Compassion is a profound human emotion prompted by the pain of others. More vigorous than empathy, the feeling commonly gives rise to an active desire to alleviate another's suffering.” (Wikipedia)

           

            When we talk about compassion, I find that many of us focus on the global aspects of compassion.  We think of the suffering that goes on-- of people suffering from war, genocide, starvation, and poverty all over the world.  To offer this compassion to others is truly a gift, and it’s a valuable part of spiritual practice.  I’d like to talk about compassion closer to home in this issue, however:  how I’ve experienced the pain of a person close to me, how I’ve practiced with it, and how it’s been very beneficial to both of us.

 

            During the last several years, my husband has been dealing with a lung condition called bronchiectasis.  Briefly, this condition begins in the bronchial tubes and ultimately creates sacs in the lungs where, over time, infections can occur.  It causes coughing, which is actually necessary to eliminate the phlegm that collects in the lungs; otherwise he is subject to serious infections.  The condition is permanent and incurable.  Although this description sounds ominous, my husband (Jerry) has done his best to deal with it and he takes good care of himself to otherwise maintain good health.

 

            For me, the most difficult aspects of bronchiectasis are watching Jerry try to catch his breath, and endure the sound of the coughing bouts.  It’s also painful to me to know that I can do nothing to relieve his suffering, except to avoid complaining, sending him love, and letting him know that I am determined to cope with this reality as well as I can.  He rarely complains, and if he does, it’s just to let me know at times that he’s tired.

 

            For a long time, his coughing was frightening to me.  It was loud and overwhelming, especially when he would cough for long periods.  Although we would both spend a lot of time in our respective offices (on opposite sides of our home) so that the coughing was only a distant disturbance, he would also have coughing spells when we were together.  At times, I found I wanted to scream, and then I would feel terrible, since I knew he had no choice in the matter.  I kept reminding myself that he needed to cough to remove the phlegm from his lungs.  I finally realized that I had to draw strength from my own spirit to find a way to be with him, and to prevent my resenting him and his condition.

 

            So when he would begin to cough, I would breathe—in, out, in, out.  Every evening I would find that my simply breathing would relieve my tension.  At times, from this calm space I would send him love, hoping that he would sense a comforting energy from me.  I practiced this for several days, and even when he wasn’t coughing, I would send him love.

 

            Then one evening, I had a very moving experience.  Suddenly, as I was breathing, I experienced deep compassion for Jerry filling me—and I could feel that compassionate energy surrounding us.  It was a glorious gift, and I was enormously grateful for that moment.  I now know that compassion and love, even within painful moments, can give us great solace.  I also began to feel compassion for myself, which was nurturing and validating, and that compassion continues to strengthen me for the future.

 

            So when you extend compassion to those suffering far away, think of those close to you, who suffer from everyday difficulties and serious maladies; offer them your compassion and love, too.