landscapes of the heart

can pain be our teacher?

Oak outside my abode. photo by anne richardson

dear sojourners,

after a spat of what we in the Pacific NW call “false Spring,” Rain has returned. the needled drops like to crawl under one’s collar with prompting from a cold wind that reminds us Winter does not give up its seasonal place early despite the yellow Daffodils brightening roadways. Daffodils…my personal harbinger of hope.

though i am biased toward Winter as a favorite season, once we pass the “deepdarknights” of november-january and begin the trudging toward Spring, i’m wanting to strip off multiple layers and join the Robins outside in song, even as i miss the long nights. after all, one of the many things i appreciate about where i live are our distinct seasons.

but the return of steady rain this week matches my heart which continues to ache on many levels…that is to say it’s been a hard week. and because of that, this post is going to be a bit muddled (and you might respond, “how is that different than usual?”)

so first, a check in:

• what’s your week been like?

• how’s your heart (and/or whatever parts of your body that “talk” to you?)

• how are the folks and other beings you engage with?

• when you shift the focus from yourself outward, what asking for your attention?

• how often do you check in with your heart…your tender heart?

• what is your personal “weather pattern?” (this was a writing prompt offered several years ago. a bit different than trying to find a “feeling” word.) For example my weather pattern this week has been: morning Fog with steady Rain through the day, though there were Sun breaks mid-afternoons. At times in the wee hours of the night Rain would relent and the waning Moon would filter through Clouds, checking in on me. hmmm, i realize my inner weather patterns often mimic the North Oregon Coast. that’s an interesting insight.

i am an “empath.” if you have read many of my posts, you may have guessed this. what this means is i feel others’ pain….even so far as if someone tells me about a physical hurt, i sometime can literally feel an echo of it in my own body! but most of the time it is a tightness in my heart-space. it may be stirred by a person in front of me relaying an experience, from reading an account of loss, watching a fictional movie/show that reflects sadness, witnessing destroyed landscapes…and so forth.

as my work primarily involves coming alongside those who are grieving, i do take care to not “carry” another’s pain, but to be a sacred witness. why this “reveal” today? as i was reading

Kerri ní Dochartaigh

feb 28 Substack, this quote was offered from the book Intervals by Marianne Brooker.

“However close we get to another’s pain, it’s still ‘shrouded in mystery.’ Empathy teaches us that we can feel as one another…loose witnessing is the basis of an important ethical and political demand, no less powerful for its leap of faith. In [Sara] Ahmed’s words: ’I must act about that which I cannot know, rather than act insofar as I know. I am moved by what does not belong to me.’’

we live in painful times…locally, globally. inwardly, outwardly. the medical world seeks powerful analgesics to minimize/numb pain. we seek to avoid suffering. we assume Oaks, Oceans, Octopuses, and other beings do not experience pain (yes, i’m making this a broad sweeping statement in the use of “we”.) these examples, a tip of our melting Polar Icecaps, uhm, Icebergs.

i don’t remember ever hearing about our inability to get close to another’s pain stated as “being shrouded in mystery.” for me this “shrouded in mystery” gives it a spiritual essence. and to be moved by “what does not belong to me” beyond my conscious knowing stirs something in my bones. that asks me to lean into the pain. to sit and listen…for the story, the wisdom, the “crack,” as Bayo Akomolafe would say. pain has something to teach me. teach us.

being open to others’ pain as part of spiritual practice. or being open to my own pain as part of a deeper practice. to reflect on it with tenderness. to be with suffering. in the dark recesses of my brain, i have some past learning about this…and i sat at some bedsides where there was nothing to do but “be with suffering.” but when things come back into my awareness with such force, i’ve learned to pay attention.

i do appreciate what adrienne maree brown said in a rebroadcast of the For The Wild podcast on pleasure as birthright and the role of pleasure in alleviating our pain. citing Kahlil Gibran from The Prophet, as her inspiration, she says “your sorrow carves out a space for your joy and conversely, your joy carves out the space for your sorrow. And that part of being a human is being on the pendulum between those two spaces, and that you don't get to live without one or the other.”

i share this because being concerned about the world, however that is stirring in you, can overwhelm. i know i need to be reminded from time-to-time that joy is as necessary to my life as breath.

also interesting this week i read an conversation between Patric Gagne, a diagnosed sociopath and former therapist, and David Marchese, a staff writer for The New York Times Magazine about her forthcoming book, “Sociopath.” the purpose of her book is to clear up some misconceptions about sociopaths and to share her journey about how she navigates the world…which is very different from me. she talks about having to work toward experiencing different emotions, such as love. she doesn’t experience them in “neurotypical” ways. and it isn’t that she doesn’t have thoughts of behaviors that go against social norms, but she has ways to re-direct those thoughts. a very logical way of moving through the world.

so often the culture at large will throw out a judgement: “oh they are a sociopath!” (as if we have the ability to diagnose from a distance) as only negative, but after reading this, i understand it is another way for a human to navigate our very complex world. and a person who is a sociopath who desires to not cause pain to others has to work on that daily. so my empathetic self feels for them. and i wonder how they would interpret the “joy/sorrow” pendulum? anyway, if you are curious, worth reading the conversation.

Dr Sharon Blackie

monthly newsletter, Enchantment is Resistence posted on the first. as i’ve mentioned before, i’ve been following her work for several years now. her book, The Enchanted Life, confirmed how i was moving in the world in my awareness of other beings (“hello Robin. thank you for your song this morning.”) was connected to old ways and my intuition. her “Manifesto for Living an Enchanted Life” is taped to my fridge. here is #1 on the list:

"Everything around you is alive: believe it. Tell stories to stones, sing to trees, start conversations with birds. Build relationships. You’ll never be lonely again”.

in her newsletter, Sharon talks about “writing as [one path] to resistance” and by changing images, stories, and myths we can make a difference. Sharon sees herself as a “story-nurturer.” what a powerful call. she has been one of the influential folks on my recent journey along with Bayo.

we all have a call. in the past i’ve said mine is “threshold navigator.” that still feels true. in that space i listen to stories. listen for stories. am curious about what is unfolding in the shifting liminal landscapes. am willing to be uncomfortable in the compost of change. though difficult, i believe that is the gift of my being an empath. even after a hard week.

we have our inner and outer landscapes. our cellular memories. i imagine every being has this some level. Earth on a grand scale. even Moon (yes, i’ve started reading the Moon book i mentioned last week…yummy!)

in the book “Landlines, The Remarkable Story of A Thousand-Mile Journey Across Britain” by Raynor Winn, toward the end of the journey, her husband Moth says, “…I don’t have to go to the top of the moors to touch the wilderness. It’s already here, imprinted on me, inside me.” she replies, ”Like you’re no longer the landscape, you’re a part of it, you are the landscape.”

our modern western world has succeeded in convincing many humans that they are separate from their landscapes. you are not. you don’t need to take thousand-mile treks. you can traverse your neighborhood however your body moves as a way to connect with plants, puddles, air, concrete, dust, bugs, lichen, birds, weather…whatever is in your “scape.” even looking out a window or around your room if that is all you can muster, is connection. being connected is to experience pain|joy|sorrow|love.

thank you if you have muddled along with me to the end. it has taken more days than i planned to write this wandering-pondering. and though the inner weather pattern hasn’t changed much, the physical weather outside now includes snow along with cold, wet rain as i wrap this up. ah Winter, you are not done with us yet.

please take tender care of your hearts.

in gratitude,

anne

a small heart i keep by my computer to always remember the broken-hearted.