At Glasgow Airport on my way home to Tiree, I stepped away from the outsize luggage conveyor belt into the corridor behind a little lad riding on a wheelie suitcase in the shape of a tiger. I was in no particular hurry - I’d arrived early and check-in had been speedy so I had plenty of time to loiter towards security. The child’s mother had just deposited her belongings in the same place and was ushering her son through the terminal. Before I could reassure her of my leisure, she leant down to tow the child out of my way. In her haste, she flipped him off the back of the case. The sickening crack as his head hit the floor ushered in a surge of heart wrenching wails. It happened so quickly that I gave a cry of shock as the mother whisked her child into the air. The boy’s head was thankfully intact and he was now safe against his mother’s breast. There was nothing more I could do than acknowledge my sympathy for what had happened and walk on. The boy’s anguish resounded through the check in hall. It followed me up the escalators and into security. I felt complicit in the harm that had come to him. I hadn’t done anything consciously pernicious, or even unconsciously as far as I could make out. I hadn’t even emitted an air of impatience but I couldn’t help ruminating on the fact that had I not been there, he wouldn’t have been hurt. I thought about his mother too, clasping her inconsolable son. What a terrible start to a trip! Family holidays are never actually vacations for mothers and I’d added to her burden before she’d even left the country. The child’s continued cries brought tears to my eyes.
On the plane I reflected on the impact our presence has on others. Usually I’m thinking on this subject with kindness in mind. The ripple effect of an encouraging word, a friendly smile, a gentle hug. Today I pondered how our neutral presence causes ripples across time and space.
If you’ve read anything I’ve written recently, you’ll know that suicidal thoughts accompanied me in the valley of grief after the trashing of my dreams. As I pondered the dilemma of unintentional harm, I revisited my desire not to exist. Not being present might seem to be the opposite of being present thereby nullifying our capacity to injure, but vacating the space we take up in the manifest world does not release us from the burden of causing harm. Even if, in a worse case scenario, no-one else missed me, my daughters’ anguish would still resound way beyond the check in hall. Past security, or whatever serves as the point of no return between life and death, I would certainly hear their cries and without physical form, be unable to clasp them to my breast.
The dilemma of unintended harm is one of being or having been. We can’t escape it even if we escape embodied life form.
Years ago, I wrote an article about cross-cultural parenting. It was an article that was doomed from the outset. My cross-cultural co-parent used it in court to demonstrate how much involvement he’d had in raising our child. What I said under oath about what happened behind the scenes of our multi-ethnic family didn’t trump the compelling image of him holding our beautiful daughter aloft in the heyday of our relationship.
Before this particularly calamitous outcome, I received an email, forwarded by the magazine from a reader thanking me for helping her make the decision to have her son circumcised. My heart stopped cold when I read this. I can say with every fibre of my being, I had not intended to encourage with my writing, the mutilation of babies.
I stopped writing for a long time after this unable to reconcile the inadvertent impact a pithy bit of verbiage might have once it’s released into the world. There’s a grown man making his way through life without a foreskin because his mother was swayed in part by what I had to say about cross-cultural decision making. I was also distracted by years of idiocy in the family courts where solicitors, barristers and judges receive vast salaries to weaponise words against the hapless victims of domestic disaster.
My words, even though written with the intention of promoting peace, can also be put to harm. Life or life-taken, author or writer’s block, I have an impact on the people around me that I cannot control. So do you. How do handle that responsibility?
As the Twin Otter took off down the runway, I reached into my metaphorical shaman’s pouch. First out was the practice of Hoponopono.
I’m sorry,
Please forgive me,
I love you,
Thank you.
🤍To the child, I’m sorry you were hurt, please forgive my contribution to causing your injury, I love you, thank you for giving me this opportunity to reflect on how I can make as many positive ripples and minimise the negative ones.
🤍To the mother, I’m sorry my presence contributed to your son’s injury, please forgive me for triggering you to act hastily, I love you, thank you for reminding me of the wonderful work mothers do, and helping me value the mothering I have done too.
🤍To my daughters, I’m sorry for the times I put other people’s needs over yours, please forgive me when you got hurt by mistake, I love you, thank you for giving me the experience of having to put another’s needs first.
🤍To myself, I’m sorry you were upset by the child’s fall, please forgive me for putting you in that position, I love you, thank you for being willing to inquire into the workings of the heart.
Expressing love, even within the sanctuary of our own mind doesn’t always feel acceptable. If this is so, I love you could be rephrased, the divine in me loves the divine in you, or simply God loves you or the Universe loves you. Find a wording that resonates within you because the power of this practice comes from your authenticity.
Second out of the Shaman’s pouch is the Grief Recovery Method. Similar in essence to Hoponopono, it too demands of us emotional honesty and invites us to look at what needs to be forgiven, what needs to be apologised for and what of significance remains in any relationship, even one as brief as those I’ve described here.
🤍To the child. I’m sorry you got hurt.
🤍To the mother. I’m sorry your son was hurt. I forgive you for acting hastily. I appreciate how kindly and fervently you comforted your son. I’m grateful for being reminded of what good mothering looks like.
🤍To the circumcised young man. I’m sorry for my part in your mother’s decision to circumcise you.
🤍To his mother. I forgive you for using my inspiration to do something that I consider harm. I am grateful that you shared your experience so that I can reflect on how I present myself to the world.
Each would be written in the format of a letter and concluded with:
I must go now.
I love you.
Goodbye,
Rachel
This brings closure to the communication and the pain of the losses described. The letter is read to a sympathetic friend who provides a living witness to this communiqué of the heart. Now the missive has served its purpose, it can be destroyed.
As human beings in a complex world, we necessarily impact each other in ways we might feel sad, horrified or guilty about. These impacts can range from the relatively trivial like making someone miss the bus and arrive at work ten minutes late or the absolutely catastrophic like making someone miss the bus so they jump in a taxi that’s involved in a fatal collision. We can not possibly predict all potential outcomes of our interactions but we can shift the pain of regret and sorrow with tools of the heart that spread love, forgiveness and gratitude.
If you would like to discover how the Grief Recovery Method can help you transform your own experiences of regret, book a free session with me using the link below:
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