family duties ... aside from my scattered meditation practice, this is as close as I get to just sitting. (I want to work on that.)
It's a good time to listen to podcasts. This week I discovered Norm Fischer via a Zencast postcast. Listened to a dharma-talk called The Raw Spot. (A dharma-talk is when someone, usually a Buddhist with some miles on the odometer, talks about the Buddha's teachings and how they relate to our present lives.) In this talk, Mr. Fischer talks compellingly about suffering and how it is an opportunity to experience compassion, let light into a dark room so to speak. Compassion surrounds us, I believe, yet most of us lack the skills or awareness to access it, to live in it.
There was a spot in the talk that really grabbed my imagination. Mr. Fischer was talking about the pain that comes from losing someone we love. A few of my blog friends have lost a family member recently. I work with stroke survivors and the look in the eyes of their family and friends is like that of a person who has lost a loved one to death. A void is created. Many of us cover over that void with all sorts of thoughts and actions. We do it because of fear. Life can end or change dramatically as quickly as it appears. That's damn scary.
Mr. Fischer talks about a way to open up that empty spot created by suffering and allow it to be filled with compassion, with love. We all want to avoid suffering and pain, but it can't be done by pretending it doesn't exist. One way to deal with it is to talk. Open up that dark spot, take a chance, and it will be filled with stuff that's good for living. Talk, blog, journal, create, whatever. Just connect. That's the important part.
Not everyone is on a spiritual path, so I offer this post and the link with humility. Norm Fischer speaks from a Buddhist perspective, but the ideas cross all religious boundaries. It's just good stuff.
The Raw Spot.
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6 comments:
I downloaded the .mp3 and plan to give it a listen later this evening, after the busyness of the day settles down.
Just wanted to thank you in advance. I look forward to finishing it up and setting some stuff aside . . .
Thanks for this. A couple of years ago, I almost lost my other half to an undiagnosed heart problem. At one point the docs said they thought the hypoxia he suffered when his heart stopped had caused "profound brain damage". I was more devastated than if he had died outright. He has made a good recovery for which I am thanskful, but the point of all this is: the experience, the sudden plunge into an icy-cold lake of despair has made me way more sensitive of others' sufferings and has made me a more compassionate person (I hope).
It's interesting, how different people react differently. Some speak as if the loved one is still here, or watching over, others avoid talking of that person at all and avoid thinking about the missing piece.
When one of our sons was diagnosed with autism at the age of 19 months, I felt like I'd lost a child. My mind was flooded with thoughts of "how could I have missed this", which left me in a puddle of guilt and pain. I tortured myself with visions of a dark future - the boys I thought would be playing together, now would not be able to because of the "A" word. I think I sobbed for three days straight - I wailed.
My son is doing unbelievably well - but those feelings - feelings of loss, were the most powerful and helpless feelings I've ever experienced. Deep suffering.
I haven't listened to Mr. Fischer's talk, but your description of his thoughts resonate with me.
"The Raw Spot" - those words still make my stomach tighten.
These are great comments. And stories. Argent and Chris: did you notice anything surprising when you were in your grief? Any unexpected kindness?
Captain, you described to solid forms of denial. Both are understandable and both illustrate the void, the vacuum of suffering.
There was kindness aplenty at the time but the strangest thing happened as well. Normally, I have the navigational capabilities of a concussed bee and would struggle to find my way round our new "super-hospital" where my other half was taken. During the whole time he was there, I was able to find my way to him every single time even though they moved him around a lot. This was an amazing dispensation of grace to me as it reduced a lot of the stress of the time. This magical ability no longer operates. go figure.
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