I recently sent a card of support to a friend who is accompanying a relative as she’s dying. In it I wrote a sentiment that I have frequently asserted should NEVER be communicated to the grieving.
It read:
In almost every case, this message would add insult to the suffering already being endured, so I want to explore why, in this instance sharing this quote from A Course in Miracles was comforting.
There are three key features of this communication:
Firstly, I understand my friend’s spiritual beliefs intimately.
I am not just aware that he’s a student of A Course in Miracles, but I know him to be single minded and committed to embodying the truth of this mystical teaching in his life. I’ve heard him talk about how he came to these teachings in a state of profound grief many years ago and they were the map out of his despair and continue to be his navigation tool.
I wouldn’t send a message as stark as this to everyone I know to be a student of this spiritual practice. The teaching itself indicates that we come gradually and with resistance to an understanding of its truth which means that it’s only appropriate to share with someone who has already experienced the truth of it. For someone who’s just curious about A Course in Miracles, this statement at a time of extremity might be an affront.
Secondly, I share his beliefs.
I too am committed to unearthing the dimension where pain is impossible in my own life. This means that I have a deep understanding of what is being asked of us in this lesson. It’s not an instruction to my friend to stop suffering because pain does not exist, it’s an invitation and encouragement to find out in what ways loss is not loss all the while loss is pressing in on him, from a shared perspective that out of loss arises the possibility of understanding the intangible something that is beyond.
I wouldn’t assert the theological beliefs about suffering to a Muslim friend, by contrast, because, although I could look up what Islam teaches about grief, I don’t have an inner understanding of the principles and it’s not been a shared feature of our friendship.
Thirdly, I treat this message as if it’s intended for me.
This is, in part, consequential to the fact that A Course in Miracles is a non-dual teaching, ie. we are all One and there is no Other. But, it’s also a conscious decision. This week I’ve been grappling with fear as I navigate the loss of my financial security after leaving my marriage and struggling to earn enough to provide for everything my children need while continuing to take care of them attentively and meet my own needs for respite. The combined effect of needing to replace a broken computer and broken car in the same month has made me feel very wobbly. So, to lesson 284 from A Course in Miracles, where this quote comes from, I go.
“And suffering of any kind is nothing but a dream.”
I let those words create a little bit of distance between the fear and me. There’s resistance and incomprehension and a glimmer of serenity.
It’s here that I meet my friend as he too reaches for that glimmer of serenity in the midst of turmoil and pain.
Even the most considered and thoughtful words at a time of grief can be received badly so listening and continuing to be emotionally available to our grieving friends is an essential aspect of our communication. My friend let me know that the words I'd chosen from A Course in Miracles had landed well with him. They brought him 'recognition and peace' he said and his response brings me peace too, that the comfort I intended has been received.
Had he said something like, 'this teaching isn't sitting with me right now' or 'my relative's dying is making me question the teachings in A Course in Miracles', it would be appropriate for me to acknowledge that this too is a loss.
This was my experience when the house that I had believed fulfilled my purpose in life, was taken from me in a storm of solicitor's letters. It was the culmination of a long series of losses and was my breaking point. The last straw in this whole sorry scenario was that it stripped me of my faith too. I just couldn't find meaning or comfort in spiritual teachings that had once given me succour. My friends recognised this and kept silent, offering me support in different ways, letting me know that they were there for me without pressing me to participate in spiritual gatherings or sermonising. The existential crisis proved to be the most cutting of all the losses that had preceded it because it left me feeling that my life was utterly meaningless. As I've begun to discover what has survived the storm and redefine my spiritual orientation in the world, I look back with particular gratitude to those who were able to walk through the valley of the shadow of death with me and not say a word.
We serve our friends well when we can offer words of comfort that take us into the heart of our own healing too. Every friendship is unique and calls from us utterance or silence that transmits love into the particularity of each experience of loss.
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