Everyone in the healing professions understands this
strange paradox – that they don’t heal their patients. No matter how clever,
committed, or well-trained, doctors, nurses, and therapists cannot impose
healing from the outside. At their best, they simply co-create the conditions
within which our mind-body system can best restore itself to wholeness. We are
largely self-regulating systems, in a million ways continually seeking to reset
and restore the optimal conditions of our natural design. The only thing
healers can do is remove the impediments to this innate process.
When
you cut your finger oozing blood flushes out foreign bodies. As it contacts the
air blood begins to coagulate, forming a scab and sealing the wound. White
blood cells rush to the area to fight infection. Around the wound blood vessels
swell bringing an abundance of oxygen which accelerates healing. Red blood
cells help form collagen, a tough connective substance your body uses to build
new tissue. As the wound heals beneath the surface, the skin begins to close
over the opening. Eventually, it’s as if the cut never happened – we are wholly
restored.
And not one single aspect of this
complex process is accomplished intentionally.
You do not have to will yourself to
heal – it happens without your knowledge or consent. The body restores itself
to wholeness. In this sense, we are all physicians.
This same principle is at work in our
efforts to heal one another’s broken hearts. When we get the horrible phone
call – one of our friends has suffered a sudden and shocking loss – we rush to
their side. On the drive over we struggle to find the right words. But how can
words buoy us over the depths of our grief? They cannot. Instead, we wander together
through the labyrinth of despair and somehow keep breathing. By our presence
alone, and through the space we hold together, healing begins to arise.
In Judaism this core principle is
formalized in the ritual known as “sitting shiva.”
For observant Jews, this shiva (seven)
day mourning period ritualizes and facilitates the natural healing that slowly
arises after the death of a loved one. For seven days the bereaved stay home
and sit in low chairs as close to the ground as possible, signifying the wisdom
of coming out of lofty abstraction and settling down into the stability of
immediacy. A torn black ribbon is worn, symbolizing the impermanence of forms.
All of the mirrors in the home are covered, to shift us away from
self-centeredness and toward universal, sacred consciousness. You allow the
quiet to envelope you. You let people come and take care of you. Simply being
together in the stillness, in a period of focused presence and contemplation,
you leave space – space through which the soul’s own healing power can rise up
the way ground water seeps into a meadow. Soon, the flowers of our lives will
once again bloom.
A century ago missionaries in Africa
were on a three-day trek with a group of local tribesmen. On the second day the
tribesmen stopped in the early afternoon and began setting up camp.
“Why are we stopping?” asked the
missionaries. “It’s still early and everyone appears well.”
“Yes,” replied the tribesman, “but we
covered so much ground yesterday, we must rest to allow our souls to catch up
with our bodies.”
In our increasingly fast-paced and fragmented
lives, it’s more important than ever to create rituals in our lives that, in
the words of the tribesmen, allow our souls to catch up with our bodies.
Practicing conscious stillness whether in formal meditation or in more
spontaneous acts allows our natural restorative processes to convey their many
blessings. Maybe healing, health, wealth, and wellness are not achieved as much as they are allowed.
It is not our cleverness or ambition
that draws infinite richness into our lives – it is our willingness to leave
gaps in our busyness through which it may enter. In this way, we heal
ourselves.
[This piece originally appeared in my A to Zen column in the January/February 2018 issue of Unity Magazine, and is reproduced here with permission.]
[This piece originally appeared in my A to Zen column in the January/February 2018 issue of Unity Magazine, and is reproduced here with permission.]
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