Seasons of the Soul & Spiritual Masters

Different spiritual masters and the insights they brought me marked the seasons of my soul. In addition, the people who consulted me and the women I came to know and love were also, in effect, my spiritual teachers. Each season seemed to afford me a deeper understanding of human suffering and what I believed I could do to relieve that suffering.

In the springtime of my soul, I thought I could cure any emotional suffering and I had some promising results. Rabbi Ben came to me. I was budding in my work as a psychologist. I was going to cure people of their suffering, and I would do so quickly.

With summer, I focused on the vicissitudes of love, passion, and desire. The pathology of human relationships began to humble my expectations of what I could accomplish. By autumn, I began to realize the limits of my therapeutic bag of tricks. To my surprise, I discovered the tremendous healing power and wisdom of simply listening with compassion.

It was in the summer of my soul and on into early autumn that I wiped the sweat from my brow, rolled up my sleeves and pant legs, and waded into the swampy passion of relationships. I proceeded to wrestle with the alligators of human desire. San Francesco was my spiritual teacher; he taught me about the power of the spoken word. How appropriate, after all, I was engaged in what Freud had called the talking cure. He was with me until the first frost when the leaves begin to parade their panoply of colors.

With the trees bare, I reluctantly acquiesced to the truth that the roots of human suffering run deep. A cure is not so quickly attained, if ever. The people I saw who had been deprived of the security of nurturing relationships early in life taught me patience. They revealed to me the importance of a long-term therapeutic bond for healing the invisible wounds inflicted by love’s absence.

As I earnestly struggled to relieve human suffering, I met Tacomi, a Buddhist monk, my spiritual teacher for the autumn of my soul. He was the one who taught me about the profound power of compassion.

When Tacomi departed with the passing of the Winter solstice and the first snowfall, Shiva appeared. To my surprise, she appeared as a goddess instead of as the male deity revered in India today. She was the most beautiful female I had ever seen: her long-black hair was adorned with sparkling blue beads. She was wrapped in a silk sari that appeared to be made of intertwining blue and white scarves.
She handed me a silver-bladed knife with a golden handle studded with jewels: rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. The knife symbolized the ability to cut through the illusion of our separateness from the Divine. She helped me cut myself loose and set myself free from gender and the duality of male and female and all other divisive dualities such as reason versus emotion.

From all the teachers who appeared to me, I learned to appreciate the wisdom of their spiritual traditions. However, one day, well after my dialogues with Shiva had ended, I found myself irresistibly drawn back to what I knew in my heart as a child: “God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God and God in him” (1 John 4:16). I remembered something Rudolf Steiner had said in one of his many books, which one I cannot recall.

Steiner described how, by the time Jesus appeared, humanity had descended so deeply into matter, into an all-consuming attachment to the material world. A drastic step was needed to reverse the descent into materialism. God decided to become flesh and walk among us. God in the form of the Word of Love rolled up His sleeves and became flesh. I felt deeply moved as I thought of how He suffered, shed His blood, and died so that humanity could be saved from slavery to sin and thereby have a chance at true freedom, peace, and happiness. That day, I realized, I could no longer ignore such an awesome act of love on God’s part!

• Today, reflect on the phases of your life and what you have learned about what it menas to be human. How has your perspective on life changed over the yers? Who has influenced your thinking and your view of the world and your place in it? What experiences have shaped who you are and helped define you?

Seasons of the Soul Part II

Each season of my soul had an auditory element in song and a visual element in art that also acted as spiritual teachers, speaking to my heart and soul. Together, certain songs and a particular type of painting captured the flavor of the season. Spring’s song was Nat King Cole’s The Very Thought of You. I remember the silky sound of Nat’s voice singing, “The very thought of you . . . I’m living in a kind of daydream, I’m happy as a king, and foolish though it may seem, to me it’s everything . . .” In my work with patients, I saw how each of us lives in our waking dream. For me, Monet’s art with its vibrant and dreamy quality touched me during the springtime of my soul.

I thought of songs by Frank Sinatra for the next two seasons. For summer, The Summer Wind, echoed in my mind. In describing the summer wind, the song always made me think of the winds of the other seasons. Each one impacts our body and soul differently. Spring’s cool breezes. Autumn’s sudden gusts. Winter’s bone-chilling blasts. But it was in New York City and not New England that I really encountered the winter wind.

For five years, I worked and lived in New England during the week, but on the weekend I lived in New York in an apartment on the East Side of Manhattan. No cold could cut through me like the bone-chilling blasts I felt when I would walk from the East Side to the Theater District in Midtown Manhattan. The winter wind would whip through the wind-tunnels formed by the corridor of skyscrapers encasing the cross-town streets. These streets provide a tight tunnel for the winds of winter coming off the water surrounding the island of Manhattan. You freeze your you know what off as winds weave through the city streets uniting East and West.

During the summer of my soul, I had discovered Photo-Realism. One hot summer day, I had been wandering in Lower Manhattan through the streets of Soho when I stepped into a gallery off of Prince Street. The clarity of the subject matter, whether an old car or set of buildings, jarred my senses, and struck a vibrant chord in my soul. The paintings seemed more real than photographs; they possessed a perfect symmetry and an unattainable beauty. Plato’s idealism married Aristotle’s realism in these colorful canvases.
One painting that etched itself into my memory brought to life the mirror-like reflections off of the shiny black paint of an Oldsmobile from the 1950’s. The car seemed more real than real. And yet, it appeared unreal, so perfect I wouldn’t dare touch it. I’d rather admire such a vintage vehicle from afar than sit in it.

The song for autumn was Sinatra’s song, It Was A Very Good Year: “But now the days are short, I’m in the autumn of the year, and now I think of my life as vintage wine from fine old kegs from the brim to the dregs, it poured sweet and clear. It was a very good . . .”

One day in the late 1980’s, I went to the World Trade Center for lunch. It was a crisp and clear autumn day. Just before entering the restaurant, Windows on the World, I saw an exhibit of what was called Neo-Dutch Realism. These paintings gave rise to a bittersweet feeling. A beautiful scene in nature would be juxtaposed with man-made structures in varying states of disarray and decay. In the first painting, I saw a beautiful field rimmed by a green forest. There, amid all of nature’s splendor, stood a tall metal tower topped by a rusty oil tank. In another painting, a lovely landscape bordered an old-abandoned-white-clapboard cottage. Its paint was blistered and stained by rust; its windows were broken and its shutters, crooked.

I was surprised to feel an affection for the imperfection being depicted. For some unknown reason, I found the imperfections endearing. Endearing imperfections? How can imperfections be endearing? Perhaps, it’s because the state of loving unconditionally is so wonderful. Each painting offered the opportunity to love both beauty and blight. The Japanese have a term for this appreciation of the beauty of the imperfect and the impermanent, the modest and the humble—even the decayed. They call it wabi-sabi.

Instead of those perfect apples and pears of Cézanne, there was a plump yellow pear with the blight of brown spots. This art embraced the eternal cycle of nature dying and replenishing herself, and the ephemeral of the man-made. There is something so satisfying about loving what’s before our very eyes—flaws and all.

As the winter of my soul has just begun, any style of painting that embraces life’s imperfections continues to capture my imagination. Since snow embraces and transforms into pristine perfection all it falls upon, I include paintings of the lovely snowscapes of winter, especially those of the New England countryside. As for song, I find the Christmas classics previously mentioned along with Oh Holy Night . . . the stars are shining brightly . . . and other carols that celebrate the birthday of the earthly embodiment of unconditional love. After all, it was His ability to see the perfection hidden in the imperfections that made the lame walk and the blind see.

• Today, consider what marks and defines the different phases of your life. What music, interests, and activities express the essence of the changes you have been through?

Seasons of the Soul Part I

Rockport, Massachusetts
December 2000 . . .

I remember the first time I thought of my life in terms of the seasons of the soul. It was snowing hard outside as the fire crackled in the fieldstone fireplace of the cozy seaside inn where I was staying. I was happy to be alone so that I could reflect on my life in preparation not only for the upcoming new year but for the new millennium. In a month it would be Christmas and, within the week, it would be January 1, 2001, the dawn of the new millennium—the real millennium. Many thought 2000 was the millennium. Those in the know knew that the first year a.d. didn’t start at zero but after New Year’s Eve when the twelfth month ended.

What have I learned over the years about the human heart and soul? Reflecting on this question, I settled into the comfort of my surroundings; I felt a subtle serenity envelop me as Christmas tunes wafted to me from downstairs. “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose . . .” Nat King Cole’s dulcet tones trailed off and were replaced by Bing Crosby: “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know, where treetops glisten, and children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow . . .” I’ve never grown tired of these two timeless classics.

It always tickled me how Irving Berlin penned White Christmas in June on a sunny Southern California beach. I once heard some supposedly sophisticated New Yorkers laughing about this fact. But when you think about it, it makes sense. Why couldn’t someone be pining away for a back East white Christmas under such steamy circumstances? That’s what daydreams do; they often transport us to another time . . . and place. . . .
Looking back over my life in an effort to consider what I had learned, I began to experience my soul’s time on earth as divided into seasons. The answer as to what I learned in my life was contained in the insights delivered to me during the different seasons. The soul of each of us goes through the hope and promise of spring’s budding and blossoming. This is followed by the ripening heat of summer. Then come the harvesting reflections of autumn with her array of colors.

As for winter, I see her as the season when the soul is set free to embrace everyone and everything with love as pure as fresh-fallen snow. For snow has a way of embracing everything indiscriminately: it blankets the barren landscape of winter by covering everything in white. The rust and dents of old abandoned cars and bare brown yards are transformed as their imperfections are embraced by a soft white blanket. Thus, the proverbial winter wonderland is born. I think of the classic winter scenes of Currier & Ives.

A mystical experience I had in 1995 catapulted me headlong into the winter of my soul’s sojourn on this small planet. However, it is important to note that the seasons of the soul are not about our body’s age; they’re about our soul’s ripening. I’m convinced that some children come into this world as winter souls. They begin and they spend their lives as a beacon of light for those lost in the dark night of pain and suffering.

Similarly, the stages of life can be divided into seasons that provide different conditions and elements for the seasoning of our soul. Childhood provides the opportunity to develop the hope of spring; our whole life is ahead of us. In adolescence and young adulthood, we experience the passions of summer. Middle age offers the chance to reflect on our life and its meaning. As our body, our soul-suit, enters old age, we have the chance to develop wisdom.

It has become clear to me how every day our soul encounters the promise of the seasons: every morning is like spring as we have the chance to start the new day filled with hope; by late morning and early afternoon, summer sets in and we have the chance to passionately pursue our work. By late afternoon and until the sun sets, we have the chance to reflect on our day. As night descends, we enter winter; the moon and stars decorate the black velvet blanket overhead. Eventually, we lie down and exit the conscious waking world and enter the world of sleep and dreams.

When we awaken, a new day begins and the daily cycle of our soul repeats itself. This daily cycle seems to mirror the concept of multiple lives. Each new day, like each new life, offers our soul a chance to become fully evolved.


• Today, take a moment and begin to reflect on the seasons of your soul. I'll say more about the seasons of the soul next time.

Field of Dreams Illustrates . . .

Living in an imperfect world, we all witness to varying degrees our parents being unhappy. As children, we are helpless to do anything to rescue our parents from whatever we see upsetting them. Our parents’ happiness is so important to us, not only because we love them, but we depend on them for survival.

This past weekend, I saw one of my favorite films: Field of Dreams. The film can be seen to illustrate, among other things, the great lengths we may be driven to, unknowingly or unconsciously, even as adults, in order to see our parents, or their substitutes in the form of our current loved ones, happy. Ray, played by Kevin Costner, following the dictates of an unknown voice that hauntingly tells him, “If you build it, he will come,” sinks his life savings into plowing under a large part of his corn field, which as a farmer he depends on for his livelihood, in order to build a baseball field.

The climax of the story is when Ray gets to play catch with a younger, healthier and happier version of his father on that baseball field. Ray is given the gift of seeing his father with his whole life ahead of him before his father had allowed himself to become disillusioned and beaten down by life. It resonated with me as I imagined my father before the war had injured him. I teared up as I got in touch with the longing in me to see my father healthy and happy before the war.

At some point, we need to feel our sadness and accept we were helpless to help our parents. If not,as adults, we may self-defeatingly replace the corn field with a baseball field by doing with our loved ones what we could not do as children. We need to break the pattern of requiring our loved ones be happy so that we can be happy. We need to realize that we are responsible for our own happiness. This dependency leads to arguments and conflicts until we take the pressure off our loved ones to be happy. We can then really take time to listen to what is contributing to their unhappiness and help them feel better.


• Today, just imagine that, like Ray, you get to see your mother or father before you were born. Visualize them as younger than you are now, and see them in good health and full of hope, happiness and dreams about their future. Notice how it feels as you see your parents happy and hopeful.

Residual Anger & Self Esteem

The moment Shiva faded from view, something hit me. There is another aspect to the anger all human beings carry inside. To varying degrees, we all have some residual anger over not feeling loved, valued, and appreciated by the people in our family when we were growing up, especially our parents and siblings.

Hadn’t my friend Anthony, the Italian-tell-it-like-it-is psychiatrist (chapter six), said it well. One day, sitting by his pool, he looked at me and said, “Since med-school, I’ve spent a quarter of a million dollars in analysis and analytic training to realize what all psychiatric problems boil down to. When we’re treated like a piece of sh-t as a kid, we grow up to believe we’re a piece of sh-t. We then act like a piece of sh-t and people treat us like a piece of sh-t.”

I had responded to Anthony by saying, “We’re angry that we were treated like a piece of sh-t. And we search for someone to love and redeem us, but find a lover who treats us like a piece of sh-t!”
As I now think about it, we search for that special someone to give us love and appreciation. But, ultimately, we need to give that love and appreciation to ourselves. We need to stop the outer quest for love and begin the inner quest to love and accept ourselves.

• Today, consider how we need to forgive our parents and siblings for their flaws and love them flaws and all. We need to slay the dragon and release loved ones from the need to tell us we are not a piece of sh-t. We don’t need anyone or anything external to love us and validate our worth. We did need that external love as a child; but, as an adult, we need to confirm our own worth. Self-esteem and self-love come from self. Not other. They are internal. Not external.

A Primary Source of Anger

“What is the earliest source of anger?” Shiva asked.. She had such beautiful penetrating eyes. The mysteries of the universe were in those deep dark pools.

“As soon as we are born,” I said, “we begin to divide the world into what we love and what we hate. We love what helps us feel good, what gives us pleasure and comfort. And we hate what makes us feel bad, what gives us pain and discomfort.

“Just the other day, a patient, Peter, told me how he awoke the other night with the old iron radiators in his house banging. A feeling of hatred consumed him. ‘I hate this house!’ he yelled in his head.
“He began to feel into his feeling and he looked through his anger. ‘I hate what hurts me and I love what comforts me.’ He was getting at the earliest form of our relationship with the world,” I said.

“And who is the world at that point?” I asked. “Mother. Mater. Mater, Latin for mother, is close to matter. Our love affair and hatred of the material world begins in mother’s arms.

“What power she has to give us comfort! Our fate is totally in her hands. We can’t change our stinky diaper. Or, to put it more crudely, we can’t wipe our own ass yet. We hate our dependency. This dependency becomes our dragon to slay if we are to get free.

“The fire-breathing dragon in fairy tale and legend is in essence a belief. It is a product of our imagination expressed in symbolic language: the language whereby our invisible inner world of thoughts and feelings are rendered into people, places, and things in the visible outer world.” The ideas were flowing, so I kept going.

“This insatiable beast represents our anger when our desires are not met. ‘Feed me Seymour!’ shouts the man-eating flower in Little Shop of Horrors. Likewise, the dragon roars, “Feed me, or I’ll consume you with the fire of my wrath!”

Shiva asked, “What do you believe is the belief?” She was now smiling almost as enigmatically as the Mona Lisa.

“It’s the belief that we are dependent on something external to ourselves to feel good and be at peace,” I said.

I then said, “An alcoholic patient once told me how anger was at the root of his drinking. As the patient spoke, I thought of my time with the Maya. During one sacred fire ceremony, the shaman poured alcohol on the fire. The fire flared up. So, too, the alcoholic attempts to put out the fire of anger by dampening it with shots of whiskey. Alcohol doesn’t deaden anger; it enflames anger. Alcohol fuels the flames shooting out of the dragon’s mouth.”

“Air, oxygen, can feed fire, too,” she said. “A strong wind can cause a fire to blaze through a whole forest. Whereas the mild breeze of your breath can keep the flame of the Divine alive, and provide you with a gentle warmth.” Shiva shimmered as she slipped into the velvety-black fabric of a star-studded night. (Note: see postings for Shiva appearing as a goddess.)

• Today, if anger arises, take the step of calming yourself physically. Breathe in slowly and deeply and slay the dragon by silently say to yourself, "Breathing in, I remind myself that I AM NOT dependent on aything external to myself to feel good and be at peace." Pause briefly, and as you exhale, silently say, "Breathing out, I remind myself that I have everything I need within myself to feel good and be at peace."

Dialogue with Shiva on Anger

Shiva appearing as a goddess, looked up and smiled as I stood before her. She told me, "You will be able to see the truth beyond the myriad forms of things. I predict that the Divine will reveal to you the emotional origins of your glaucoma. As you will see, it has something to do with anger, fear, and guilt,” she said with such all-knowing wisdom.

Pearls of wisdom always seemed to me a curious phrase. Beauty and wisdom did not seem such suitable dance partners until I met Shiva. Her complexion had an opalescent glow as she spoke such profound words.

“I want to ask you why we human beings are so angry? I’ve worked with so many people, myself included, and everyone at some level of awareness is angry.”

“Tell me what you think,” she said. I smiled. She was acting the part of a good therapist. Shiva would do this often.

“We are angry that we’re stuck in a corporeal costume, a soul-suit. We hate that it ages, has aches, pains, and a disgusting digestive tract. ‘Man is the god who sh-ts.’ Ernest Becker wrote this in his book Denial of Death. He wrote this book when he was dying of cancer. He also wrote, “Mankind’s greatest enemy is the turd.”

Shiva laughed. She had such an engaging almost coquettish laugh. Even in its coyness, her laugh reverberated to the farthest reaches of the universe and tickled the stars.

I continued, “We take in delicious food and after it passes through the digestive tract and down through the colon, it emerges as foul waste. Reverse alchemy. Delicacy turns disgusting. Fowl turns foul. This foul-smelling and fetid pâté fills our cesspools and sewers. It’s been said that if you feel intimidated by someone imagine him or her in their underwear. Better still, imagine the person who intimidates you on the toilet. For effect add sound and smell.”

Again Shiva smiled. “Such graphic language you human beings use as if to mock your predicament.”
“Undoubtedly you’ve overheard what we humans say about arrogant people: ‘They think their sh-t don’t stink.’”

“So fundamentally what are humans angry about?” she asked. Her questions were rhetorical like those of Socrates in Plato’s dialogues. Nonetheless, her radiant presence emitted such a powerful energy that I was coming up with answers that would have eluded me if in the solitude of my own thoughts.”

• Today, explore what arouses anger in you. And, remember to use the shift your focus and energy technique to see what your anger is telling you about what you don't want and would love to have happen instead. After fully expressing what you don't want or don't like and what you would prefer, observe the gap between what is and what you'd love instead. Is there any way to close the gap? If so, then proceed to do so. If not, pray for help to accept what you cannot change as San Francesco (he was Italian and St. Francis is his Anglicized name) advocated in his Serenity Prayer. In a future posting, there will be more dialouge with Shiva regarding anger.

Enlightenment: Emptiness & Compassion

“Emptiness and compassion are the two pillars that show us the way out of our suffering,” Tacomi said.

“But how can we feel compassion for people or any being, a dog for that matter, since all beings are empty? Unreal?” I asked.

Tacomi prefaced what he was about to tell me, “What I am about to say may seem contradictory. As we touched on last time, the Buddha taught us that our self, our ‘I’, and other beings are not ultimately real. Self and other are impermanent, insubstantial, in essence, empty. In the Vimalakirti Nirdesa Sutra, Vimalakirti, a simple man with a wife and children, begins by telling Manjushri, an enlightened being, how a bodhisattva views all beings.”

“Let me see if I understand the concept of a bodhisattva,” I interrupted. “My understanding is that a bodhisattva is an enlightened being who is liberated from the round of birth and death. He does not have to incarnate anymore. Yet he does return because of a great love and compassion for the suffering of others. The bodhisattva comes back to Earth to help other beings get free.”

“Yes, that’s a good understanding,” Tacomi said. “As I was saying, Vimalakirti tells Manjushri, ‘A bodhisattva should regard all beings as a wise man regards the following: the image of a face in the mirror, a bubble in a stream, the image of the moon reflected in a pond, a ball of foam on water, the fleeting sound of an echo, a mirage of water on a desert, and clouds passing in the sky.’

“Manjushri then asks, ‘Noble sir, if a bodhisattva considers all living beings in such a way, how does he generate the great love toward them?’”

“Good question,” I said. “Seeing beings as insubstantial, as empty as balls of foam or passing clouds, how does a bodhisattva generate the great love that is a refuge for all beings? How do we feel love for our loved ones as balls of foam?” I asked.

“Essentially,” Tacomi said, “Vimalakirti explains to Manjushri that a bodhisattva thinks of how living beings feel real to themselves. They feel the pain of their problems. And the bodhisattva remembers how real his own suffering was before he became enlightened. This motivates the bodhisattva to help all beings.”

“In a way, it’s the same in therapy,” I said. “Even though the therapist may see the biased perceptions leading to a patient’s feelings, he feels empathy for the patient’s pain. If therapy is to work, I must take the patient’s pain as real before I can help the patient see how, say . . . for example . . . he is feeling angry at his boss because the boss is reminding him of his mother.”

“Yes, you should take the pain as real to them as the bodhisattva does. But by seeing others and their problems as clouds you prevent grasping. You can’t grab a cloud. We’ll discuss emptiness more next time,” Tacomi said softly and patiently.

• Today, consider your true self is something independent of your changing physical form (body), your possessions, accomplishments, successes, failures, status, reputation, popularity, and so forth. Essentially, we suffer more when we identify with what is ever-changing in the material world. Reflect on the essential you. Who are you apart from all that most of us tend to identify ourselves with and base our worth on, i.e., "treasures on earth which moth and rust doth corrupt and thieves break in and steal." [Parts of today's posting are found in Words Become Flesh. See wwwdrsrj.com]

Four Blocks to Awakening the Heart

“At the same time that we validate another’s feelings,” Tacomi said, “we must realize these feelings come from a self that is not real. We must see it as an illusion if we’re to be truly free of suffering.”

“But, Tacomi,” I said, “a sense of self is necessary for emotional health. How do we reconcile a sense of self with this idea that the self needs to be seen as not real, as insubstantial, if we are to be truly free of suffering?’’ I asked.

“Awakening the heart is the first step,” he said. “And there are four things that block the awakening of the heart. The first is unnecessary speech geared to words seeking to impress. The second is unnecessary thoughts or fantasies of being impressive. The third is unnecessary tension in our bodies as we go through our day. This tension is born of our concern over how others see us: over our self-image. The fourth is unnecessary indulging of the negative emotions of anger, fear, and depression that all arise from the self.”

“I would call that our narcissistic reliance on the approval and validation of others. Our sense of self seeks validation. This has been one of my biggest problems in my love relationships,” I said. “But so has my addiction to accomplishment. My self-image as a hero strove to rush in and save and to solve. I now see how narcissistic I was being in acting as a hero-savior in love relationships.”

This was a big admission for me. I then added, “As so many men, I am addicted to accomplishment. From what you say, I can just reframe that and make my major accomplishment being free of a self that needs to accomplish.”

“You are getting the idea,” he said.

“In other words, I can make listening be what I need to accomplish and not solving what the woman I love is upset about. This is what I truly need to accomplish. I need to accomplish what Freud called ‘evenly hovering attention.’”

“Reality is empty,” he said. “We’re at one with ultimate reality when we realize we are empty. Others are empty, too. However, we must see them as precious and have compassion for them.”
“That’s a brain twister,” I said. “How can we think of others as precious and empty or insubstantial?” I asked.

“For another time,” he answered and began to fade as I succumbed to the arms of Morpheus. At bedtime, my father used to say to me, “It’s time to succumb to the arms of Morpheus.”
Tacomi’s wisdom reminded me of my father’s. The scene disappeared as I left rem sleep to enter the peaceful darkness of deep sleep. Was this a glimpse of the emptiness that brings us peace?

• Today, take notice of the times you are engaging in any of the four blocks to awakening your heart and freeing yourself of suffering. Notice how good it can feel to let go of the need to impress and the tension in your body and negative emotions to which it can give riseWhen the need is thwarted.

Golden Rule of Assertiveness

When we relinquish our narcissistic need to live up to an idealized self-image, we can find the peace of being no-body. Of course, I mean this in two ways. I mean the peace that comes from the humility of being nobody special and not having an idealized self-image to defend. I also mean the peace that comes from realizing we are not just our body. We are more than our body. We are spiritual beings inhabiting bodies and in our hearts, at the core of our being, we are treasures of the enduring spiritual energy of love. Realizing this is our divine destiny.

The paradox is that in recognizing we are nobody and no body, we are also recognizing our own and other’s inner divinity. Some of us are more aware of our divinity and that of others. Those who are not may need reminding by confronting them with how badly they are behaving. This involves the following statement that I presented to my patients as the golden rule of assertiveness:

Do unto others what you would have others do
unto you if you just behaved as badly as they did.

Let’s say you are standing in line at the grocery store and someone, acting with total disregard, jumps in line ahead of you. You ask yourself, “What do I feel would be acceptable for someone to say or do to me if I just cut in line?” How assertively would you like someone to be in reminding you of how badly you just behaved? This can guide us as to what to say or do. Allowing others to walk all over us does not help us or them evolve to a higher level of love and respect. We need to honor ourselves and others and, through our assertiveness, we can encourage others to do the same.

There is a lovely Buddhist meditation described in the book Eight Steps to Happiness. It mirrors what I have been describing. In this meditation, you focus on taking away the suffering of all living beings and sending them pure happiness. The instructions are as follows:

". . . we inhale through our nostrils the suffering, delusions, and non-virtues of all living beings in the form of black smoke, which dissolves into our heart . . . As we exhale, we imagine that our breath in the aspect of wisdom-light, its nature pure unaffected happiness, pervades the entire universe. Each and every living being receives whatever they need and desire, and in particular the supreme happiness of permanent inner peace."

• Today, you could use a more limited version of this meditation. Simply imagine breathing in the pain of your loved one(s) and watch it dissolve in your heart and transform into the light of love. As you exhale, you send them this light of love to replace their pain.

We Are All Lighthouses

Looking back now, nearly 15 years after my life-changing experience, I recall how the view from my room on the second floor of the inn, located on the craggy coast of Rockport, was significant. By day, the room afforded a picturesque view of the ocean and Thatcher’s Island with its two lighthouses. At night, I could see the beacons of light flashing to ships at sea returning to port. With the benefit of hindsight, I can now see how the lighthouses symbolized the turning point in my life.

The lighthouse as a symbol provided a clue for understanding the gift of healing I had received that night. I remember how I prayed for insight and clarification. I heard the still small voice within me saying, "Turn on the television." When I did, I saw that there was a children’s show on and it was providing information about lighthouses. There was actor LaVar Burton from the famous television mini-series Roots. LaVar had just finished asking the lighthouse keeper a question.

I was about to change the channel since I was not seeing how this show might be an answer to my prayer. At the very moment that I started to switch to another station, I heard the lighthouse keeper say,

“The lighthouse lamp is composed of the bulb and the lens, and the lens does all the work.”

Instantly, I saw my role as a healer. I was a beacon of light, a lens for the ever-shining light of God’s love. Like the bulb, the light of God’s love continually shines. The lens, on the other hand, directs the healing light. I can remember wondering, "What then is the healer's job as a lens? What are the qualities a lens can have?" It can be clear or unclear because it is covered with dust and dirt. A lens can be thick or thin. With the telescope I had as a child, the lens used to see the moon had to be replaced by a more powerful lens in order to see the rings of Saturn. Wthout the aid of a lens, the Andromeda Galaxy, even though immense, was just a wisp of light to stargazers.

I also recall how I had come to the realization that a lens can vary in how clear and powerful it is in its ability to magnify the light coming from God. Being clear meant being pure in the motive to relieve suffering. It was not to be glorified as a healer. To be clear as a lens was to keep it clear in one’s own mind that God performs the healing. Jesus said it this way, “Verily, Verily I say unto you, of Mine own Self, I can do nothing. It is the Father within Me, he doeth the works” (John 5:19). I saw my role as that of a revolving lens of the lighthouse lamp. I was to direct the almighty healing energy of God’s light of divine love to those lost in the dark night of pain and suffering.

Now, in retrospect, I see one lighthouse on Thatcher's Island representing my healing role as a psychotherapist; I helped people find their way out of emotional pain and suffering. The other lighthouse symbolizes my role as a lens for the light that began that night in1995. Since then, I have been blessed to have helped many, whether near or far, receive healing and relief from physical and emotional suffering.

Based on that night in Rockport, my healing prayer is as follows:
"Beloved Jesus, Yeshua (His transliterated Hebrew name), thank You for appearing to me in my meditation and for sending Your Holy Spirit when I called on you that night in Rockport. And thank You, Beloved Holy Spirit, for bestowing upon the blessing that allows me to proclaim: 'I AM a beacon of Your light, a clear and powerful lens, becoming ever-more clear and ever-more powerful, through which the almighty healing energy of the light of Your divine love may shine to those lost in the dark night of pain and suffering. May ———(the person to receive the healing) receive the healing he or she truly needs, the one You would have him or her receive spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and physically so that he or she may be healed unto Your love and joy. Amen.'"

• Today, reflect on how we are all lighthouses to each other. Be a lens for the light of love by simply listening to a loved one in order to help him or her release his or her stress.