Surrender is not defeat.

(Photo credit: Sangeeta Mahajan. Exeter)

“I am trying so hard. What more can I do?”

Our unmet expectations, people’s insensitivities and our own regrets and strife are recurring themes in our discussions within the Circle of Remembrance, a peer support group for parents bereaved by suicide.

Caught up in coping with our life and getting rid of a negative sense of self or tolerating something someone said or did or didn’t, our focus on ourselves does not fade.

What if we stop the war on ourselves?

Stop all effort of fixing, doing, striving. Take a pause.

Buddha’s greatest disciple was Ananda. Until Buddha’s death Ananda was deeply devoted to him. After his death when the great council of the Enlightened was called, Ananda was not invited. Despite all his hard work, he had not reached Enlightenment. So, that evening he sat down to meditate, determined to attain full enlightenment. He practiced vigorously all night. After many hours he was exhausted. No progress! He was discouraged. Towards dawn, he decided to let go of the striving and just lie down and rest. The moment his head touched the pillow, he was enlightened.

What made it happen? Simply resting in presence.

Waking up out of his thoughts and opening his heart.

He had prepared the ground for awakening through many years of practice.

Surrendering all the ‘doing’.

Relaxing back into awareness that was already there, he realized freedom.

A sacred pause. Letting go of ego and ceasing all effort.

We may not be able to ‘will’ surrendering but our inner wisdom knows that the pathway is surrender.

Our mind can be quiet and present. Our heart can be willing and prayerful.

But awareness does the work.

In the light and tenderness of Awareness, thoughts dissolve, bodily resistance softens, fears and grasping unwind.

Awareness illuminates its own presence – the truth of who we are.

It is not ‘I’ who does the surrendering, rather the tangles of the sense of self naturally release in the light of open, tender, non-doing presence.

The answer to ‘what more can we do’ may be, rest back in what is.

(Inspired by Tara Brach teachings.)

Connection of Care

Posted by kidsaregifts20

What did I miss most when I retired from being a doctor?

Patients.

The dignity with which they put up with so much angst and uncertainty constantly inspired me. They smiled. They tried to be gentle, often through pain. I felt a deep connection of care with them. When I stopped working, I missed my patients most.

Over the last 15 months, I have been studying the principles of Hypnotherapy and learning the skills of Solution Focused Brief Hypnotherapy. Anaesthesia is to Medicine what Hypnosis is to therapy. The parallels are clear to me. The course was enjoyable and insightful, and the practice is deeply satisfying. I can now work online with my clients from this remote little village where we live. Once again, I have that caring connection with people.

The fundamental physiological principle on which Hypnotherapy is based is that of Neuroplasticity – the ability of the brain at any age to grow and morph in response to repeated use of certain neural tracks. Cells that fire together, wire together, states Hebb’s law. This essentially means that the repeated use of certain pathways strengthens them and disuse of others, weakens them.

The belief at the root of this practice is that all the resources we need are already present within us. The art is to have access to them, to be self-aware and make decisions from a place of strength, not fear.

Insomnia, weight loss, depression and anxiety, stopping smoking, grief, getting over a phobia, relationship issues and stress are the most common presenting complaints. I am fascinated with the process as I see people identify small steps for themselves that add up over time to produce the big changes they want in their lives. One or two bonus ones as well.

One of my clients was mainly concerned about her weight. She didn’t like her photos and hated shopping for clothes. Otherwise, her life was good. She shared it with her husband of 28 years. After 6 weeks in therapy, she started to comment on her relationship with her husband, which seemed to be improving. She was responding differently to the things he said and did. That really helped. By Week 8, she was enthralled by how famously the two of them were getting on. At our 10^th and last meeting, the weight wasn’t even mentioned. She had taken charge of her life.

“I think I have been more positive since we started. More considered, certainly. My responses have become calmer. This has helped many of my interactions, especially with Mike. There are people who trigger me, however, that I still find it difficult to respond in a calm way (my mother). My activity levels have been steady. I rate my confidence as being a bit improved. I am trying to value myself more and my body. I am still a very organised person, but I suppose I am ‘letting things happen’ a bit more. I find that the small improvement in my levels of confidence and interactions have made a difference. My reactions and responses help me.

As far as happiness is concerned, I often rate how I feel and think about what little thing I could do to improve how I feel. In general, the sessions have helped me view how I act and interact with others. I can ‘hear’ your voice calmly in the background when I take time to consider how I feel. I am also good at scoring myself.

There have been some difficult moments recently (regarding my mother), and I have managed to step back for a few days and recharge.”

I feel fortunate to have found this new line of work that is essentially a series of creative conversations.

Resource: An international School for training to be a Hypnotherapist: https://inspiraology.com/

The perils of being DIFFERENT.

Posted by kidsaregifts20

This is the month of his birth. I have not forgotten the 6^th of May.

The questions still sneak in on stormy nights and on special days, especially the supposedly ‘happy’ ones. Yes. Blessed is the day he was born. Aren’t I lucky?

All the questions that I can ignore and shove out the window on other days of the year come back and stand firmly in front of me on his birthday.

What would he be doing at 32?

What would he make of the state of this world?

Would he still be playing the drums?

What would he look like?

Would he have a girlfriend? Would he be engaged? Married?

Kids?

What music would he be listening to?

Job?

Health?

Cricket?

Friends?

Where would he have chosen to live?

Blah. Blah. Bloody blah!

Pointless noise.

What if he wasn’t bullied at school for being different? That’s a biggy!

What if his class teacher had listened to me when I told her about it?

What if his small, protestant, primary school in Dundonald, Northern Ireland had acknowledged the issue?

What if they had taken appropriate action?

What if I had moved him to another school there and then?

“Adam is always on my side when the other kids bother me.” He said one Sunday morning, at the age of 6. We were having a lazy morning in bed.

“Do the other kids bother you a lot?”

Silence.

“What do they say?”

“You worship a God with an elephant head!”

Sometimes, I am grateful that he doesn’t have to deal with this hateful world of genocides and mad wars.

Hope the world you’re in is a peaceful one, my love. Happy Birthday Saagar.

New things.

Posted by kidsaregifts20

They opened her sister’s tummy and took out a thing that looked like a red chili. Their mother was very worried, but the doctor said ‘all went well’. She was so relieved, she brought her a blue silk purse embroidered with beads and sequins. She had managed to buy a nearly new one for pennies at the village market from a heap of random goods piled up on the roadside.

New things never happened to Amita. She was the fifth of six kids. One girl. 3 boys. Her. One more boy. Most of her childhood was spent in boy’s clothes. When she was seven, she could finally wear her sister’s tattered old frocks. All she wanted was something new.

Amita started complaining of tummy aches that were so strong she had to miss school. She hardly ate anything and became scrawnier every week. She looked sallow. Her parents took her from one doctor to the next. They were exasperated. Finally, the fifth doctor said they would have to open her tummy and look inside. Amita’s dream was coming true. She smiled inwardly. Her operation was scheduled for Monday.

On Sunday night, in her hospital bed she remembered when her aunt had come to visit from Bangalore, she had brought one plastic doll for the girls to share. Its golden hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her head was round with two very round brown eyes. When you lay her on her back, her eyelids closed over. Thick long black lashes touched her pink cheeks. On standing her up, the lids mechanically snapped open. Her elder sister claimed the doll all for herself. When no one was looking, Amita would hold the doll like a baby, rock it from side to side and stroke its cheeks.

On Monday morning, she was super-excited. As she was going off to sleep, the blue silk purse embroidered with beads and sequins danced in front of her eyes.

When she woke up, Amita had a huge red gash right down the middle of her tummy. It was so painful that she could hardly breathe but Amita didn’t care. She waited for her mum. When the visiting hour arrived, her mum brought her a gift – a red silk purse embroidered with beads and sequins. It was even more beautiful than the blue one. Amita felt victorious. She had a new thing, all for herself. She could hardly wait to show it to the smiley nurse who routinely looked after her.

That night, Amita slept peacefully in her hospital bed, clutching on to her silk purse.

The next morning, the smiley nurse came in with a thermometer and placed the tip of it under Amita’s tongue with a smile. She then started writing her notes. Just then, Amita pulled out the purse from under her pillow and held it up for her to see, her eyes popping out but unable to speak.

“Oh! For me? How kind! Thank you.” said the nurse and received the purse with both her lovely hands.

**** **** ****

Resource: This story is inspired by an anecdote from the book “Nonviolent Communication. A language of Life.‘ by Marshall B. Rosenberg. PhD. In Chapter 4, he addresses the heavy cost of unexpressed feelings about unmet needs.

Five times more likely.

Posted by kidsaregifts20

Queer youth are five times more likely to die by suicide. I did not know that. I knew nothing about Andrea Gibson until after their death earlier this week from Ovarian Cancer. Every word they wrote throbbed with a cry against injustice. They were an activist for tenderness, a warrior for the human heart. I have spent most of today reading her poems and they sing to me. Gibson lived deeply and spoke candidly about moments when things got too much for them.

“When your heart is broken, you plant seeds in the cracks and pray for rain.”

“Just to be clear,” they wrote, “I don’t want to get out without a broken heart. I intend to leave this life so shattered there’s gonna have to be a thousand separate heavens for all of my flying parts.”

Respect!