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I
move through my day-to-day life with a sense of
appreciation and gratitude that comes from knowing how
fortunate I truly am and how unearned all that I am
thankful for really is. To have this perspective in
my everyday consciousness is in itself a gift, for it
leads to feeling "graced," or blessed, each
time. For example, my workday commute takes me
through a tunnel toward the Golden Gate Bridge.
Sometimes I emerge to see a panoramic view of bay and
bridges and city, or perhaps I see only the tops of the
bridge towers emerging through the thick fog. I am
struck by how beautiful each sight is. Every time I
see beauty around me I appreciate what I am seeing, and
simultaneously I have this sense of appreciation--for
being alive to have this particular moment.
My
children evoke a much deeper sense of gratitude.
Feelings mixed with simultaneous appreciation well up in
me toward them. There is a sensation in the middle
of my chest, and the words that I stopped saying out loud,
"You warm the cockles of my heart," come to
mind. I have never taken my children for granted or
have been unaware that things could have been
different. That they were preceded by three
miscarriages is only part of it. The miracle of new
life that I felt when they were born left an indelible
mark on my psyche. I remember being awed, recalling
the perfection of a little hand with nails perfectly
formed in miniature and the stillpoint numinous
experiences of nursing or holding them during the middle
of the night.
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In
my work, when I am able to make a difference to someone,
catch a glimpse of a person's soul, or hear a dream and
sense how profound the human psyche is, I feel privileged
to be in this moment. And when I narrowly escape
being in an accident or have some sense of a close call, I
literally and physically appreciate being alive and
unharmed in this moment. When I feel this
gratitude-for-being, it is like singing a thank-you and
hearing a response in which divinity is present.
When
San Francisco suffered an earthquake in which most were
spared and the potential for devastation averted, it
seemed as if our entire community responded from the heart
with thankfulness and helpfulness. People commented
on how wonderful this was, how what really matters became
clear, and why did we have to have a disaster for us to
realize this? For a time, what we had, compared to
what could have been taken away, was in our consciousness,
and we felt gratitude.
As
I was growing up, I became very much aware that bad things
happen to people; medical school, internship, and
residency further brought this home to me, case by
case. My work as a psychiatrist has added to this
awareness. I do not know that there is an answer to
the question, "why them and not me?" As a
consequence, however, of witnessing the suffering and
abuse that has happened to others, when bed things happen
to me I do know that this, too, is part of my life:
my turn to experience pain and loss, which is partly
redeemed by my conviction that no experience goes to
waste. As a therapist and teacher, through my
writing or analytic work, whatever happens to me will help
me someday to better understand and help someone.
Over
the years I have come to believe that life is full of
unchosen circumstances, that being human has to do with
the evolution of our individual consciousness and with it,
responsibilities for choice. Pain and joy both come
with life. I believe that how we respond to what
happens to us and around us shapes who we become and has
to do with the psyche or the soul's growth. Now that
I am in my fifth decade, I can look back and say that the
hardest and darkest times in my life led me deeper and
farther along my spiritual path. At the same time I
am not at all sure that, at least in this life, such is
the case for everyone, especially the very young who are
abused or who arrive in this world innately handicapped.
It
has not been the difficult times, however, that most
shaped my spiritual life, but the times that were
"sacramental"--situations that were imbued with
grace, sacred moments in which I felt the presence of God
or Goddess or felt connected to the universe or Tao.
Or those times I was in nature or at a sacred site, and
felt myself enter a sacred place, or have a sacred
meeting, a soul-to-soul communion with another
person. These are the experiences that have really
mattered, the ones that changed me--the spiritual
experiences that led me to what I am doing with my
life. I directly felt the presence of divinity, and
knew it. Each experience was subjectively and
intensely real, more so than ordinary reality.
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