October 2022 Soul Notes
Photograph by Aleksandr Barsukov made freely available on Unsplash
Trough
There is a trough in waves,
A low spot
Where horizon disappears
And only sky
And water
Are our company.
And there we lose our way
Unless
We rest, knowing the wave will bring us
To its crest again.
There we may drown
If we let fear
Hold us within its grip and shake us
Side to side,
And leave us flailing, torn, disorientated.
But if we rest there
In the trough,
Are silent,
Being with
The low part of the wave,
Keeping
Our energy and
Noticing the shape of things,
The flow,
Then time alone
Will bring us to another
Place
Where we can see
Horizon, see the land gain,
Regain our sense
Of where
We are,
And where we need to swim.
- Judy Brown -
Whilst the poem imagines water, I dream of train journeys. Old steam trains. Clouds of smoke obscuring the scene and the characters. Bullet trains. Missed trains. Misplaced suitcases. Botched meetings on trains. My sleeping hours wrapped in the clatter of wheels on tracks and whistles. My waking hours a tangle of sheets as I lurch for a pen to capture some fragments for deeper understanding. My Book of Symbols tells me that: “ The train has always seemed part animal, a huffing bull, a hissing snake, a great fire-breathing dragon, materializing with a prolonged, annuciatory wail. On-track, locomotive energy, it connects the points over sometimes vast distances toward a specific destination. …..The separate but linked cars that one can walk about, dine or sleep in while progressing through new vistas and constant change has suggested the movement of life that simultaneously engages the now and the timeless…….for many, the train most of all conveys a vehicle of mystery and magic, which, if we are receptive, might carry us anywhere.” The frequency of these dreams recently are not a mystery. Reflecting both the “movement of life” in my personal transition, and the enormous upheavals of our modern world, they intrigue me in their details and bring me to this reflection on what it means to traverse from one place to another. William Bridges’ seminal book on Managing Transitions opens with the lines….“Transition starts with an ending……”. He writes: “the starting point for transition is not the outcome, but the ending that you will have to make to leave the old situation behind.” Where change is what happens on the outside, transition is the internal process – the psychological journey that people go on in order to come to terms with the new situation. In my case, the big change has been my daughter leaving home in the last few weeks. The transition is something way more complex – it is a letting go of the many children my daughter has been to me over the years – my baby, toddler, pre-teen, teen; a letting go of our intimate daily rituals; a letting go of her soft funny company that lifted me home at the end of each day; a letting go of knowing where and how she is most of the time and responsibility for her safety. It sometimes feels like letting go of my heart itself. How are we supposed to do that? Where nothing prepared me for birth, there is even less that has prepared me for the giving up of my child to the world. The dream train carries me away to an unknown border and when I get there, I don’t have my passport. I have the passport of my sister and of several other people. My identity is blurred. I can’t prove who I am. I’m disorientated as I search through the mountain of baggage for documents that name me. They’re nowhere to be found. Letting go of this identity I have known. Grieving all that came with it. Not knowing what comes next. This encapsulates what can happen to us in times of transition, especially when we encounter change that we did not choose and find ourselves on an unexpected journey. Friend, colleague and teacher, Paul Spain, shares his experience of this: “When I have initiated change, I have found inspiration and solid ground in the visions I have created and held. They have helped me navigate the transitions, let go of the past and gently embrace the future in the here and now. However, there have been other transitions in my life that have come unexpected, unannounced and unwelcome. Times when I have felt devastated, lost, confused, and frightened. In these transitions I have learnt to weep, to shake, to be vulnerable, to ask for help. I have taken the risk of going nowhere. Just sitting with myself, shedding skin and being vulnerable. These transitions have been slow and difficult. And transformative." When we go through transition, there is often grief, loss, disorientation, confusion and alienation. So much that we are little practised in dealing with personally, and in supporting others with. It’s tempting for me to turn inwards to process this alone, and feel separated as I do. But as I was contemplating Soul Notes this month, I realised that my sitting alone, whilst important in its own way, didn’t need to mean solitary confinement. So many of you have experienced your own transitions and are, in fact going through some major changes right now, and I wanted to invite your wisdom, so that I and we might sit together in this all too familiar human experience. Humanist celebrant and wise woman, Kathryn Edwards, has this to say about how to be with others at these times: “As for ‘company’: this is important. In delicate, transitional times I appreciate the input of non-judgemental friends who – unburdened by any responsibility for or direct involvement in my outcomes – grant me the space to be my emergent self, and comment accordingly. These people are precious and very few.” I share that wish. Oh for those who will help us to create the conditions for us to be our “emergent self”, in Kathryn’s words, without needing us to respond in any particular, socially accepted way. And as we “let go”, we perhaps also need to know what to hold onto. Psychologist, Donald Winnicott’s work on “transitional phenomena” explores a key moment in human development - the intrapsychic and interpsychic dynamics as a child moves from being merged with her mother, to being an independent subject. As you may know, and may have done so yourself, many young children carry a blanket or teddy or some other object around with them. These well-loved objects that they cling to, act as an extension of the child’s caregiver and remind them of their love, warmth and care. By carrying them around, the child learns to internalise the love and to soothe herself, marking the first stage of becoming independent. As adults, we too may need transitional objects to provide psychological comfort at times of loss. I find that I’m drinking tea out of my daughter’s cup each day. It was one of our beloved shared rituals and helps me feel close to her. The memories of our conversations and her warm presence imprinted there…and here. Another friend and colleague, writes touchingly, of what is helping him as he comes to terms with the very recent death of his dad: “Dad's funeral is next Monday. Something that seems to have helped me has been writing (multiple drafts of) Dad's eulogy and choosing poems and music for him. Recreating him in words chosen with thought, care and economy, to share with others. Another less predictable thing has helped me throughout the three distressing months leading up to Dad's passing and afterwards. I resolved that, whatever was happening, I would try to play in all my golf team's matches. Lots of benefits in that, including continuity, pleasant and undemanding company, exercise and fresh air. And maintaining a connection with him, as he loved golf. However he was feeling in the care home, he was always interested in my report on the latest match. And I have found the dog extremely therapeutic! And of course just being with family.” Whatever the transition, the question seems to be how to stay close to ourselves, to know what it is that will truly guide us through these calamitous times? Bybreen Samuels, a tour de force who helps Baby Boomers reinvent themselves - psychologically, practically and technically - so they can thrive in their 3rd Act of Life, shares how she looks to her body to answer this question: “A key question I ask myself when faced with change. challenge, growth or transition is: Does the idea of saying yes to this person, opportunity, situation or scenario, make me feel expansive or restricted? I pay attention to the way my body responds and therein lies my answer. By turning inwards and being brutally honest with myself always leads me to the truth of where I stand in a situation. After this, I practice K.I.M. meaning, I keep it moving in the direction of what is best for my growth, joy and peace. One of my favourite positive and uplifting songs is, Optimistic by The Sounds of Blackness. I find the following lyrics to be rejuvenating: I know of storms and strife I been around them all of life Just think ahead and you'll be inspired To reach higher and higher.” Kathryn Edwards speaks to something similar when she describes how she tuned into what she really wanted and needed when choosing to take a “gap year”: “Here’s perhaps the first glimmer of what sustains me through change: setting (as Malidoma used to say) my GPS for ‘home’, and aiming for my true path. While my dad muttered about my amputating a year from my pension contributions, I quested for adventure….. I didn’t know that I was questing. But I was also shaking off – trying to shake off – what was for me an excessively intellectual/academic focus. I was unconsciously seeking a more sensual life.” In this way, Kathryn describes transitions themselves as feeling less daunting because they felt “right”, whatever was required. Coach and consultant, Jo Lee echoes this: “I love the word transition! It always brings to mind an adventure for me and fills me with hope. Even if I know a transition is going to be challenging I also know that there will come a point when I feel that it was the right thing to do. Big transitions for me include starting my own business having been in the comfort of a large organisation (twice), transitioning from that business when it wasn’t working with a business partner, personal transitions include adopting my son after having 3 birth children. When I am making decisions to transition my go to place is the sea. There is something about being on the edge of the country with that huge expanse of water and sky that makes me think of possibilities, clears my head and allows me to be creative. I head to the coast armed with a notebook when difficult decisions have to be made and I return home with a plan that I know will be great. “ Notebooks and pens are favoured companions for many I’ve spoken to about transition. And being in nature too. Emma Chandisingh shares: “ In times of change and particularly when I am feeling my resilience is waning I turn to two simple things, my journal and the fresh air. I tend to journal at the end of a day and this helps me to process my thoughts but also to expel some of my insecurities (not all of them!). I turn to fresh air all of the time and even a short walk around the garden before a meeting helps get me in the right headspace.” The simple act of putting pen to paper or wandering round the garden can be enough to help us land and feel back into ourselves so that we can ride the metaphorical wave and allow our personal tale to emerge. Friend and colleague, David Roe, distils his transition wisdom into a few principles: “Look forward, if you can, into a future where the current loss has settled into place as a chapter in your story, even though you can't know how long that will take. While you are doing that, or before, find ways actively and personally to memorialise (ugly word, can't think of a better one) the person, or whatever else you are losing. Which of your talents can you use in service of that? Or it might be a matter of doing things that create living memories. And look to those activities that can continue for you through the change - especially if, however indirectly, they connect you to your loss. Not all of these will always be the most important things in your life, but right now they might be.” I’m so grateful to all of you who have generously shared your transition wisdom, and grateful to all of you who breathe out with Soul Notes each month. Writing this brings me great solace, joy and connection and I am glad to be on the train with you all, wherever we are heading. The last word to poet John O’Donohue with his blessing for transitions: As spring unfolds the dream of the earth, May you bring each other's hearts to birth. As the ocean finds calm in view of land, May you love the gaze of each other's mind. As the wind arises free and wild, May nothing negative control your lives. As kindly as moonlight might search the dark, So gentle may you be when light grows scarce. As surprised as the silence that music opens, May your words for each other be touched with reverence. As warmly as the air draws in the light, May you welcome each other's every gift. As elegant as dream absorbing the night, May sleep find you clear of anger and hurt. As twilight harvests all the day's color, May love bring you home to each other. ~ To Bless the Space Between Us
With much love,
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