Credinta si doliu, cu Lytta Basset

Povestea necredintei noastre nu e de azi. Nu face parte numai din experienta doliului, care e, în primul rand, o radicala sfasiere ce pare, cel putin la început, nevindecabila. Cel ce jeleste are o constiinta acuta asupra faptului ca nu e în stare sa-si duca mai departe viata prin propriile puteri. Dar întelege, cumva, ca îl poarta o putere aflata dincolo de fiinta sa.

O fraza a lui C.G. Jung citita în lucrarea unei studente a devenit un reper important pentru Lytta Basset : „Singura experienta care îi poate oferi omului o baza indestructibila, este faptul de a fi singur, pentru a descoperi ceea ce îl sustine atunci cand nu mai e în stare sa se sustina singur” (citat din Psihologie si alchimie).

„Exista totdeauna o cale, afirma psihanalistul si preotul Maurice Bellet. Mi se pare ca acolo se afla esenta a ceea ce îl face pe om „cineva care crede”. Daca crezi ca un drum exista, sa nu fie oare tocmai pentru ca exista, chiar si îngropata în cenusa, o dorinta? 

Trebuie sa fi trait pana la capat alunecarea în neant pentru a întelege ca Cineva ne asteapta acolo. De aceea nu pot crede ca sunt eu însami la originea sensului pe care-l dau vietii mele: cand ai fost lipsit, mai mult sau mai putin timp, de cel mai mic sentiment ca poti avea vreo putere asupra ta însuti, afli o data pentru întotdeauna ca este „sustinut”, „purtat” de ceva fin afara – desigur, acea Viata care e de fapt insesizabila.”

https://www.amazon.fr/Lytta-Basset/e/B004ML5MTW/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1539769775&sr=8-2-ent

 

Reclame

Dealing with difficult persons…

„Think you’re too spiritual to have someone challenging in your life? Not even that one difficult person? Perhaps someone in your office, a friend, professional colleague or, most likely, a family member? Most of us have at least one testing person that keeps us on our toes, or perhaps flat on the floor! Before you try to minimise and sugarcoat Uncle Bernie’s invasive behaviour, or Jane’s put-downs, let’s get real, up-close and nakedly honest. Some people are damn difficult. As much as you’d like to smudge, bless and breathe them out of your aura, people will push your buttons and rake up your shadow. They will ignite the embers of wounding in the volcano of your past, sometimes with as little as a throwaway comment.

Let’s face it, the world has difficult people in it, and no doubt sometimes you and I are problematic too.

As much as we like to say all people are good, kind and loving, unfortunately these good people often show up as irrevocably trying. There are bullies, abusers, sociopaths, narcissists, and people who really don’t care about others, the environment or creating a better world. We’ve all met these types of wounded people. Maybe we’ve even been them at some point.

Truth is, the world is filled with wounded people, some more so than others. And unhappy people cause problems. We can often find people who are not as evolved as others. There, I said it! There are genuinely some people who have no problem stepping on others to get where they want to in life. Or who don’t understand why it’s wrong to get ahead by causing suffering to other people, the environment, or animals. People who live from a place of extreme individuation, truly thinking of only themselves.

If you’re human, you’ve been at the receiving end of games, criticism, and no doubt been baited, reacted and then regretted it afterwards. But, there are ways to eradicate drama from your life and create greater wellbeing.

The Cycle of Human Relating

The Drama Triangle created by psychiatrist Steven Karpman, is a fantastic resource for explaining most of our dysfunctional relating. The triangle consists of the archetypes of persecutor, rescuer and victim. If you’re in one of these spots, you’re fuelling drama in your life. We have no doubt all been part of this triangle at some point. Interestingly the archetypes move around the triangle. So the rescuer becomes the persecutor, the victim becomes the persecutor, or the persecutor becomes the rescuer, and the rescuer the victim. But all three positions feed and perpetuate each other, creating drama. Participants in a drama triangle create misery for themselves and others. The only way out of this self-perpetuating craziness, is to step up, be responsible and an adult in your relating. No small feat sometimes!

So how do we deal with potentially volatile situations and difficult people? We all want to walk away from a disagreement feeling good about ourselves, and not because we ‘won.’ Perhaps it’s time to redefine winning. If you can walk away from a difficult encounter with your dignity, inner calm, hair and clothes intact, you’re doing well.

The art of dealing with difficult people is really about feeling good about yourself. If you react, erupt or dump a scathing retort on a difficult person in your orbit, you will no doubt regret it. You could permanently damage a professional or personal relationship and end up beating yourself up, riddled with guilt or having to deal with an irrepressibly self-righteous relative or colleague for the rest of your days. And yes, that applies to the narcissistic boss, helicopter grandparent, vulture colleague that’s after your job, irrepressible gossip, or brutal ex-partner, and tormenting in-law. So, best to be dignified, calm and responsive when dealing with difficult people.

It’s far more powerful, and ultimately healing for all, if you can come from a place of clarity, power and a clear heart. Yup, be the bigger person. But not from an arrogant, ‘I’m better than you’ kind of a place. From a genuine desire for your own equanimity and the intention to prevent creating more problems for yourself and others.

Seven Sacred Tools

Here are seven sacred tools that could save you from escalating conflict and lighting the fires of anger within yourself and others, when dealing with difficult people and situations. I find they help me keep things in perspective, and to connect to the great ocean, instead of inhabiting the ripples on the surface of life.

1. Keep to your Own Business

You don’t have to fix, change or make everything right. This is not your job, it’s not for you to do. You are in charge of your own life, have responsibility over how you live and how you show up, that’s it. Life becomes really simple when you follow this great wisdom teaching by Byron Katie:

I can find only three kinds of business in the universe: mine, yours, and God’s. For me, the word God means ‘reality.’ Reality is God, because it rules. Anything that’s out of my control, your control, and everyone else’s control–I call that God’s business.

2. Presence

The presence or space you bring to a situation either magnifies the issues, or dilutes them. Bringing a peaceful, empowered, clear presence to a fiery situation can transform it. Having a heart uncluttered with hatred, anger and the desire for revenge is your best sacred weapon. This is why taking each interaction with that difficult person as a training ground for deeper empowerment, open heartedness and personal growth, is vital. If you’re being curious, open and aware that you’ve made a sacred contract to engage with life as a playground for being the best person you can be, and taking each opportunity as one for your greatest development and healing, the way you respond to situations will be completely new.

3. Focus on What is Real

It’s about realising the difficult person is trapped in a way of being, in belief systems, in hatred, in grief, in fear. You can help free yourself, and them, by not engaging with the monster of unexpressed emotion and trauma. Instead, remain connected to your own heart, inner strength and the spiritual truth, that we are all connected and, at the core, innately good. Training yourself to stop reacting to other people, and to look within to the charges igniting your reactivity, is the most effective way of dissolving ego in yourself.

4. Having Resilience

This is by no means being naive or weak. It takes great courage and strength to be able to bypass poor behaviour without taking it personally and to be able to drop judgement and keep an open heart. Dealing with difficult people does not mean accepting bad behaviour. It means responding powerfully with strength and courage, and sometimes it means standing up. But we remain victims when we react to bad behaviour, are overly influenced and impacted by someone else’s wounding, projections, nastiness, vilification, put-downs and attempts to destabilise us.

5. Clear Boundaries

It’s not spiritual to let people get away with bad behaviour. You can head off much conflict and drama in your life by having clear boundaries, knowing yourself, walking away when you need to, not letting people dump on you and having a strong respect and love for yourself. This is not about putting up with negative behaviour, it’s about transforming its effect on you. You don’t need to join someone else’s drama party and let them suck you dry because they need attention or want to dump their negative emotions.

6. Moving Beyond being a Victim

You always have a choice in how you respond to situations. Even in the most severe of places, Auschwitz, people responded in powerful ways, when they chose to help others, or bring hope to the most extreme circumstances of the concentration camp. Choice is power. Use it well. Seeing situations for what they are, with wisdom and clarity, and staying unaffected is truly the journey from the victim to the powerful one.

7. Being an Extraordinary Human

Living with an intention to have heartfelt interactions, and to spread love and peace in your wake, is a powerful way to move through the world. When you have the underlying intention in your life to grow and evolve through whatever life throws at you, you have some power. The power of choice. This can truly transform any situation you meet with. Creating a mantra as a guiding light for the way you live your life, and reminding yourself of this agreement you have with yourself, particularly during conflict, will help you stay on course and ultimately ensure you have greater happiness.

If you hold grudges and grievances against people, given some time they’ll become part of your personality. Sometimes we can become addicted to being indignant and angry; it strengthens the ego and can give the illusion of having power. We’ve all witnessed that person in the restaurant who complains about every little detail. We don’t want to be that!

Learning how to deal well with conflict and difficult people is a vital life skill that can support you to be a powerful, conscious and compassionate human being. I think it helps to be mindful of the truth of the potential for good and evil within each one of us, and to cut yourself and others a little slack too. We all have bad days, and we all have multiple personalities living inside our head. Let’s just make sure we let the good ones out, well at least most of the time, and most certainly when conflict enters our orbit, as it inevitably will.”

From Azriel Re’Shel’s blog

Azriel Re’shel is a Writer, Editor and Yoga Teacher. A former SBS Radio and BBC World Service Radio and TV News Journalist, Azriel loves words, travel and people. A skilled writer and editor, and former PR and Events Coordinator, Azriel edits and writes for individuals and businesses working in the healing and creative arts. She has an Arts Degree in Psychology and English, a Journalism Diploma and has studied Psychotherapy and many other healing modalities as part of her own spiritual path.

 

„Practice Self-Compassion With Forgiveness”

„Practice Self-Compassion With Forgiveness”

by Sharon Salzberg: We cannot force ourselves to move on from a painful situation…

expecting forgiveness to be quick and voluntary can have negative effects. Explore this mindfulness practice for creating space for ourselves to forgive.

We’ve all heard the idiom “forgive and forget,” as if processing pain inflicted upon us by others is a quick and easy job. The phrase is an imperative and renders the idea of forgiveness compulsory; in order to heal, we must enter a state of denial and effectively avoid the pain that we have been experiencing.

But, of course, forgiveness is a process, an admittedly difficult one that often can feel like a rigorous spiritual practice. We cannot instantaneously force ourselves to forgive—and forgiveness happens at a different pace for everyone and is dependent on the particulars of any given situation. What we can do is create space for ourselves to forgive—and, perhaps ironically, part of that involves allowing ourselves to wrestle with our feelings of anger and pain to begin with. Once we are honest about our feelings, we can invite ourselves to consider alternative modes of viewing our pain and can see that releasing our grip on anger and resentment can actually be an act of self-compassion.

Accepting forgiveness as pluralistic and as an ongoing, individualized process opens us up to realize the role that our own needs play in conflict resolution.

Telling the story, acknowledging what has happened and how you feel, is often a necessary part of forgiveness. Without that, we live in an artificial reality that is frozen in time, and sometimes woven from fabrication. I have a friend who believes that a central reason for her divorce is that she spoke the truth after her ex-husband’s parents died and he waxed on about his perfect, idyllic childhood. “But you put your drunken parents to bed each night,” she would point out. “You dropped out of college to do that.” Her words undermined the story he was telling, and his need for a rosier past took precedence over the love between them. It also took precedence over his ability to forgive his parents, and the chance for love alongside the pain of his broken dreams.

At times, reality is love’s great challenge. When our old stories and dreams are shattered, our  first instinct may be to resist, deny, or cling to the way things were. But if we loosen our grip, often what fills the space is a tender forgiveness and the potential for a new and different kind of love.

Helen Whitney, director of the documentary Forgiveness, has said, “We talk about forgiveness as if it were one thing. Instead, we should talk about forgivenesses. There are as many ways to forgive as there are people needing to be forgiven.” In other words, there are an incalculable—even infinite—number of situations in which we can practice forgiveness. Expecting it to be a singular action—motivated by the sheer imperative to move on and forget—can be more damaging than the original feelings of anger. Accepting forgiveness as pluralistic and as an ongoing, individualized process opens us up to realize the role that our own needs play in conflict resolution. We cannot simply “forgive and forget,” nor should we.

A Forgiveness Meditation

Meditating on forgiveness is not terribly different from a loving-kindness practice, as both invite us to be with our emotional states without judging them and to use the meditation as the anchor of our attention. These practices require courage, as we are not denying our suffering or the harmful actions we’ve taken.

Forgiveness demands presence, reminding us that we are not the same as the feelings we possess in a given situation, nor is the person who we’ve harmed or who has harmed us.

Forgiveness is not passive, but an active gesture of releasing feelings like anger, guilt, and resentment, all of which deplete us if we become lost in them. Forgiveness demands presence, reminding us that we are not the same as the feelings we possess in a given situation, nor is the person who we’ve harmed or who has harmed us.

Traditionally, the meditation is done in three parts:

  • first, you ask forgiveness from those you have harmed;
  • next, you extend forgiveness to those who have harmed you; and
  • the final practice is that of self-forgiveness, for all of those times we harm ourselves with judgmental habits of mind.

1) Sit comfortably, and allow the breath to be natural. Begin by silently (or audibly) reciting phrases of forgiveness for those you have harmed. You may try, “If I have hurt or harmed anyone knowingly or unknowingly, I ask their forgiveness.”

2) Notice what comes up. You may find that offering forgiveness to one person may catalyze memories of another tough situation or person. Don’t push these feelings or thoughts away—but maintain your focus on the practice, and don’t get lost in guilt or self-blame about your distraction. As other thoughts arise, send your forgiveness in these new directions.

3) Next (after however long you want to spend on the first part of the reflection), you can begin to offer forgiveness to those who have harmed you: “If anyone has hurt or harmed me, knowingly or unknowingly, I forgive them.”

4) Once again, thinking about past painful experiences may trigger emotion. As these feelings, images, and memories bubble to the surface, you may simply recite, “I forgive you.”

5) Finally, we turn our attention to forgiveness of ourselves. Most of us have experienced self-blame—at work, in relationships, or simply because we have habitually kept ourselves in cycles of perfectionism. “For all of the ways I have hurt or harmed myself, knowingly or unknowingly, I offer forgiveness.”

Source: Mindful

CENTERING PRAYER

http://marcthomasshaw.com/index.php/2017/09/20/secret-weapon-prayer/

Part of the instructions for the practice of Centering Prayeris to find a sacred word that signals a consent for the action and presence of God within. Some practitioners use “love” or “grace” or “light.”

A "Secret Weapon" Of Centering PrayerThe anonymous author of the 13th century classic The Cloud of Unknowing simply uses the word God.

Teachers of the practice instruct students to choose a word that is generally free of emotional charge or baggage because the aim to facilitate the movement into silence.

So you start with these strategies early on in the practice: “ok, I’m gonna enter into silence, and then when my thoughts take over, bump them out with the sacred word, and return to the silence. Lather, rinse, repeat. OK, I got this. Just bump ’em out of the way. I’m gonna be super enlightened in no time.”

While the instructions for the practice are pretty simple, what can be a little more difficult to learn is the how of Centering Prayer that can help make the practice a little more fruitful.

I am careful not to use the word “effective,” because the notion of doing something to achieve a goal or a particular outcome is precisely the kind of logical-linear strategic thinking that the practice itself helps us transcend.

Over the years as I continue my practice the one component that can get easily lost is that of disposition. As with all things, our intention matters. This is one aspect of our lives we bring to every act and interaction.

Intention. Disposition.

We bring it to making breakfast and packing lunches. We bring it to the drive to work. We bring it to the conference call. We bring it in entering a room.

In the contemplative life, each of these acts, however simple, becomes an opportunity for devotion, for receiving or passing on the beauty of the Beloved. This is the awareness or headspace that grows with the practice.

Early on in the practice, I’d introduce or reintroduce the sacred word impatiently, mildly annoyed when I got so far off track with some inner resentment or lingering argument or embarrassing moment from the past.

After several years it became clear that my intention, my disposition, mattered deeply. There is a piece of the Centering Prayer instructions which is easy to gloss over. Step three instructs us to introduce the sacred word ever-so-gently.

This becomes almost like a skill that is sharpened, the ability to introduce gentleness. We speak the word ever so gently. We notice our own missteps throughout the day: anger, annoyance, yelling, guilt, anxiety, whatever, and watch ourselves and then return to the present moment ever so gently.

In our time of strategy and productivity and efficiency, what a profound dimension of our lives to expand, what a quality to bring into the world, what a disposition to grow: gentleness. There is a strength to gentleness that refuses to be pulled this way and that by circumstances. It’s a disposition that requires security and trust to maintain.

In a way, this is the “secret weapon” of Centering Prayer. Bringing this disposition of gentleness, humility, and receptivity both deepens the experience of the practice and expands these capacities throughout the day. It’s like planting a seed.

It becomes a way to respond to stress, to enact forgiveness, to respond to arguments and hostility. In a sense, the mystical path is one that requires us to die to our attachments on a granular level in preparation for the great death to come, that when the time comes to move into the next phase of the great journey home, we can release this one, we can turn the page and let it go ever so gently.

By Marc Thomas Shaw

Going Further

Rich Lewis on the third step of Centering Prayer

Anglican Rector Chris Page on gentleness as strength

Poem: Hagia Sophia by Thomas Merton

Lytta Basset

De fapt, alt Lytta Basset

Adaug trimiterea acesta vàzând cà o alta mai veche, purtând titlul „Lytta Basset”, este printre rarele mele mesaje având cititori. Pesemne, cineva are nevoie…

Ce se va petrece dupà moartea mea? Nimic, sau ceva nou si minunat? Îmi voi revedea pàrintii…? Cum, tineri, batrâni…? Prietenii plecati înaintea mea, uneori prea timpuriu?  Marii artisti pe care i-am admirat si mi-au hranit mintea si inima…? Ceilalti al càror doliu l-am purtat si-l mai port…?

Cinstit este sà recunoastem cà nu stim nimic precis despre „dincolo”. Pentru cà nimeni nu s-a întors „de acolo” ca sà povesteascà. Pentru cà oricum ràspunsul nu ar fi la îndemâna imaginatiei noastre înràdàcinate în ceea ce auzim, vedem, gustàm, pipàim. Pentru cà verbul „a cunoaste”, când este vorba de Dumnezeul Bibliei, nu are exact aceleasi semnificatii ca atunci când „a cunoaste” are UN OBIECT.

În modesta mea opinie, cei înràdàcinati în traditiile religioase ale generatiilor precedente stau mai bine decât agnosticii, când se abordeazà tema mortii. Pentru cà lor credinta le aduce sens si sperantà. Cu o conditie, poate: sà nu încerce sà Îl ia pe Dumnezeu drept „un obiect”. Pentru cà asa ceva „nu merge”…

*

Despre ce se va petrece „dincolo”, au existat din totdeauna mituri, legende, si fiecare religie are propriile ei rituri prin care se cautà o comunicare cu cei dusi, spre folosul celor ràmasi, care trece, cred cei mai multi, prin tot ce se poate face întru ajutorarea sufletelor celor ràposati.

În traditia iudeo-crestinà, pe lângà învàtàmintele din Scripturi, existà si màrturii. Le putem lua drept fictiuni, povesti, sau le putem da crezare. Multe merità sà fie cel putin luate în seamà, pentru cà ele ne pot càlàuzi spre un adevàr mai adânc. Dar, fireste, informatia pe care o aduc nu face obiectul credintei propriu-zise.

Mà opresc acum la un pasaj din cartea Lyttei Basset despre care am mai scris, „Ce lien qui ne meurt jamais”. Legàtura de nezdruncinat dintre o mamà si un fiu pierdut. Legàtura dintre Acela care a spus „Eu sunt Învierea si Viata”, si cei care au ales sà adere la cuvintele lui Iisus, Mântuitorul.

„În traditia crestinà în care am crescut, scrie ea, povestea lui Iisus este cea la care se recurge pentru a reînsufleti speranta celor care au pierdut o fiintà dragà. Iisus „a înviat/ s-a ridicat/s-a trezit dintre morti”… iar aceasta s-a petrecut pentru a-i ajuta pe cei loviti sà se încreadà în victoria finalà a Vietii.”

„Dacà un om ca noi toti, ràstignit si îngropat într-un mormânt sigilat, a fost vàzut viu de mai multe ori de càtre apropiatii lui, în varii locuri si circumstante, iar acesti apropiati au trecut de la jale la o viatà dàruità ajutoràrii si încurajàrii altora, nu ne ràmâne altceva de fàcut decât sà credem cà, asemenea lui (Hristos), fiinta pe care am pierdut-o se va „trezi” de asemenea, asa cum sugereazà apostolul Pavel în Scrisoarea Întâia càtre Corinteni, 15,20 si 6,14. „Hristos a înviat din morti, cel dintâi dintre cei ràposati”, si  “Dumnezeu, care l-a înviat pe Domnul, ne va învia şi pe noi prin puterea sa”.

Ce se întâmplà însà dacà nu crezi, dacà nu izbutesti sà mai crezi, se întreabà mai departe Lytta Basset. La urma urmei, destui crestini au îndoieli… Si e greu, spun din experientà, sà cânti „Hristos a înviat” lângà un mormânt proaspàt sàpat. (Experienta mea cuprinde si mângâierea adusà de riturile Bisericii ortodoxe, cu ale sale parastasuri si rânduieli de pomeni: un sprijin esential, stropit cu lacrimi…)

Cu toate acestea, a crede în Hristos, „Învierea si Viata” e singura noastrà resursà. De altfel, aratà LB, primii care au trecut prin experienta îndoielii au fost chiar apostolii. Pentru ei, în primele ceasuri de dupà Golgota, întrebarea era: „Prietenul, pàrintele, maestrul era anihilat pentru întotdeauna, ori ba?”

„Experienta aratà, urmeazà LB, cà întrebarea fundamentalà care se ridicà în primul rând este: ce-a ajuns apropiatul meu? Pot spera la reluarea unei relatii cu el, o relatie vie? Pe de o parte avem ceea ce credem ori nu credem cu privire la Iisus, si dilema arzàtoare, hotàrâtoare, cu privire la soarta celui pierdut. Cele douà planuri se poate întâmpla sà nu se atingà: cineva poate crede sincer în evenimentul pascal, fàrà sà-i simtà legàtura cu experienta sfâsietoare a pierderii legàturii cu cel drag care s-a dus…

Ce-ar fi dacà am privi lucrurile schmbând perspectiva? Dacà ne-am concentra pe „trezirea” celui decedat, fiind atenti la „Viata care se trezeste”?  O face însusi sfântul Pavel în Corinteni 15, 12-13 si 16. (Iar dacă se propovăduieşte că Hristos a înviat din morţi, cum zic unii dintre voi că nu este înviere a morţilor? Dacă nu este înviere a morţilor, nici Hristos n-a înviat. Şi dacă Hristos n-a înviat, zadarnică este atunci propovăduirea noastră, zadarnică este şi credinţa voastră.)  

„Cu trecerea timpului, îmi dau seama cât este de esentialà experienta unirii celor douà planuri, care se poate petrece fàrà vreo ordine cronologicà impusà. Se prea poate ca un om sà fi perceput cândva prezenta Domnului, sà-l fi întâlnit, viu, si totusi sà ràmânà îndelung incapabil sà simtà cà cel drag „a înviat din morti” si el. Invers, se poate petrece  ca cineva care nu a crezut niciodatà în învierea lui Hristos, sà nu fi simtit niciodatà prezenta lui càlduroasà… si, tràindu-si doliul, sà experimenteze o „trezire” /înviere a propriei persoane, legatà de „învierea” legàturii pe care o credea pierdutà… Si atunci nu-i va fi greu sà creadà în învierea Domnului.”

Experienta personalà, sustine LB, nu poate fi ocolità. [Iar aceastà experientà personalà, adaug, are douà aspecte. Pe de o parte, „cred” printr-un act de vointà: ader la Crezul Bisericii, bazat, acesta, pe Scripturi, care în Noul Testament pornesc de la màrturia adusà de apostoli si de ceilalti crestini ai Bisericii începuturilor; pe de altà parte, pentru ca sà ajung sà integrez mintal si emotional faptul cà pot intra într-o relatie vie cu Cineva care a murit acum douà mii de ani, am nevoie de harul divin, ajuns la mine prin darul Duhului Sfânt.]

Revin la Lytta Basset, care în cartea aceasta nu face altceva decât sà ilustreze o experientà personalà de revenire la viatà, comentând-o teologic.

„Nu vàd de altfel pe cel alt teren te-ai putea situa când este vorba de înviere: l-am perceput pe cel pierdut ca „înviat” în màsura în care am fost si eu atent la propria mea revenire la viatà; poate cà nu am tràit ceva la fel de spectaculos ca prietenii lui Iisus, însà experienta mea e de aceeasi naturà, de vreme ce mà pune iar pe picioare. Nu am deloc nevoie sà-i conving pe cei care nu cred, nu simt nevoie sà aduc argumente. Asa a fost si la începuturi: primii martori si-au împàrtàsit experienta. Si astàzi, când o fiintà pe care moartea cuiva drag a dàrâmat-o, ca apoi sà ajungà sà parcurgà un drum al învierii, nu-i pasà de fel dacà cineva o crede ori ba: tràieste iaràsi, si asta-i ajunge. Màrturie trebuie însà sà aducà: ea devine dovada vie a posibilitàtii depàsirii mortii.”

La propria màrturie a regàsirii legàturii cu fiul ei care s-a sinucis, care a reintegrat-o într-o viatà normalà, Lytta Basset confirmà cà si alte mame au fàcut aceeasi experientà. O prietenà a càrei fiicà îsi luase viata cu un an înainte de Samuel, îi scrie cà, dupà ani de pràbusire làuntricà, „a primit un soi de miracol de Cràciun: certitudinea cà moartea nu e decât o aparentà, o mutatie, iar iubitii nostr ràposati tràiesc cu adevàrat într-un „altundeva” luminos, în care, potrivit fàgàduintei, Dumnezeu ne usucà toate lacrimile”. 

 

The meaning of suffering

… according to Rebecca West

from https://www.brainpickings.org/2017/02/24/rebecca-west-black-lamb-grey-falcon/

While recovering from surgery in an English hospital in the fall of 1934, West heard on the radio that Yugoslavia’s King Alexander I had been assassinated — the first monarch of a young country born out of the horrors of WWI, murdered by the same fascist forces that would pave the way for WWII. She recognized instantly, with a sorrowful urgency, that such local crises of inhumanity never exist in isolation from the whole of humanity. A quarter century before Martin Luther King urged us to see that “we are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality [and] whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly,” West reflected on hearing the radio announcement:

I had to admit that I quite simply and flatly knew nothing at all about the south-eastern corner of Europe … that is to say I know nothing of my own destiny.

And indeed, from West’s regional focus on my native Balkans radiates a larger inquiry into the collective fate of humanity, with all its tragedy and tenaciousness, and the ultimate resilience of the human spirit — nowhere more so than in a passage describing her encounter with a woman on a mountain road in Montenegro. West relays the woman’s response to being asked how she had ended up there, across the country from her hometown of Durmitor:

She laughed a little, lifted her ball of wool to her mouth, sucked the thin thread between her lips, and stood rocking herself, her eyebrows arching in misery. “It is a long story. I am sixty now,” she said. “Before the war I was married over there, by Durmitor. I had a husband whom I liked very much, and I had two children, a son and a daughter. In 1914 my husband was killed by the Austrians. Not in battle. They took him out of our house and shot him. My son went off and was a soldier and was killed, and my daughter and I were sent to a camp. There she died. In the camp it was terrible, many people died. At the end of the war I came out and I was alone. So I married a man twenty years older than myself. I did not like him as I liked my first husband, but he was very kind to me, and I had two children of his. But they both died, as was natural, for he was too old, and I was too old, and also I was weak from the camp. And now my husband is eighty, and he has lost his wits, and he is not kind to me any more. He is angry with everybody; he sits in his house and rages, and I cannot do anything right for him. So I have nothing.”

To the question of where she is headed on that mountain road, the woman responds:

“I am not going anywhere. I am walking about to try to understand why all this has happened. If I had to live, why should my life have been like this? If I walk about up here where it is very high and grand it seems to me I am nearer to understanding it.” She put the ball of wool to her forehead and rubbed it backwards and forwards, while her eyes filled with painful speculation. “Good-bye,” she said, with distracted courtesy, as she moved away, “good-bye.”

With this, West delivers her stroke of genius in revealing the animating force of human existence, that which gives rise to all art and all science and the irrepressible roving curiosity that has given us everything we call culture:

This woman [was] the answer to my doubts. She took her destiny not as the beasts take it, nor as the plants and trees; she not only suffered it, she examined it. As the sword swept down on her through the darkness she threw out her hand and caught the blade as it fell, not caring if she cut her fingers so long as she could question its substance, where it had been forged, and who was the wielder. She wanted to understand … the mystery of process.

I knew that art and science were the instruments of this desire, and this was their sole justification, though in the Western world where I lived I had seen art debauched to ornament and science prostituted to the multiplication of gadgets. I knew that they were descended from man’s primitive necessities, that the cave man who had to hunt the aurochs drew him on the rock-face that he might better understand the aurochs and have fuller fortune in hunting and was the ancestor of all artists, that the nomad who had to watch the length of shadows to know when he should move his herd to the summer pasture was the ancestor of all scientists. But I did not know these things thoroughly with my bowels as well as my mind. I knew them now, when I saw the desire for understanding move this woman. It might have been far otherwise with her, for she had been confined by her people’s past and present to a kind of destiny that might have stunned its victims into an inability to examine it. Nevertheless she desired neither peace nor gold, but simply knowledge of what her life might mean. The instrument used by the hunter and the nomad was not too blunt to turn to finer uses; it was not dismayed by complexity, and it could regard the more stupendous aurochs that range within the mind and measure the diffuse shadows cast by history. And what was more, the human will did not forget its appetite for using it.

In a sentiment that calls to mind Hannah Arendt’s timelessly incisive perspective on the only effective antidote to evil, found in the fact that “one man will always be left alive to tell the story,” West considers the essential quality of spirit which the Montenegrin woman modeled:

If during the next million generations there is but one human being born in every generation who will not cease to inquire into the nature of his fate, even while it strips and bludgeons him, some day we shall read the riddle of our universe. We shall discover what work we have been called to do, and why we cannot do it. If a mine fails to profit by its riches and a church wastes the treasure of its altar, we shall know the cause: we shall find out why we draw the knife across the throat of the black lamb or take its place on the offensive rock, and why we let the grey falcon nest in our bosom, though it buries its beak in our veins. We shall put our own madness in irons.

Fantasmele care-l otravesc pe invidios

Mai departe, tot de la Lytta Basset citire, „La joie imprenable”.

O fantasma pe care o hrănim ne poate ucide: ceilalţi au ce nu am eu, şi faptul că sunt lipsit de ce au alţii mă exclude din fluxul vieţii. Şi atunci mi se pare inacceptabil şi insuportabil faptul că existenţa ori in-existenţa mea contează atât de puţin, şi exagerez cât pot sentimentul că sunt de prisos: frustrarea este aşa de mare, într-atâta mă simt privat de propria mea existenţă, încât nici nu mai cred că am parte şi eu de viaţă. Existenţa o văd ca pe ceva închis între graniţe înguste, prea strâmtă ca să fie împărtăşită. Şi ce se petrece, este că ea revine, iar şi iar, altora.

Cuprins de invidie si gelozie, nu mai sunt capabil să înţeleg că Viaţa întru Spirit este mai mult decât îmbelşugată. Sentimentul că alţii posedă ceea ce mie îmi este refuzat include, pe de altă parte, bănuiala că viaţa este totuşi suficient de generoasă – măcar cu alţii. Privesc cum alţii trăiesc ca şi cum ei ar fi luat singurul tren spre bucurie, iar eu am rămas singur pe peronul gării.

Şi atunci, eu de ce nu….?

Ce se petrece atunci când frustrarea nu este nici recunoscută nici asumată? Omul încearcă să umple, cu orice preţ, golul produs. Toxicomaniile şi dependenţele de tot soiul au ca scop – inconştient ! – umplerea unui gol, acel sentiment de ne-fiinţă ce pare de neîndurat. Iar faptul că el este atât de vertiginos ne arată cât este de puternică aspiraţia omenească la o viaţă trăită pe deplin – aspiraţie prezentă în fiecare suflet de om. Cel care se droghează nu o face pentru că nu mai aşteaptă nimic de la viaţă, ci dimpotrivă, ca să-şi manifeste infinitul  aspiraţiei la un prea-plin pe care el nu-l vede nicidecum posibil printr-o acceptare a sentimentului de frustrare.

În momentul în care acceptăm să străbatem, cinstit şi lucid, sentimentul vidului, intrăm în contact cu tot ce este mai autentic în noi, cu dorinţa de a trăi, împreună cu ceilalţi oameni, sărbătoarea unei bucurii venite „de dincolo de spaţiu, de dincolo de timp”. Izvorul acestei năzuinţe se află în noi.

Ca să ajungem să ne adăpăm din el, e nevoie să renunţăm la ceva: şi anume, la aşteptarea ca cineva, sau ceva din exterior să ne umple golul. De multe ori, ne facem iluzii, socotind că evenimentele, lucrurile, fiinţele sunt cela care ne aduc bucurie şi ne fac să existăm – de unde expresia „a face fericit”. Nimeni însă nu „face” fericirea altei persoane care nu e în contact cu propria-i aspiraţie către bucurie: nimic nu ne poate face să fim fericiţi din exterior. Ce poate face pentru noi o fiinţă cu care comunicăm în profunzime, ne asigură oamenii Duhului, este să ne revele existenţa în noi a izvorului lăuntric al bucuriei…

Păcatul poate fi definit ca o încercare a omului de a-şi face dreptate singur, umplând cum îi vine golul său existenţial. Nesocotind potenţialul de viaţă pe care-l cuprinde orice experienţă negativă, omul riscă să se rupă definitiv de Dumnezeu. „Ceea ce face ca omul să fie în stare de păcat, este golul. Toate păcatele sunt încercări de a umple nişte goluri.” (Simone Weil)

Episodul cu Marta şi Maria, pe care-l relatează evanghelistul Luca (10, 38-42), ne arată că Iisus a luat în serios sentimentul frustrării, iar răspunsul pe care l-a dat Martei ne arată şi calea de urmat:

„Marto, Marto, te îngrijorezi şi eşti tulburată de o mulţime de lucruri, însă un singur lucru trebuie: Maria a ales partea cea bună, cea care nu-i va fi luată”.

Ce-i spune Martei Mântuitorul, este să revină la acea comoară aflată în ea pe care nimeni nu i-o poate lua  sau distruge: aspiraţia unei fiinţe „depline” la existenţă. Comoara aceasta nu este de ordinul posesiei, de aceea nu ne-o poate lua nimeni. Indiferent cât de tare suntem frustraţi, există ceva „care nu ni se va lua”, şi anume participarea la Viaţa care „era, este şi vine”, şi care nu poate fi distrusă. Iisus nu ne cheamă aici la bucurie, pentru că nimeni în afara noastră nu ne poate determina să optăm pentru viaţă. Ne dă, prin Maria, cea care nu făcea altceva decât să şadă la picioarele Mântuitorului, şi să-l asculte, o pildă care poate fi o referinţă. De ce nu am face ca ea, care a ales „partea cea bună, pentru că un singur lucru trebuie”?

Când spui da vieţii, recunoscând că o doreşti, şi că nu legi acest „da” de anumite condiţii, ţi se deschide calea către ea. O altă cugetare a Simonei Weil  încheie capitolul din cartea Lyttei Basset din care m-am inspirat:

„Dacă ai coborât în adâncul propriului suflet, afli că stăpâneşti de pe acum ceea ce îţi doreşti.”

Marta si Maria, tablou de Diego VelasquezRésultat de recherche d'images pour "marthe et marie"