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Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Ambiguous Loss

The American writer Pauline Boss has done a magnificent job in advancing the notion of ambiguous loss. Think of this very pertinent example here in Canada. The Murdered and Missing Indigenous Women. Imagine you are the parent, brother, sister of one of these missing women. You have a real loss - she is not in your life. But the loss is ambiguous - you may likely think of her as dead but, without proof, you are not sure - she could be alive.

Many of us have ambiguous losses. Another perhaps pertinent example are the people who have been laid off from the petroleum industry who are losing homes, livelihoods, resources. They did nothing wrong. They went to work one day and were told it was over. They know they, any many others have lost employment but also have the hope that somehow, there will be a new opportunity for them.

We need to be honest about the struggle. I love the quote from Viktor Frankl when he says that "An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behaviour." To not feel sadness in these unresolved ambiguous losses is abnormal.

Boss also explains that there is no such thing as closure. It is perfectly typical to continue to feel grief about a loss for years after it occurs. What is not typical is ongoing obsessive grief about a loss. We need permission from within and from others to feel grief.

Some losses may be shared experiences either because culturally groups grieve together or the loss affects many people. Sometimes it is both. I was in south India recently. People still spoke of the tsunami this hit in 2004. I was in the area before and after the tsunami. I have stood on a street in Pondicherry where many lives were lost. Indeed, there is a video of people standing on the street moments before the tsunami arrived. Most of those people are dead. Their loss, along with the loss of livelihoods, homes, infrastructure are all still felt. At the same time, life goes on and the communities have found new ways to manage, although some still suffer deeply.

Think also of the families of the Malaysia airways loss - there is no body for a funeral or other ceremony.

Identity is another form of ambiguous loss. Forced migration as is taking place in Syria causes a loss of identity through place and community. Retirement causes loss of identity through occupational role. Divorce causes loss of family position while also having to sustain connection when children are involved.

In meditation, we can grieve our losses while finding a place for acceptance of them. We find acceptance of the middle position - it could be this or might be that - either however is the loss. Meditation is observing and allowing the truth of your feelings.



I sit on the edge
between the river and the forest
it is the point of divide

It is like grief
on one side is what was
and on the other what could be

What was is still there
what could be is just out there
grasping for one while holding to the other

It is being in two places
while being in neither
the middle of neither win nor lose

They say let go
and to grasp the new
but is it I that holds onto the old

I am like the forest and the river
ever flowing
ever changing

I cling to what I know
I hold to the pathway long walked
it is fear held onto

The fear comes from where I have been
it sneaks in and grabs hold
the same story gets told time and again 

The story haunts
I crash into it in my dreams
I hear its ghost in my days

Who owns our trauma
when the loss is ambiguous
it's like holding onto warm jelly

Is it true
is it false
will I ever know



© Peter Choate, 2016

Monday, August 29, 2016

A lesson in fragility and compassion

I walked into the village. It was a small one in rural India that consisted of maybe a dozen blocks. I suspected there were a few hundred people living here. Although, to be honest, I couldn't really tell where one village ended and another began. There seemed something of a no man's land between villages that belong to, well, I'm not sure. The borders were invisible.

I would suggest to someone that they lived in one village but they would look at me, do the famous Indian head bob, and tell me no, they lived in the other village.

Life in the villages had a rhythm, or so it seemed to me. As I travelled along the tar road between villages, I could count on certain people being in certain places. The transient images were such things as the goat herder moving her charges along. Even the cows had a pattern. I would anticipate meeting them at certain spots depending upon the time of day.

In the village, the lady who sold me gas in a water bottled attended her duties, while the chai merchant across the street waited for my arrival. I no longer placed an order, he just made it. He would bring me the chai along with raw sugar called jaggery.

Elsewhere would be the lady who sold fish, although I never did learn where the fish came from as she seemed to lack any form of transport and we were a few kilometres from the ocean. No matter, as each day she was there with a small collection of fresh fish.

As part of the daily landscape were the dogs, mostly strays. Many suffered meagre existences and were infected with mange, which is a parasitic skin disorder. It is highly treatable but often is not as the dogs really belong to nobody in many cases. During one of my trips to India, a veterinarian was staying at the guest house. He quietly treated a few dogs but there are so many.


The dogs were mostly friendly. There were several that would join me on my morning walks for specific parts of the journey. One would reach the end of his territory and another would take up the pace.

There are very few cats, although I did make friends with one who would share a piece of pizza with me.

To be in India seems to demand that you reflect on big ideas - the meaning of life, the role of spirit, your place in the universe - those kinds of questions. I think it must be a requirement of the visa needed to enter the country.  Or so it seems.

So I was in that mindset when I was forced to look at fragility and compassion. On this day, I was in the chai shop when a dog was run over. There was no hope really as there was no veterinary care to be had. As the dog scampered away the owner of the chai stall got a bucket and washed away the blood. I looked across the street where the dog had gone to see one of the disabled ladies who hung around the street. There, I saw the dog collapsed beside her. She was gently stroking the dying dog. He would die there.

The pace of the village did not change. Only that truly gentle exchange between the lady and the dog but it was a one act play mostly unobserved. It was the women comforting an old friend in the solitude of her own private moment on the side of the road. I wondered who would show her that compassion. Indeed, who can any of us count on? Have you asked?

This story came back to me when I was listening to a podcast where Eli Wiesel was being interviewed. He was speaking of forgiveness. I heard him indicate that forgiveness belongs to the aggrieved. They must decide to offer it. So it is with compassion. Both compassion and forgiveness belong to the giver. They are gifts to be given.

Can we offer compassion to those who have caused us pain? Even if forgiveness is not to be offered can we do compassion? Can we give understanding from within our own pain? To do so is about the love we are able to offer ourselves. We step away from the toxicity of anger soothing the internal voice with compassion for the perpetrator of our harm. 

I look into my pain
You caused it
It was you who thrust the sword
Pierced me
It was you who shattered 
My self, My Ego, My being

I so wanted relatliation
To have you feel the pain
That I had felt
I so wanted revenge 
I pondered it, I planned it, I imagined it

But then I looked into your eyes
And saw your soul
Laid bare in your vulnerability 
So empty, So betrayed, So barren, So desperate 

I could no longer feel the anger
For I saw your hurt
From ravages long ago in a childhood
So hurtful, so absent of love, so lonely

I then saw your fragility
How your violence covered your emptiness
And kept hidden your fear of
Being found, Being known, Being your true self

All that was left was compassion
For you had never known love
How could there be anger when you sat 

Bloodied, forlorn and ignored 

© Peter Choate, 2016

Saturday, August 27, 2016

Circles we live within

Looking at our lives, we can see that we live in a variety of circles or bubbles. Some are closely connected while others are distinct and discreet. Family is a series of typically connected circles - the family we grew up in, the marriage family, the parent and child family. Trauma and abuse can separate those circles although we typically maintain at least an emotional link. Anger or resentment can keep us connected.

There are other circles such as work, friends, colleagues, sports buddies, for example. How genuine are we in these various circles? Or are we like a chameleon - showing one persona after another designed to fit the expectations of those in the circles?

There are two other vital circles - the inner self we show ourselves and the inner self we deny or keep hidden. The latter we fear - in particular we fear other people coming to that inner self. In that fear is a belief that, if others know that inner self, they will not like, approve or wish to be with me.  It is the deep seated fear of rejection.

It is particularly powerful when we have not been validated in that first circle - the family we were born into. How did they see you? What was your value? These are the root experiences that replay themselves in the circles of our lives.

Resiliency can allow us to overcome early invalidating experiences. Too often resiliency is spoken of as something that others create for us. It can be found within by looking through the internal window and seeing strength. Rather than being blinded by our self prejudice see how you have loved, learned, overcome small and large adversities, been loyal, assisted, offered compassion and understanding - in there are the lessons of strength that can be brought to the circles of your life.

Our circles also change as we go through life. Circles that seemed vital in the past now offer little as priorities shift along the way. What circles really matter? It seems it is only those connected with people with whom you have a loving, respectful two way relationship - those who will travel the journey with you into the proverbial sunset.

The ones that stay are love and spirit - they are fewer but much more valuable. They are expansive.



I should live in widening circles
But I live in shrinking ones

In youth, my circles would grow
New people, new places, new adventures

In adulthood, my circles widened
With each job, each promotion, each move

In my career, my circles expanded
New vistas, new horizons, new landscapes

As I aged, my circles expanded no more
Less position, less value, less importance

I should live in widening circles

But I live in shrinking ones

© Peter Choate, 2016