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'Quiet Settles Upon The Land'
One of the first times I felt betrayed was with the first girl I dated seriously. I was a year out of high school, age nineteen; it was 1979. Bonnie was in her final weeks of high school. She initiated the relationship after I gave an inspirational talk to her school. Bonnie had seen me when I was the guest speaker at a week of revival meetings in her hometown. After that, she had spearheaded the invitation to give the talk at her school. Later, she told me how she had told her mother the night of the revival meeting, "I'm going to date that boy someday."
The next to the last date we shared was to a beach on the Georgia coast. We had a lot of fun. The relationship seemed destined to last. During the week, I called Bonnie. Her saying she wanted to date other boys shocked me. She would keep dating me, but only if she could date other boys, too.
Days later, I met her for lunch. I thought it might be possible to date her, hoping someday we would be exclusive again. Nothing was the same that day - the innocence and connection were no more. And I could not get beyond a sense of betrayal; the trust was lost.
Within a year, I decided to quit my job and attend a nearby college to begin religious studies. On sign-up day, who was there to sign-up, standing in line ahead of me? Bonnie. It was disappointing to see we would be at the same college. In such a small school, I would not be able to avoid seeing her. I still hurt much over the breakup, and I did not want to see her. I drove back and forth from home to school and back daily. I would pray much. I prayed about this heartache. I wanted it to go away, but my prayers appeared futile.
Then, a breakthrough occurred. One morning, I arrived at school, parked my car, and noticed that all the ache was gone for the first time. I was so thankful to my God. She and I continued to attend the school for over another year. When I saw Bonnie, it no longer brought the ache. I had been graced with the ending of the heartache and a fresh beginning.
* * *
After leaving that college, I occasionally dreamed about Bonnie, even when in other relationships. Then, the dreams stop recurring about twenty years ago.
I returned to serve as a pastor in a small town adjoined to her hometown. This was twenty years after we had last met. A church member took me out to a restaurant, and Bonnie was sitting at a table nearby. We spoke briefly, glad to see each other. I never saw her again. Though, shortly afterward, a member who knew her discovered I had dated her. The member told me it was for the best our relationship had not worked out. I did not inquire, no need to - the past was the past.
* * *
The sudden loss of the heartache, recognized first when I drove into the parking lot at school that day in 1980, left me holding a pearl of wisdom. Sometimes, we have to live with some hurt within that we did not want - the pain of betrayal, confusion, doubt, feeling of shame, hurt of feeling unloved ... We live with it until it drops. Why it is no more when it is gone, we may not know. My sense is inner suffering drops when we are ripe for it to drop. We have to be ripened, like when it is time for an apple to fall off the tree.
* * *
I recall all this not to say Bonnie caused the heartache, though I might have thought it then, or she was wrong in choosing to go in a different direction. I do not think she betrayed me, but her choice felt like that to me. Also, I had been lonely, and her affection and company brought happiness into my life. For us to go our different ways meant a return to the loneliness. And at such an age, I did not have the insight I do now looking back. I could not see Bonnie represented, furthermore, the fulfillment of a deep longing for Love. I did not know how to work with the suffering, whether in a psychological or spiritual way, only to try to get it gone. All I knew to do was repress it and pray that it would vanish.
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I think many persons go into a spiritual path as a drug. They assume it will be an instant healer for all that ails them emotionally. - This is like my trying to pray to convince the Divine to stop the heartache after Bonnie and I broke up. - Instant healer, a path is not. Instead, we will suffer more, for the path will make us face the suffering rather than give us a spiritual high to sublimate it. Yet, if we befriend the suffering and work with it in compassion, based on the wisdom of our chosen path, it may leave - certainly, it will at least lessen. In its full disappearance, it might be like a slow melting away or, as in my case, a sudden drop.
I have said it might leave - Why might? When this suffering does not entirely dissipate, there are two possible reasons. First, we have an organic-psychological cause for emotional suffering. Often this for persons on a spiritual path will necessitate medication. No one should feel ashamed to take spirituality seriously and need assistance with a psychological syndrome. A second reason suffering does not leave altogether is lack of readiness - or "ripe" above - for it to go. One lesson we learn in meditation, for example, is how we come to identify with and, so, cling to our emotional misery. This leads us to sabotage our wellness. This occurs, likewise, in many cases of physical illness. This resistance might be a means to protect ourselves, also, from too sudden a change. Yet, it is mostly an unhealthy identity with ourselves as a suffering person and often accompanied by a belief we do not deserve to feel whole.
Meditation can provide the space to explore suffering and how we cling to it. In meditation, becoming intimate with the suffering can prove beneficial, dissolving the split between ourselves and the suffering. Likewise, we can practice the wisdom that suffering is not us. We can observe suffering, without claiming it as a personal belonging. Outside of meditation, one can prayerfully explore why she is attached and, hence, attracted to her suffering.
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One thing to differentiate in exploring the suffering is the following two kinds - the suffering we name, the suffering we cannot name. Most persons relate to nameable suffering - jealousy, confusion, doubt, anxiety, depression, anger...
There is a second genre of suffering. This is a subtle, pervasive dissatisfaction, discontent, and longing - what some would call existential angst. This unnameable suffering is more like a ghost haunting day and night. No matter what one has, gets, or loses, the ghost does not go away. Even spiritual escapes do not work. Once in a while, we notice it. We can grow accustomed to this shade, the way we can to the background hum of an appliance in our home, by repeated sublimation or habitual avoidance. Modern life is designed to satisfy the citizens' urge to escape the ghost of angst. Yet, in this ignoring, one cannot hide, and she misses the wisdom the specter is present to give. Mystics know when the mask falls from "Satan's" face, one sees an angel was appearing in disguise.
Hence, we need to be honest. Do I really want this inner healing I claim I want? Do I want freedom from this misery enough to feel the risk of letting it go? Am I willing to welcome feeling good? Am I ready to learn what it means to live in joy and peace? Am I tired of investing all the energy it takes to live around the angst rather than face it? Do I see the futility of looking to others to provide what only comes from within myself? Am I through with blaming others - past or present - for my misery?
A scripture addresses this readiness, found in the Gospel of John 5.1ff. Jesus meets a man lying among others around a pool in Jerusalem. The man has been sick for thirty-eight years. He has paralysis and cannot walk. Jesus says, "Do you want to be well (lit., whole)?" The man does. The man undergoes healing; he gets up on his legs, gathers up his mat, and begins walking a well man. We can, too.
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*(C) Brian K. Wilcox, 2020
*Brian's book, An Ache for Union: Poems on Oneness with God through Love, can be ordered through major online booksellers or the publisher AuthorHouse. The book is a collection of poems based on mystical traditions, especially Christian and Sufi, with extensive notes on the teachings and imagery in the poetry.
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