This week, compelling writing and counsel have inspired me to consider deeply how we work with our sense of anger, despair, futility, and suffering in these extremely challenging times.
As we witness the imminent and ongoing compromise of our living planet and its beings, both human and more than human; as we watch our democracy purposely thrown into chaos by greed and fear; as we fear for the safety of those most vulnerable, the well of grief and fear cannot help but grow and crush on our ability to stay present and grounded.
We all know the need to acknowledge and be with our grieving. This poem from David Whyte says it well:
The well of grief
Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the well of grief,
turning down through its black water
to the place we cannot breathe,
will never know the source from which we drink,
the secret water, cold and clear,
nor find in the darkness glimmering,
the small round coins,
thrown by those who wished for something else.
I know that even with all the tools I have to practice surrender, acceptance, and presence, even with the underlying knowledge that the Divine Oneness is always there, even with knowing that the grace of love, compassion, and caring has never and will never dissipate… that deep, dark well of grief can be overwhelming and exhausting.
My dear friend Kathleen wrote about anger in her recent blog, I Lean Liminal. It was a good reminder that even though many of us have been traumatized into pushing that emotion away, it doesn’t ever really go away. Like the grief and despair we feel, anger must be acknowledged and processed to direct it toward more positive actions.
This week, in a spiritual companionship session, we discussed how a well of despair can become a dark, almost solid weight on our souls. It often manifests as a painful tightness throughout my body.
My dear friend and spiritual guide noticed that we take time for our meditation practice, our work or social justice actions, exercise, and time with our beloveds. But when do we actually dedicate time to simply allowing ourselves to weep, scream, pound the pillows, or express our pain in any committed way?
In that session, we tested this idea of micro-dosing despair. It was a profound release of tears, moans, shouts, curses, and halting breaths. Ultimately, I felt like every cell in my body had been opened, split apart, and cleansed, becoming a more brilliant light.
But there were some important learnings.
- Don’t do this alone – have a trusted and capable friend or loved one to hold presence. They don’t have to say or fix anything; their simple presence might be enough. Or, if necessary, they might support you physically or with words of comfort if it becomes too intense. This could be a virtual companion, but better a three dimensional warm body.
- Put boundaries around this practice – ensure you are in a safe place and that someone will keep you safe from self-harm, interruption, or simply going too deep into the intensity of your grief.
- Have time boundaries as well. This is micro-dosing, so five or ten minutes might be all you need.
- Make time for this regularly. It is not intended as a cure-all. If we are paying attention, those atrocities and sorrows will invade our hearts again. Keep doing all your other practices to stay present, grounded, and guided to the work that needs doing. But, if this resonates for you – micro-dose your despair as a cleansing practice as often as necessary and appropriate.
As Kathleen notes about anger – noticing, accepting, and surrendering to these emotions is vital to self-care. We must include robust, sustainable, and formidable tools if we hope to survive and remain resilient and effective in resisting these dark powers.
This is hard, my dear ones. But there have been and are even more challenging times. Together, we can and will make it through. May it be so.