“Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.”

Today, my counsellor commented on my years of being of service. “You’ve witnessed human suffering — in groups, at the bedside, on-line — supported others as they shared their stress, pain, grief, and fears. “How hypocritical of you,” she said, picking up speed, “to keep your own suffering hidden?”

I’ve never been good at asking for help. Even the simplest requests raise fears in me: of being seen as inadequate and weak, of straining the bounds of our relationship.

“Would you consider asking for support with your solitary suffering? Isn’t that our intention when we say to someone, “I hope you get better soon”? Would you be willing to invite others to create a virtual healing circle?

Dear fellow pilgrim,

this coming Sunday, November 11, at or near 7 pm (19:00 Pacific Standard Time), please sit or lie down somewhere comfortable and quiet . . . bring attention to your breath . . . place a hand over your heart space . . . and direct your compassion towards the stenosis in my spine. 

When the time’s right, re-direct your attention towards your own breath: “May I be free from fear.  May I be at ease.  May I be happy.”

Thank you.

I’ll be joining you, with my heart’s dial set to “Open to Love — Receive Compassion — Welcome Everything.”

“Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver

.

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

© 1986, Mary Oliver, Atlantic Monthly Press.