How does healing arise? How do we know when we are healed? What must we do to encourage healing? When we are healed, do we always know it?
Healing is freedom—freedom from whatever ailed you. Sometimes the ailment is a disease. Sometimes it is a person. Sometimes it is a toxic environment. Sometimes it is a toxic idea you carry. But always, illness is slavery. It is compulsion. It is helplessness in the face of a desire to do or be otherwise.
Often we know we’re ill when we’re envious, when we covet what others have, when we’re angry beyond reason, when our “buttons are pushed.” We know we’re in a state of dis-ease whenever our stomachs lurch, our necks tense, we pace, we clench our fists, we can’t relax our hold on something. Such reactions say, “Pay attention: here is an opportunity for growth,” and “Listen up! Danger ahead!” Our reactions, physical or emotional or otherwise, are like yellow traffic lights, admonishing us to slow down, to pay attention.
There’s a lot of anguish when our hearts ail us. We feel heavy in the chest, slow of foot. When asked, “Where do you feel this problem?” most people can put their hand on the place or places where it hurts. We carry psychic pain in our physical bodies. If you watch Oprah or read pop psychology, you know this. We all know this, but we forget it, and when we forget it, we continue to carry the pain.
“Hope deferred maketh the heart sick”
As the post-pop psychology generation, we know that our pain arises from unmet human needs, such as the need for adequate food and shelter, for sex, for safety, for love and belonging, for confidence and esteem or respect (for ourselves and from others), for gainful and meaningful work, for morality, creativity, openness to others, and the love of physical and spiritual truth. Solomon, the Biblical sage, knew this when he wrote, “Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.”
Psychologist Clayton Alderfer theorized that if higher, self-actualization needs are not met, people will redouble their efforts at lower developmental levels, perhaps gathering more friends or a larger social network around them, or by returning to the survival needs levels proposed by Maslow and amassing property and belongings.
I think it’s a mistake to assume that poor people cannot become self-actualized, but many westerners favor that idea. One of my favorite movies, City of Joy, is about a westerner who, though possessed of every
modern advantage in life, is more impoverished than the people he lives among in Calcutta, India. As Jesus taught, a person’s life does not consist of his possessions. Because westerners take pride in their intellectual possessions and the extent of their self-approbation, we might consider that our educational attainments and favorable opinions of ourselves and our own ideas are to us what physical property is to others with less time to read and think. We may well be as impoverished as Patrick Swayze’s character in City of Joy, but be blind to it.
spiritual impoverishment
From my experience as a psychologist, our greatest poverty as Americans is our spiritual poverty. As individuals, we consistently fall short of self-actualization and stay stuck at other levels of need and
development. Although researchers and theorists do not agree on whether the nature of our development is linear or not, they do agree on the need for self-actualization. Self-actualization is the robustly developed Self that includes morality, spirituality, creativity, tolerance and acceptance—in short, all the qualities that are taught by the world’s religions. It is the vertical relationship between the creature and the Creator or the Divine. Most Americans and most inhabitants of post-industrialized nations seem to lack this element, for they attack those who do have it. And, because many a folk confuse religion with true spirituality, on the other end of the political spectrum we have religious zealots and fundamentalists who, like their secular counterparts, believe and act out a philosophy of ”my way or the highway” every single day. Theirs is a pagan intolerance that seeks to wound and even destroy the enemy.
People’s wounds, I’ve found, occur on all of these developmental need levels when they’ve been raised in diseased or toxic environments. To whatever extent the healthy, generous meeting of these needs is denied
or hindered, the Self is similarly impoverished. We all know, probably, that it can take a lifetime to deal with whatever hand our parents dealt us. The main business of Third Eve is, and has always been, to explore what it means to move into a spiritual mindset that assumes equality with the Divine, because the spiritual law of the Judeo-Christian ethic is that two shall not be “unequally yoked.” Put another way, as Buddha taught and as I’ve recently noted in my sidebar widgets, “Travel only with thy equals or better; if there are none, travel alone.” To do less is to be dragged down by our own fallibility to a lower developmental level. Our task as growing human beings is to continue to grow, and to invite others to come along with us.
new series
This week, I’ll begin a series called, “Let the Healing Begin,” with a tip of the hat to Helen Losse, whose poetry has enlarged me and whose comments and attitude often irritate the hell out of me. It is from a recent poem of hers that I draw my title for this series. As I write, my intention is to work at sharing principles of healing by telling the stories of others, but also most especially by telling my own story because I know my own story best.
In the past, as I’ve shared personal history that makes me vulnerable, I’ve been publicly attacked by readers whose own buttons are pushed by what I write about myself. Their hateful comments and attacks were
enough to drive me to delete a number of previous posts in an attempt to insure my invulnerability. This created a cognitive dilemma, for if I truly believe in the spiritual invulnerability of the Christian, then I do not need any other defender than the Spirit of God. As Paul wrote rhetorically, “If God be for us, who can be against us?” and “Nothing can separate us from the love of Christ.” If I truly believe these things, then I must learn to overcome my fear of personal attack at my most vulnerable wounded places. I must learn to live out my true healing. Though this isn’t easy for anyone, it’s eminently doable if one is called to that sort of public vulnerability, whether as a writer, musician, poet, artist, healer, or other gift-bearer. It is essential to walk a true walk; otherwise I won’t be able to respect myself and my life will be inauthentic.
I beg your patience as I practice writing my Real Self. We’re guinea pigs in the experimental lab, all of us—writer and reader alike—and I am going to go as deep as I can without disintegrating. Hopefully, by the end I will have produced something authentic without deviating to the right or the left, walking a straight path by following whatever light I happen to have.
maslow’s hierarchy of needs



22 responses so far ↓
henitsirk // November 6, 2008 at 10:10 PM |
I relish reading about your authentic self. Thank you.
davidrochester // November 7, 2008 at 12:21 AM |
This post reminded me of an experience I had about a year ago over at my own blog, where I have been extraordinarily fortunate to have an unusually gentle and loving group of readers who have, in many ways, become a surrogate family to me. I’ve always been a very personal blogger, and I had started to talk about my relationship with my father, and how it has negatively impacted me; I was in the early stages of starting to see it clearly and trying to sort it out.
I had several readers who suddenly became very uncomfortable, especially when I was openly angry about how I’d been treated as a child, and angry about the fact that I’m still stuck in a toxic dynamic with my parents, thanks to an incredibly stupid and yet in many ways inevitable decision to go into business with them. I suddenly had commenters telling me I was unforgiving, that I was being cruel to my poor old dad, that I wanted to blame other people for my problems. It disturbed me greatly, so much that I almost deleted my blog.
But instead, I posted a comment back, a very strongly-worded comment suggesting that my readers had begun to be uncomfortable with me for facing issues that they were refusing to face in their own lives, and that it was much easier to scapegoat me for being honest than it was to see the ways I was reflecting their own pain back to them.
I realized that the journey I was recording on the blog was sacred to me, and that is not too strong a word for it. I wanted to be able to look back and see where I was wrong, where I was confused, where I was right, where I triumphed, and to watch myself trying to figure it out. I knew I wasn’t blaming anyone; that kind of work isn’t done by people who blame. There is certainly a component of recognizing what happened and what impact it had, and wondering how to undo that impact, but that’s not blame — that’s just calling a spade a spade.
Anyway … I realized at that point that what I was doing with my blog was something more than just venting, or whatever else I might have considered it to be. It was (and is) me bearing witness to myself, and I won’t ever let myself be silenced in that process by self-consciousness or criticism. I have remained very fortunate in the gentility of my readership, and I think that may simply be a special blessing that was given to me because I so desperately needed to be lovingly received. But even if that were to change … I’d still bear witness. I think it’s too late to go back.
Alida // November 7, 2008 at 1:18 AM |
Oh I’m gonna love this. Thank you for being so brave.
Eve // November 7, 2008 at 9:29 AM |
David, how beautifully written. Thank you for letting me know about what happened to you, because it encourages me to press on.
If there were a scale of less suffering and more suffering, I would in many ways be on the lesser suffering end of the spectrum. I had much good in my life, and a person in my life who loved me truly and unconditionally. Many people don’t have even that. But as a sensitive, introverted, intelligent child I think I took things harder than my more resilient sibling and not as hard as my more fragile sibling, who turned to addiction to deal with his pain.
My childhood, to outward appearances, was a typical American childhood. On lists indicating privilege, I was privileged. But I carried deep feelings of abandonment and being unwanted, and with good reason. I think my orphan’s heart has made me a better adoptive mother, but time and time again over the years, when I have spoken or written about my own experiences, I have been attacked because I went on to become a mother and a psychologist. As if people who have suffered are not fit to parent or heal.
I know this isn’t true, now. And my first attempt to share this part of my self failed because I naively assumed good will in the blogosphere, even though I know how people can be. I must have been so hopeful because I was excited about writing in a new vein, getting away from my academic, ivory-tower type writing, and writing myself. Also, I’m terrifically optimistic sometimes, even stupidly so (or so my friends say, I don’t believe them!). And that ties into it all too—innate temperament.
But, like you, I want to record a sacred journey. Having an audience makes a person accountable. It also makes us have to work to communicate better, to say what we really mean, what really happened. How it affected us.
I’ll be interested in how you’ve handled having living parents with whom you have some kind of relationship, and writing about them. The parenting they did, and my experiences in public school combined to drive me far off course from my original path, and to make part of my quest that of the orphan, who must establish an internal hearth and home village from which to begin the Quest. Orphans don’t have a place of safety from which they begin; they must find or make a home themselves, and then afterward wait to receive the call to adventure. They are disadvantaged, but if they can manage to help themselves, they can follow the path of Chiron, the wounded healer. There’s tremendous possibility there.
Eve // November 7, 2008 at 9:31 AM |
Alida, am I brave? I don’t know. Comparatively speaking, I’m not sure. But we’ll see.
davidrochester // November 7, 2008 at 10:27 AM |
Eve — I cannot imagine anyone more suited to be a psychologist and a parent than someone who has been wounded and found her own path of healing. Granted, there are plenty of therapists, and plenty of parents, who are not sufficiently stabilized from their own pasts to be appropriate therapists and good parents, but somehow I doubt you were or are one of those.
The therapist I have now has been able to establish a meaningful rapport with attachment-avoidant me because in her carefully-chosen self-disclosure, she’s told me that she was a smart kid who had trouble with other kids in school, and that she was parented by a narcissist, and that one of her struggles in life has been to regard her gift of speaking the truth as a blessing rather than as a curse that annoys people. It’s easier for me to trust her a little more, knowing that although her life and mine are very different, some of the features of the landscape are the same. This is in contrast to the therapist who was a completely blank screen, and in huge contrast to the therapist whose self-disclosure revolved around his successful college rock band. I had no reason to believe that either of those others was capable of the genuine empathy that comes from suffering. I’m sure they had suffered, because everyone does, but I didn’t have a sense that they’d suffered in a way that genuinely made them want to nudge other people toward the “light at end of tunnel” signposts on the road of life.
To answer your question — dealing with my parents while writing about them has been easier than one would think, thanks partly to my conveniently compartmentalized affect access. My mother did find my blog at the beginning of my self-disclosure, and it hurt her feelings, though that hurt also propelled her to start thinking about issues she’d been avoiding for thirty years. I realized, as I got deeper into the process, that it wasn’t fair to expose my parents to the general public, which is why I privatized part of my blog; we are all very recognizable in our community, and it wasn’t OK for me to potentially put them in the position of being recognized and judged in “real life” by people they know. I do still mention them, but the most profoundly personal self-disclosure is now done in a forum of carefully-chosen readers.
helenl // November 7, 2008 at 10:40 AM |
Eve, I agree with David. ” I cannot imagine anyone more suited to be a psychologist and a parent than someone who has been wounded and found her own path of healing.” I was going to say something like that after reading what you wrote and before I read his comment. The wounded healer is a real healer. I first became aware of Henri Nouwen through his book The Wounded Healer. And BTW, it was an African American professor who recommended that one to me. And at a Black Bookstore here in W-S, I bought Can You Drink the Cup? by Nouwen. Blacks, that I write about all the time because they have much to do with my own journey to self, are quite attracted to the work of Nouwen, a Norwegian priest.
Scott Erb // November 7, 2008 at 10:45 AM |
I like what you wrote about spiritual poverty. That is the core problem we face today, we’re in a hypermaterialist society living with all the comforts imaginable — all but the most poor live better than most people in any time in history in material terms (even better than the wealthy in history). Yet it doesn’t give people joy and contentment — or in your terms, self-actualization.
In the Third World we tend to imagine life there to be horrid due to lack of material goods. But people I know from Africa and Asia say that Americans have a warped view. Lacking all the material stuff, people lean on each other. Families, friends, extended families, work, play and support each other. I suspect that many of them live a happier less stressful life than what a number of Americans experience.
Now if we could find a way to balance our spiritual poverty and their material poverty, maybe we’d have a better world.
Anyway, I also look forward to reading what you offer, I just really liked that bit about spiritual poverty, I think you’re right.
Vesper de Vil // November 7, 2008 at 4:43 PM |
I totally agree that people are spiritually impoverished. I also believe that a person cannot be told this. Nothing will change them except themselves. The experiences they have and the people they meet are messengers. It’s up to them to listen. I believe the Divine is always beckoning. Because of this, I often feel like an outsider amongst my peers. But I have hope. I think the world is moving in a new, more aware, direction.
deb // November 7, 2008 at 9:12 PM |
I’m looking forward to this. What can I say? I’m a cherry picker.
I got very angry at everybody in my life yesterday. I was so hard done by. Everybody takes advantage of me. Or so I like to believe. I went to the gym and worked my anger out and then I sat down and listened to my kind parent. She told me I wasn’t angry at everybody else, she told I was angry with myself. And it’s true. I am angry at myself because I have torn everything apart in an effort to better understand what it is I want and need in my life and so far all I have to show for it is a mess.
And then I started reading a book by Sue Monk Kidd, When the Heart Waits. It’s about waiting. Not something I’ve been very good at in my life but I think it’s time to sit and wait and listen, before the universe slaps me upside the head.
What I’m trying to say is that I love these posts. They make me think, force me to look at myself and that’s a good thing. Take care.
helenl // November 7, 2008 at 11:05 PM |
When the Heart Waits by Sue Monk Kidd is a great book. I got my mother-in-law’s copy after she died.
Vesper de Vil // November 8, 2008 at 12:44 PM |
I’ve given you an award! Check out my blog!
Irene // November 9, 2008 at 9:46 PM |
Eve, firstly I want to refer to your last post, or rather your comment after my comment, on November 5. I’ve printed it out to keep it near me, and to ponder your comments. I have always been cautious about opinions, or perhaps rather how I might communicate them, because of early school experiences with religious fanaticism as a teenager ( our way or you will go to hell, basically) – something you have commented on here today. Also, these days I am wary of my own tendency for black and white thinking (yes I see the parallel reference in this comment..
). But your comments have widened the field for me – I could actually feel an expansion in me when I read your words. I love it when things come alive like that. I am grateful. So I am sending you a very warm bear hug and will try not to squash you.
I’m eager to read your upcoming posts. When you responded to David about your childhood, I realised there are some similarities between us, insofar as one can gauge in these circumstances. I have always understood that I felt unwanted, and especially, recently, that I feel orphaned in some (seemingly unreasonable) way. I’m hoping any insights you may have on these issues might be a part of future posts. I know for me it is mostly tied up with my father, an ongoing inner work-in-progress! Only recently, for the millionth time, he complained to me about my being over-sensitive when I reacted to a “request” he made (read “demand”). I have a wry grin on my face now, as I do understand it all much more these days, but I really want to stop that kind of behaviour in him finding a launching pad in me!
I was once told that the challenge was to allow oneself to be completely vulnerable – then such things would pass right through me, rather than hooking on (ie, push a button). I wonder what your thoughts are on that?
Lisa // November 10, 2008 at 1:18 PM |
Thank you. I love forward to reading your new series. I find it sad that trollers would attack you — you handle it bravely. (I don’t think I could unpeel myself on my blog the way you do on yours…)
Eve // November 10, 2008 at 1:57 PM |
Helen, I would like to hear about your journey of self-discovery and how race has played into it. I truly would. I often don’t understand the stridency in your written voice when it comes to race relations, and it would help to understand.
Have you written about this, perhaps some poetry or otherwise? Point me in the right direction if you have.
Eve // November 10, 2008 at 2:00 PM |
Scott, oh, you are writing just exactly what I believe, too, based on historical accounts. We are so materially blessed and have so much. Even our so-called poor in America are not poor at all, by world standards. Our middle class is well-to-do by the standards of several European nations (think about what “middle class” means in Great Britain, and the contrast that with “middle class” here!). Even the more affluent Scandinavian countries or Germanic ones live with far less than we do. We were musing the other day at the dinner table about how America is one of the few nations left in the world where a person can still become filthy rich. I’m reading more in economics lately, trying to understand why. But perhaps you have ideas?
I love the way you turn a succinct sentence, Scott.
Eve // November 10, 2008 at 2:02 PM |
Vesper, about the “outsider among the peers” comment, I share your experience. It has taken me years to accept that I’m an oddity. Then more years to accept that this is fine, and more to realize that this is a gift, and yet more to begin to realize my oneness with others (which amounts to being a part, and yet apart, at the same time). I imagine you understand what I’m saying.
Eve // November 10, 2008 at 2:07 PM |
Deb, I haven’t read When the Heart Waits; in fact, I am just now reading my first Sue Monk Kidd book! So now I can add this one to my list for future reads.
I want to comment that in my opinion you’ve done more than just make a mess. We often have to tear things down to build them back up, even if all the thing needed was a good cleaning. My mother-in-law used to build jet airplane engines for the Air Force (Rosie the Riveter!), and after retiring, it wasn’t unusual to go to her house and find her taking apart the refrigerator motor, or the washing machine motor, and cleaning it. She got twice the life out of her machines by keeping them clean.
Sadly, she’s not the sort of person with the courage or love to dismantle and rebuild human relationships, so we have very little contact with her. You, my dear, do have the courage to dismantle and rebuild relationships. We’ve been privileged to see you do it by reading your blog. You are one of the many lights in the blogospheric darkness and redundancy that I’ve found, and I love you for it.
So consider what I’m saying, please. Though you must feel some shame over having dismantled and rebuild as if it’s a useless waste of time, energy, emotion, and money, it’s not. That’s probably Mother’s Voice, not your real voice and not the voice of Truth. It’s some old record that gets stuck still, from time to time. I have that, too (really, who doesn’t?). I think you had to do what you’ve done and that it’s enlarged you as a person and been quite the awesome adventure. And it’s not over yet.
Eve // November 10, 2008 at 2:23 PM |
Irene, what an interesting question. Will being completely vulnerable allow insults to pass right through you rather than hooking you?
If Carl Jung were answering, he would probably say no, because no one is without his or her complexes, or buttons that can be pushed because of early deprivations of whatever variety or depth. But he would also probably suggest that a person’s spiritual work is to overcome those very complexes or hurts whenever possible; to see them and then transcend them by expanding, transcending. So I guess that theoretically my answer would be “yes, I think that’s true.”
Theoretical perfection and wholeness is one thing, and actual humanness a whole ‘nother. This is one of the issues I’ve been mulling over and will continue to mull over (publicly, too). From what I know and have experienced personally, it takes quite a bit of personal enlargement of heart or spirit to be able to be so vulnerable that a parent’s antics today do not recall his/her hurtful antics of the past. That’s a situation that takes some doing.
And thank you for letting me know how my response on the 5th affected you. I went back and read it and sometimes when I read what I write, I feel astounded. It’s as if a spirit of Something overtook me and I was actually lucid and made sense. But I’m glad.
helenl // November 10, 2008 at 6:39 PM |
Hi Eve,
Yes, I’ve written about it. Several entries are on my blog, I think. And some maybe elsewhere on my computer. I’ll find them, so you don’t have to wade through everything. If I don’t get to it tonight, it will be Wednesday before I have the time. We’ll be gone tomorrow, at part part of the day. But I’ll be glad to share this part of my story.
helenl // November 12, 2008 at 12:47 PM |
Eve,
I know I have other essays somewhere, but so far this is the best I’ve found. http://helenl.wordpress.com/2006/05/
helenl // November 12, 2008 at 12:48 PM |
oops. I mean
http://helenl.wordpress.com/2006/05/08/why-i-blog-ii/