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Posted: July 12th, 2007 at 1:55am By: Anne E. Ulvestad
What in my life do I need to be healed?
On good days the answer to that would seem to be "nothing." I think: I've changed so much over the past years, and my life now is the most stable and peaceful it has ever been. A big heartache in my life had been an estrangement from my mother. However, we have now built a depth to our relationship that underlies our love and trust in each other.
However, there are other sorrows — things that are too big to be healed alone, since they involve others. They can't be healed alone, so I have been taking the stance that there is nothing to be healed. That is not true, though.
My friend says: "I have pain. That makes me less than a person. That's a shameful thing. How can you possibly love me?" My answer: "We all have pain. Acknowledging it creates a depth of heart and compassion for others. It produces a courage that makes a focused intent possible and positive action probable."
She asks about a mutual friend. What has happened to her? How can we have lost track of her? We loved her. I feel my heart shift inside, revealing a seldom visited room that holds a wound not yet healed. "Yes, where is she?" I ask myself. "And others?" Names of people who hold a piece of my heart in friendship and love echo through this empty chamber. How does one put those pieces back together again to fill in the gaps?
With that shift I begin to be aware of other rooms resonating with pain within. Here is a room filled with mistakes. For me, these are not so much mistakes that I haven't forgiven myself for. I've learned how to do that. The pain in this room is coming from the mistakes others have not forgiven me for.
Connected to each mistake is a "but." "But I didn't mean to hurt you," I say. I really have no right to my justifications. If others are hurt — that's that, and I must take responsibility again and again until the pain for them is healed, or at least acknowledged or forgiven.
Then there's a room filled with the efforts I have made in my life to be good, to do the right thing. Best intentions often have a way of getting turned around, though. This room is filled, not with mistakes, but with disappointments and failures. While I was trying to help or love, I ended up just creating messes.
This room reveals, in hindsight, a pain coming from the knowledge that my best efforts were not really the best or even the right thing to do. This room is a real mishmash, like the junk you'd store in an attic or basement of broken, forgotten or unused things. This pain has a hopelessness or despair attached to it.
I guess I do have a lot in my life that needs to be healed. Opening these rooms has divulged pieces of my heart filled with disappointment, regret, or hopes unfulfilled. At the same time, my memories are clear, and after experiencing the pain, I feel at peace. Was this pain more like the phantom pain of a limb lost, or an opportunity missed? I sit here thinking, here I am now — still loving, still trying, still hoping.
This peace means more to me than anything else. Perhaps those pieces of my heart, still connected to friends lost, are really antennae broadening my view. Like little satellites strewn around the world. I now have a larger perspective on what it means to love and be loved.
I know for a fact that my "buts" are really opportunities for humility and compassion. Stop the rationalization and accept the consequences. And those messes I've gotten myself into are only creative big bangs, giving me a chance to change and grow and evolve on a deeper and more expansive level.
So I will sit here and breathe in the atoms and molecules of that original Big Bang and let their healing oneness wash over me. I will let the room of separation turn into one of connection, the room of excuse turn into new growth and support, and the room of missed or mistaken opportunity lead me to the path capable of sustaining the next great turning.
— — —
Anne E. Ulvestad is a free-lance writer residing in Maryland. She has her masters in earth literacy, and is available for public lectures and group presentations and rituals on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Anne E. Ulvestad.
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What in my life do I need to be healed?
On good days the answer to that would seem to be "nothing." I think: I've changed so much over the past years, and my life now is the most stable and peaceful it has ever been. A big heartache in my life had been an estrangement from my mother. However, we have now built a depth to our relationship that underlies our love and trust in each other.
However, there are other sorrows — things that are too big to be healed alone, since they involve others. They can't be healed alone, so I have been taking the stance that there is nothing to be healed. That is not true, though.
My friend says: "I have pain. That makes me less than a person. That's a shameful thing. How can you possibly love me?" My answer: "We all have pain. Acknowledging it creates a depth of heart and compassion for others. It produces a courage that makes a focused intent possible and positive action probable."
She asks about a mutual friend. What has happened to her? How can we have lost track of her? We loved her. I feel my heart shift inside, revealing a seldom visited room that holds a wound not yet healed. "Yes, where is she?" I ask myself. "And others?" Names of people who hold a piece of my heart in friendship and love echo through this empty chamber. How does one put those pieces back together again to fill in the gaps?
With that shift I begin to be aware of other rooms resonating with pain within. Here is a room filled with mistakes. For me, these are not so much mistakes that I haven't forgiven myself for. I've learned how to do that. The pain in this room is coming from the mistakes others have not forgiven me for.
Connected to each mistake is a "but." "But I didn't mean to hurt you," I say. I really have no right to my justifications. If others are hurt — that's that, and I must take responsibility again and again until the pain for them is healed, or at least acknowledged or forgiven.
Then there's a room filled with the efforts I have made in my life to be good, to do the right thing. Best intentions often have a way of getting turned around, though. This room is filled, not with mistakes, but with disappointments and failures. While I was trying to help or love, I ended up just creating messes.
This room reveals, in hindsight, a pain coming from the knowledge that my best efforts were not really the best or even the right thing to do. This room is a real mishmash, like the junk you'd store in an attic or basement of broken, forgotten or unused things. This pain has a hopelessness or despair attached to it.
I guess I do have a lot in my life that needs to be healed. Opening these rooms has divulged pieces of my heart filled with disappointment, regret, or hopes unfulfilled. At the same time, my memories are clear, and after experiencing the pain, I feel at peace. Was this pain more like the phantom pain of a limb lost, or an opportunity missed? I sit here thinking, here I am now — still loving, still trying, still hoping.
This peace means more to me than anything else. Perhaps those pieces of my heart, still connected to friends lost, are really antennae broadening my view. Like little satellites strewn around the world. I now have a larger perspective on what it means to love and be loved.
I know for a fact that my "buts" are really opportunities for humility and compassion. Stop the rationalization and accept the consequences. And those messes I've gotten myself into are only creative big bangs, giving me a chance to change and grow and evolve on a deeper and more expansive level.
So I will sit here and breathe in the atoms and molecules of that original Big Bang and let their healing oneness wash over me. I will let the room of separation turn into one of connection, the room of excuse turn into new growth and support, and the room of missed or mistaken opportunity lead me to the path capable of sustaining the next great turning.
— — —
Anne E. Ulvestad is a free-lance writer residing in Maryland. She has her masters in earth literacy, and is available for public lectures and group presentations and rituals on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Anne E. Ulvestad.
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