Connecting the Dots - Part One

Earlier in my life, I probably would not have sought any connection between a modern storyteller and a tradition of ancient wisdom.  When I finally did notice a connection, I honestly wasn't looking for it, and it became part of the thread of serendipity running through my life over much of the past 35 years.

Just as my eyes gradually adjust to the wonders of a clear night sky, my internal vision has gradually adjusted over time to allow me to recognize the wisdom, ideas, teachings/teachers, and profound experiences shared with me and with all of us.

I'd like to share an example of how wisdom and insight have come into focus for me in great detail and how these unique points of wonder can be connected powerfully. In part one of this discussion about connecting the dots, I will write about the first dot I want to connect for you: the ancient wisdom dot.

The late John O'Donohue, in his book Anam Cara, A Book of Celtic Wisdom, introduces the Celtic concept of "soul friend." In John's words:

"According to Celtic tradition, the soul shines all around the body like a luminous cloud. When you are very open – appreciative and trusting – with another person, your two souls flow together. This deeply felt bond with another person means you have found an Anam Cara, or "soul friend." Your Anam Cara always beholds your light and beauty and accepts you for who you truly are."

I was introduced to this concept at a time in my life when, as a hospice physician, I felt unfulfilled and, at times, like an imposter. Sure, I had acquired the knowledge and skills necessary to fulfill the hospice medical director duties as defined by Medicare and AAHPM (American Academy of Hospice Physicians); by those criteria, I was successful. However, I had an underlying sense that I was missing something -- some piece of what I could be or should be for those who were under my care at the end of life. They needed a palette of colors, and I was a drab white.

I didn't know what I didn't know until one evening when I blindly scrolled my way to the website for The Sacred Art of Living Center (SALC). There, I was introduced to another world of possibilities, the understanding of living and dying; it was almost like learning to breathe again. I realized I had been surviving on a series of shallow breaths, and what I found at SALC allowed me to fill my lungs with deep, life-enriching breaths. The insights into the origin, recognition, diagnosis, and treatment of spiritual pain became a beacon for me and the thread for my future journey as a hospice physician.

William Stafford, in his poem "The Way It Is" describes it best:

There's a thread you follow. It goes among

things that change. But it doesn't change.

People wonder about what you are pursuing.

You have to explain about the thread.

But it is hard for others to see.

While you hold it you can't get lost.

Tragedies happen; people get hurt

or die; and you suffer and get old.

Nothing you do can stop time's unfolding.

You don't ever let go of the thread.

Through the wisdom of the Celts, I was to discover a fundamental understanding of how to approach spiritual pain. The guide for this journey was John O'Donohue, with his keen focus on Anam Cara. There was so much to seek, understand, and become one with, and I did. SALC offered the path to a deeper cognitive and experiential understanding of Anam Cara, and I eagerly accepted it.

The insights blossomed into a two-year Anam Cara Apprenticeship, where I met and learned with other like-hearted folks from around the world and with varied personal and professional narratives. A peak experience was a pilgrimage to Glendalough, Ireland, which is a 6th-century monastic city and where I learned the meaning of thin place, a phrase that dates back to the ancient Celts who used it to describe those times and places when we feel closest to God and to the Universe as if the veil between the natural and spiritual worlds becomes very thin. 

Glendalough is a mystical place with physical structures that historically and spiritually connect with wisdom and guidance at many levels. I was, of course, drawn to St. Kevin's well, his church, and his monastic city 😊, but one of the most amazing experiences occurred in a physical structure that had been the workplace for the Anam Cara centuries ago.

One night, in that place, I met with several other Apprenticeship graduates, and we practiced a centering/grounding ritual together that we had previously done individually and in small groups. A little context: the Celts believed we could live in three worlds-- cruinne (nature), alltar (psyche), and nearth (silence)--and the goal was to be able to live in all three worlds at one time. The concept is much more complex (and easily understandable) than this intro explains, but the point is that I experienced the unity of those worlds in the Anam Cara space that night. The lack of adequate descriptive words for the experience speaks to its mystery. Nonetheless, I came away with a knowing of the soul friend role that was not didactic, and has guided me as a hospice physician since.

So, what does the Anam Cara role look like, and how can it be helpful in our times? John O'Donohue once said (I'm paraphrasing) that a person without an Anam Cara is like a body without a head. Although that clearly identifies the importance of the role, it does not help much with the how and why of it.

In my understanding, an Anam Cara was like a spiritual guide and brutally honest best friend through every twist and turn of life. Someone wise, able to see the truth in us, loving us unconditionally and without judgment. I envision that the Anam Cara at Glendalough centuries ago were held in profound esteem and depended upon during any transition in life, including the transition during dying. Bás sona ("may you have a happy death") was their hope, and their work and skills allowed that possibility to manifest.

As I moved through my novice and, later, deeper understanding of Anam Cara, I began to ask what this would look like in our time, particularly for end-of-life care. My concern then (and now) was that the medical model's default approach to spiritual pain and suffering at the end of life does not recognize or understand the concept of "total pain" as it was defined by Dame Cecily Saunders (more to come on this concept in a later post). As a result, the medical response to any perceived suffering at the end of life is to medicate--it is the inadequate belief that we can eliminate all suffering if we just choose the right drug(s) and give it at a high dose.

So, how do we refocus, take in the ancient wisdom, and allow ourselves to sit with suffering and shepherd the unique persons in front of us through the pain as they seek genuine transformation and healing?

That is where a modern storyteller comes in. Stay tuned.

Bás sona.