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Posted: January 24th, 2008 at 12:46am By: Adele Ryan McDowell
"No, no, say it's not so!" is what I would like to wail at the top of my lungs to anyone who is within earshot.
I punctuate this comment with a bit of a snide "Are you listening, God?" as my emotions ratchet up to another all-time high and my head throbs and my face flushes and I feel whacked by life.
I want to scream: "This is unfair. I don't deserve this. I have worked hard in my life. I have been a good citizen of the universe. Why, oh why, can't I have what I want?"
Yes, this is my personal reality show, but, I dare say, one you, dear reader, may well understand.
You see, I am having a little bit of a problem here. I have tried and tried to accept the reality of a situation. I have journaled; I have talked aloud to God. I have thought of alternative scenarios. I have even worked my way through four out of the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining and depression. The fifth and final stage, acceptance, is what eludes me.
I am having a situation that I am finding it difficult to accept. Of course, I can accept the reality on the intellectual level, I get it. The logic is not lost on me. However, where I feel the sting of this is on the emotional level. My heart is broken. That reality is painful.
The irony is that I was the one who pushed for this current, emotionally untenable situation, because I knew it was the right thing to do. Now, I am not caring so much about the right thing to do, I just want to feel better. I want to take back everything I said to undo this present-day Sturm und Drang. I want to have a redo; I want to start over and begin again. Maybe this time, I will reach a different conclusion. Maybe this time, I won't look to pull the plug on something that made me feel so good and so happy.
"Hello-o-o-o, God, forget what I said. I have changed my mind. I can't let go. Well, actually, I don't want to let go ... it feels too good to stay in the memory."
Boy, God must have a lot of patience to hear me go on and on. I said yes to the idea of letting it go, and yet I am fiercely holding on to the memory. The pain of the loss keeps me tightly fastened to what once was. I can keep my situation alive by feeling the pain of the loss. Therefore, there is no gain to release the pain. I am refusing to let go in any real, substantive way, as my feelings have me hogtied to the past.
I also hold on because there is still a small flicker of hope that the end of my reality show could be the ideal, fantasy version. Oh, for the powers of my overactive imagination and where they can take me.
But what happens when I step off Fantasy Island and I am hit square in the face with a blast of cold water?
Cold water came in the form of the writings of Anthony de Mello.
Let me explain:
Twelve years ago, I was on retreat in Rhode Island. In my solitude, I perused the bookcases and came upon a book that held a quote by Anthony de Mello* which I have never forgotten and has appeared on my radar screen these days. The quote read something like we are responsible for 90 percent of our suffering.
Whoa, 90 percent! I thought that figure was way too high. Where was this guy's compassion? There are so many factors out of people's control. I felt maybe 60 to 70 percent might be a more accurate appraisal.
Twelve years later, I have come to realize that Father de Mello had a very valid point. I am still not sure we would concur on percentages. There is a lot to be said for degrees of consciousness as well as making sense of overwhelming tragedy, but the good Father was right: We humans have created a fair portion of our own unhappiness by our unwillingness to accept reality.
And, I quote Father de Mello: "Suffering is a sign that you're out of touch with the truth ... Suffering points out that there is falsehood somewhere. Suffering occurs when you clash with reality. When your illusions clash with reality, when your falsehoods clash with the truth, then you have suffering. Otherwise there is no suffering."
See what I mean? His words are like icy, cold water smack in the face. They demand my attention and wakefulness. I am hearing that if I no longer want to suffer, then I must accept the reality and release my illusions. (Don't de Mello's words have a Buddhist ring to them?) But then what happens to my whining and sniffling? Where do I go with my thwarted dream? And — even more frightening — if I accept, and, more importantly, feel, the total reality of my situation, what does that mean?
Here's what I have concluded: My inability to accept my painful reality keeps me in pain. Oh, joy. My staying stuck prevents forward movement. My tight grip on what-once-was prevents me from walking into the Mystery. And, of course, that Mystery is where God hangs out — no doubt, beleaguered by my constant entreaties, and happy that I have finally decided to slowly, very, very slowly, let go of my leaden anchor so that I may sail ahead.
I'm not quite there yet. Old habits die hard, but I know that I have left Fantasy Island. And that's a good thing. Who knows what new islands I might discover?
* FYI: Anthony de Mello, S.J., who died in 1987, was a Jesuit priest, psychotherapist and best-selling author. He wrote from a multi-religious perspective, which caused the Vatican to censure some of his work. I love that in a priest - the willingness to rethink doctrine and dogma for the sake of understanding the bigger, multi-cultural, interfaith and connected world we live in.
— — —
Dr. Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist, empath and shaman who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder. Her email address is {email ARMCDOWELL@aol.com}ARMCDOWELL@aol.com{/email}. © Copyright 2008 by Adele Ryan McDowell.
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"No, no, say it's not so!" is what I would like to wail at the top of my lungs to anyone who is within earshot.
I punctuate this comment with a bit of a snide "Are you listening, God?" as my emotions ratchet up to another all-time high and my head throbs and my face flushes and I feel whacked by life.
I want to scream: "This is unfair. I don't deserve this. I have worked hard in my life. I have been a good citizen of the universe. Why, oh why, can't I have what I want?"
Yes, this is my personal reality show, but, I dare say, one you, dear reader, may well understand.
You see, I am having a little bit of a problem here. I have tried and tried to accept the reality of a situation. I have journaled; I have talked aloud to God. I have thought of alternative scenarios. I have even worked my way through four out of the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining and depression. The fifth and final stage, acceptance, is what eludes me.
I am having a situation that I am finding it difficult to accept. Of course, I can accept the reality on the intellectual level, I get it. The logic is not lost on me. However, where I feel the sting of this is on the emotional level. My heart is broken. That reality is painful.
The irony is that I was the one who pushed for this current, emotionally untenable situation, because I knew it was the right thing to do. Now, I am not caring so much about the right thing to do, I just want to feel better. I want to take back everything I said to undo this present-day Sturm und Drang. I want to have a redo; I want to start over and begin again. Maybe this time, I will reach a different conclusion. Maybe this time, I won't look to pull the plug on something that made me feel so good and so happy.
"Hello-o-o-o, God, forget what I said. I have changed my mind. I can't let go. Well, actually, I don't want to let go ... it feels too good to stay in the memory."
Boy, God must have a lot of patience to hear me go on and on. I said yes to the idea of letting it go, and yet I am fiercely holding on to the memory. The pain of the loss keeps me tightly fastened to what once was. I can keep my situation alive by feeling the pain of the loss. Therefore, there is no gain to release the pain. I am refusing to let go in any real, substantive way, as my feelings have me hogtied to the past.
I also hold on because there is still a small flicker of hope that the end of my reality show could be the ideal, fantasy version. Oh, for the powers of my overactive imagination and where they can take me.
But what happens when I step off Fantasy Island and I am hit square in the face with a blast of cold water?
Cold water came in the form of the writings of Anthony de Mello.
Let me explain:
Twelve years ago, I was on retreat in Rhode Island. In my solitude, I perused the bookcases and came upon a book that held a quote by Anthony de Mello* which I have never forgotten and has appeared on my radar screen these days. The quote read something like we are responsible for 90 percent of our suffering.
Whoa, 90 percent! I thought that figure was way too high. Where was this guy's compassion? There are so many factors out of people's control. I felt maybe 60 to 70 percent might be a more accurate appraisal.
Twelve years later, I have come to realize that Father de Mello had a very valid point. I am still not sure we would concur on percentages. There is a lot to be said for degrees of consciousness as well as making sense of overwhelming tragedy, but the good Father was right: We humans have created a fair portion of our own unhappiness by our unwillingness to accept reality.
And, I quote Father de Mello: "Suffering is a sign that you're out of touch with the truth ... Suffering points out that there is falsehood somewhere. Suffering occurs when you clash with reality. When your illusions clash with reality, when your falsehoods clash with the truth, then you have suffering. Otherwise there is no suffering."
See what I mean? His words are like icy, cold water smack in the face. They demand my attention and wakefulness. I am hearing that if I no longer want to suffer, then I must accept the reality and release my illusions. (Don't de Mello's words have a Buddhist ring to them?) But then what happens to my whining and sniffling? Where do I go with my thwarted dream? And — even more frightening — if I accept, and, more importantly, feel, the total reality of my situation, what does that mean?
Here's what I have concluded: My inability to accept my painful reality keeps me in pain. Oh, joy. My staying stuck prevents forward movement. My tight grip on what-once-was prevents me from walking into the Mystery. And, of course, that Mystery is where God hangs out — no doubt, beleaguered by my constant entreaties, and happy that I have finally decided to slowly, very, very slowly, let go of my leaden anchor so that I may sail ahead.
I'm not quite there yet. Old habits die hard, but I know that I have left Fantasy Island. And that's a good thing. Who knows what new islands I might discover?
* FYI: Anthony de Mello, S.J., who died in 1987, was a Jesuit priest, psychotherapist and best-selling author. He wrote from a multi-religious perspective, which caused the Vatican to censure some of his work. I love that in a priest - the willingness to rethink doctrine and dogma for the sake of understanding the bigger, multi-cultural, interfaith and connected world we live in.
— — —
Dr. Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist, empath and shaman who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder. Her email address is {email ARMCDOWELL@aol.com}ARMCDOWELL@aol.com{/email}. © Copyright 2008 by Adele Ryan McDowell.
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