The Deepest Spiritual Life Ezine

A Monthly Publication, Issue #1 – September 2002

Publisher: Susan Quinn

http://www.thedeepestspirituallife.com

BEING INTIMATE WITH COMMUNITY

The great commandment, to love God with all your heart and soul, and your neighbor as yourself, seemed more subtle than ever. I began to see the three elements as a kind of trinity, always in motion, and the three loves as interdependent. It would be impossible to love God without loving others; impossible to love others unless one were grounded in a healthy self-respect; and, maybe, impossible to truly love at all in a totally secular way, without participating in the holy. –Kathleen Norris, The Cloister Walk

Religious and spiritual practices provide us the opportunity to be intimate with our lives: a daily spiritual practice allows us to explore our own perceptions of the world and the nature of our relationship with the divine; involvement with religious community provides us with a belief and values system, and allows us to develop relationships with others that have chosen to share our journey. I’d like to focus in this newsletter on how my connection with community has filled my life in a deep and profound way, and has indelibly filled my life with nurturing, grace and solace.

My perception is that when it comes to religious community, people think of involvement as showing up on Sunday (or whenever your day of meeting is). I have certainly benefited greatly in "showing up" when my Zen community meets. I enjoy visiting before and after we meditate, the nights we have discussion groups, and the workshops in which we participate. But involvement in religious community provides more than social connection. It allows us to become visible, to be with and relate to people who share similar beliefs and aspirations, and to develop an intimacy that is incredibly powerful, supportive and moving, particularly when times are tough. I’d like to share a fairly recent story of how my religious community has truly carried me through a life-changing event: the death of my father.

My father had been fighting prostate cancer for ten years. It had been a painful and frustrating battle as he struggled with many other physical problems besides the cancer. In May he had to have surgery indirectly related to his cancer, and due to complications afterward, we realized that the time had arrived to seriously look at his mortality. After a week in the hospital, unsuccessful attempts in a convalescent hospital at having him build back his strength, my mother courageously decided to take him home with hospice and nursing aide care.

Somehow the universe provided me with lots of time to be with my father. My work schedule was light, and I was able to spend nearly every day with him over six weeks. I had a chance to share my feelings about him, with him, and he with me. I never felt so close to my father, and cherished every hour I shared with him. The time arrived, however, when an intensive meditation retreat I had scheduled was approaching. I felt a particular need to attend because, as head trainee of my Zen community, I had promised to attend this particular retreat as part of my training and to make myself available to the community. In addition, my mother encouraged me to attend. I knew that my sensei would accept my decision, if I chose not to go. But I realized that I had made peace with my dad, and that I also had a commitment to my practice. I had even asked the hospice chaplain for his feedback. He offered many different ways to evaluate the situation, but ironically the factor he seemed to think might be the one that would keep me from attending the retreat was the one that helped me decide to go. The chaplain suggested that I probably would not be able to enjoy the retreat, knowing my dad might pass on any day. What he didn’t realize was that a Zen retreat is not a place to relax and hang out. It is a place of intensive, serious practice, with meditation 8-9 hours per day. I realized if I was pre-occupied with my mom and dad during the retreat, they would "sit on the cushion" with me. When we practice, we bring everything with us, and allow all that is with us to simply be, just as it is.

So I decided to go to the Sunday through Sunday retreat. And on Thursday morning, I got the call that my dad had died that morning. It is at this point that the community carried me in a way that I would never have anticipated. My sensei sat with me, as I dealt with the initial waves of grief, encouraging me to experience whatever came up. Every time I turned away, she created space for me to be just where I was—with sadness, confusion, relief that my dad was no longer suffering, anxiety about what would happen next—and eventually, after taking a short walk, we began to collect my things to leave the retreat. Even though it was a silent retreat, somehow the word got out that I was leaving due to my dad’s passing. My dear friends carried my bags, sleeping bag, meditation cushion and all the rest of my gear to my car. Hugs abounded, words of consolation embraced me, and I was deeply moved by the love and sincerity in my moments of grief and sadness. These gestures carried me through the moment of seeing my dad’s body before they took him away, my mother and sister’s grieving, and the huge range of emotions later that night. As I comforted my mother that evening, she asked me if I could go back to the retreat. I think at some level she was choosing to grieve alone, because when I said I could go back, but was concerned about being available to her, she encouraged me to return to the retreat. When I saw her the next day, and she was clearly genuine about encouraging me to go back, I made the decision to return.

I arrived at the Zen Center at mid-afternoon on Friday. My primary concern was not to disrupt others. And yet, when I quietly walked in, I knew I wanted to collect hugs from a couple of very dear friends; otherwise, I decided that I would leave the decision to all my fellow retreat participants to decide if they wanted to express their feelings directly or not. The powerful energy of condolence was very comforting. Some people came to hug me. Others whispered words of solace and sadness. One person made a deep bow before me. Another came up behind me, put her hands on my shoulders, touched her forehead to the back of my head, and then kissed me gently. It was as if all their gestures cleared a path for me to experience both grief and overwhelming gratitude. I was enfolded in a warm mist of comfort and consolation that I had never experienced before. Over the next three days of the retreat, I knew I was in a space where I was free to encounter my grief, however it manifested.

Was this the only place where I was supported in my grieving process? No. In the ensuing days and weeks, my husband, other friends, and even clients provided, and have continued to provide, ongoing support and love. But somehow, my friends in my Zen community touched me in a deep and moving way. While my practice reminds me to embrace all that I encounter—sadness and joy, life and death, it is hard to face those life events that we find unpleasant, frightening or difficult. In some ways, we must face these occurrences alone. And yet community reminds us that we don’t have to face them completely alone—for we are truly on the same path, making the same journey—together.

I’m considering having a short section at the end of each ezine that includes comments from people who have pertinent or helpful information to add to my thoughts, or have different perspectives. If you’d like to contribute, please send your thoughts about this issue, and if you give me permission, I will add them as space allows to the next issue. Please sign your email, too. Thanks!

………………………………………………………………………………………

CALENDAR OF EVENTS

Book signing, B Dalton Bookseller, Laguna Hills Mall, Laguna Hills, CA, (949) 452-1761, October 19, 2002, 1:00 – 3:00 pm

To subscribe to The Deepest Spiritual Life Ezine go to www.thedeepestspirituallife.com , press the Newsletter button and complete the "to subscribe" information.