STANDING
STILL:
SPIRITUALITY
AND SENSE
By
Julie Leibrich
M.A.Hons
(Eng), B.A.Hons (Psych), Ph.D.
Dedicated to Betty
Munnoch (1927-2002)
Part II of a two-part invited presentation at
the National Conference on Spirituality and Mental Health Melbourne, 29 &30
March 2004. Part I is called Making
Space: Spirituality And Mental Health.
Contact:
Julie
Leibrich, PO Box 2015,
Raumati
Beach, New Zealand.
WORDS LIKE MIND BODY AND
SPIRIT
Yesterday
I said that personal stories are precious, a way we relate to each other, share
our insights and invite connection. So
today, I want to tell you the story about my own experiences of spirituality
over the last three years. How important
it has been for me to stand still.
First, I
want to review the main points of yesterday’s talk, which as you know, I
originally wrote for the World Congress on Mental Health in Vancouver in
2001. Fortunately, when invited to this
conference, I found that I still agreed with myself enough to give that talk
again! Three years on, though, I see
some things much less clearly, others more sharply.
Words like mind,
body, and spirit chase me around all the time. To say nothing of soul! Sometimes I chase them.
One of the
quirkiest categorisations of the mind-body-soul triangle occurred in the 17th
century. At that time, epilepsy was seen
as a spiritual malady, the curse of the gods.
(Previously, in Ancient Greece it was seen as a divine blessing). Then in 1664 a remarkable thing
happened. Thomas Willis, in his Cerebri
Anatome, proposed that there were two souls - a ‘body soul’ and an ‘immortal
soul’. He said that the ‘body soul’ was
in the brain and in one clean cut he snatched memory and intellect from the
palms of priests and put them into the pockets of doctors.
When we
are trying to define things, we tend to categorise for ease of understanding,
description and control. But categories
can become things in their own right – we reify them. Then, they can inhabit our experience and inhibit our understanding. We can define ourselves out of the picture.
I
experience my mind as part of my body.
Accordingly, the distinction between mental and physical illness makes
no sense to me, other than as a convenient but limiting categorisation. I experience
my spirit as a separate entity, which inhabits and encompasses my body. I do not distinguish between spirit and soul.
To restate the main points of yesterday’s lecture with
those things in mind (so to speak!):
Ø
Spirituality
is a personal experience - I experience it as the space within my
heart. The space where I find meaning. It is being home.
Ø
Religion
is an interpretation of spirituality.
Ø
Health is
a sense of being whole.
Ø
Illness
can produce insight, capacity for compassion, and a stronger sense of
self.
Ø
Spirituality
is crucial to healing.
Ø
Healing is
about connection, not control. When we can relate our own experiences of vulnerability with each other, then we can help
each other heal.
Ø
We are all weak. We are all
strong. We are all wounded. We are all healers.
Ø
In a
world, which values being perfect, it is difficult to acknowledge
vulnerability. Yet being vulnerable is
being human.
Ø
Things
which impede healing are a scientific model which says something only exists if
we can measure it, false notions of perfection, blaming the patient, social
exclusion and personal prejudices.
Ø
In some
areas of life, we need to tolerate uncertainty and ambiguity, wait for wisdom
to find us, and allow insight to be the teacher.
Years ago,
a friend of mine called Ailsa took a day’s leave simply so she could enjoy the
experience of getting up at the usual time, getting the bus to work, staying on
when it got to her usual stop, and going home.
When I
resigned as a Mental Health Commissioner, I was worn out, burnt out and close
to down and out! In the four years I did
that job, I moved from optimism to scepticism to cynicism. It
became impossible for me to do the work that needed to be done. There were many reasons – my diminishing
health, lack of support, and the inherent nature of bureaucracy – a word I
can’t even spell without consulting the dictionary. But the heart of the matter was that I felt my spirit was being crushed.
The relief
of giving up the struggle was enormous. I felt like I stepped off the third
floor window ledge but didn’t plunge to the ground. I was flying. On
the train home that night, I felt a distinct presence on my right shoulder and
heard a voice inside saying that I had done the right thing and I would be all
right. Another strange thing happened. Someone came to my door to tell me they had
had a dream about me. They had been
given a message for me that everything would be all right. Crazy?
Maybe. Helpful? Definitely.
There were
many practical insecurities to face, but my plan was to live simply, give
myself as much time and space as I needed, and focus on silence, stillness and
solitude. I wanted to know more about my
spiritual world. I felt it was a new
beginning.
A fresh
page in the book
the hope
of morning in your hand
clean
sheets, new year
windows
after rain.
We carry
the dead within
the ghosts
of might-have-been
those lost
connections
with our
self.
Beginnings
take the edge off pain.
The
comfort of one moment