Category: Healing

ROBAI-SHIN and the PURPLE SWEATER

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” November 29, 2023

I wasn’t planning on writing this morning but I am so taken by something I’m reading that my heart is fluttering. This used to happen to me once in a while when I was studying as something would strike me in a way that I knew my sight had been widened and my thinking changed. I could barely sit still, wanting to dance around the library stalls, the dorm room, or the nearby field.

Okay, what is it today? The book is Aging with Wisdom: Reflections, Stories and Teachings by Olivia Ames Hoblitzelle. (Kathleen B., if you are reading this, perhaps this is the book we should read together!) A short two page chapter begins with a quote from Eihei Dogen, the 13th century founder of the Soto School of Buddhism: “You can comprehend all of Buddhism, but you cannot go beyond your abilities and your intelligence unless you have robai-shin, grandmother mind, the mind of great compassion.” Hobitzelle goes on to write that in “East Asian languages, mind and heart are designated by the same word, shin. The grandmother’s heart has been broken open and healed countless times through the hard knocks of life. In through the cracks of disappointment and pain come compasson and loving-kindness.” (p. 27)

For many years I struggled on my spiritual journey when my former images of God just broke down and fell apart. Then about thirty years ago, I began to imagine and relate to God as the “great broken heart of the universe” (now, “cosmos”). The totally open Presence that pours love, forgiveness, and compassion upon all who/that suffer.

This way of thinking rose for me soon after I went through a guided meditation on a retreat. The meditation began by walking through a deep, dark forest, coming upon a cabin, entering, and finding someone there. Anyone. In my heart/mind, I immediately saw an old woman sitting in front of a fireplace knitting. I didn’t want to disturb her. But she looked up and her face was shining, ancient and kind. She took what she had been working on and put it on me – a purple sweater. I somehow knew that it was made just for me. I felt a deep warmth and the meditation ended.

This experience touched me on many levels. As someone who has always had a hard time receiving love, feeling unworthy of it, this generous gift, given with such joy, totally filled my heart. I know I had received a moment of deep healing. The ancient woman herself gave me the first experience of being totally comfortable with a feminine God image. She was love and compassion, tenderness and shelter, safety, and, for me, hope. From her, the broken open God-heart evolved, the heart of an ancient grandmother who was not a stranger to pain, loneliness, or sorrow. A great healer.

In a stunning incidence of serendipity, the week following the retreat I was at an Arts Fair in Madison, Wisconsin. I came across an image that took my breath away. It was a tiny purple sweater mounted on hand-made paper and framed – for what reason I don’t know. Well, maybe I do. It was God’s love delivered straight to me. And yes, I took it home.

I now have to find that work of art in the boxes of my as yet unfinished hermitage room, share it with you, and put it up on my newly painted wall. Why is my heart still beating so fast? I realize I may have finally found a name for my God image – Robai-Shin. And it makes me want to dance!

INFUSING JOY

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” November 18, 2023

An alarm was sounding in another part of the brightly lit room as I was settling into the leather chair in my cubicle. On my first visit here, the piercing beeps alarmed me as I never saw anyone run to attend to them. “Someone needs help,” I thought. But this was my fourth visit here and I’ve learned that alarms get answered with the same kind of gentle ease with which people are welcomed in at the infusion center. Urgency is not the mood of this place. Competent and compassionate care is. Anyway, I’ve learned that the alarm generally means that medication bags are empty and need to be switched for a patient or another is done and is ready to go home. The alarms are loud for hearing purposes only, not to declare an emergency.

I’m beginning to relax in this place that at first I was anxious about. The first time I arrived I got lost looking for this ground floor department in the local hospital, reached most easily by parking behind the building. Perhaps it is the desire to guard people’s privacy that makes it so hard to find. For this is where individuals with cancer come to receive their chemo treatments and vitamin supplement shots. The room where I sit is one long, large space, divided by curtains to shield patients from one another. People snooze or read or even eat their lunches as they receive treatment. I was pleasantly surprised when I was presented with a hospital menu yesterday and was told I could have anything I wanted! A free meal! I only wanted coffee, but this was just another sign of the hospitality that is given in this place.

On my first visit I admit that dread overtook me when I entered the office labeled “Oncology” and “Hematology”. I expected sadness and fear to fill the reception room. Many here were receiving that dreaded “cancer” diagnosis, and others to be treated wth medicines that often made them very ill. I was grateful that I was only dealing with anemia at this point and needed an iron infusion. My dread immediately lifted in the waiting room. The atmosphere was one of peace, made possible, I think, by the welcome and kindness of the staff. The infusion room where everyone is hooked up to machines or about to be stuck for an intravenous line is filled with light conversation and even laughter. Not only are the care staff, nurses, aides, and receptionists, good at what they do, but they are good at being people. I did not see a single person who was not being gracefully supported by someone.

I felt rather privileged to receive some of that support myself while observing a slice of life I hadn’t experienced before. My nurse yesterday, Steven, is one of the first who could find a good vein with just one stick! He also seemed sincerely interested in what was required for my care. One of the things I will definitely be grateful for this Thanksgiving.

Actually, there are a lot of things I’m grateful for – the heart beating in my chest, those who returned it to health, the time I have now for reflecting, writing, reading, and keeping silence as I move into a new phase of life, this incredibly cozy nest Joel has built for me which surrounds me with his love every time I burrow in here, my relationship with him that only seems to have grown stronger after these difficult months and fills me with hope for the future, the sound of bird wings just now passing by my window which remind me of the blessings of the earth, my beloved friends here in Maine and in Wisconsin, my extended family all over the place!

There was a time when I would berate myself for feeling joy in a world in which such suffering abounds. But now, I think it is our responsibility to feel all the joy and gratitude that we can, using it to infuse the world with the kind of medicine that it needs to heal, beginning right where we are and flowing out in great rivers of love.

THE TEACHER COMES

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” Auguest 16, 2023

People become obsessed with their ego-driven goals, forgetting that the present moment is the source of well-being and fulfillment.” Kabir Helminski, Living Presence, p. 150

How is it that we can know something deep inside but not until someone articulates it in simple words, unearthing the insight from within, do we acknowledge the truth? It seems to me that a spiritual teacher is a kind of excavator who is able to wrest insight from the depths of our own awareness to make it available for our understanding and growth. I think this is what Jesus did. Not speaking in esoteric terms, he used words that would resonate down to the hearts of people, giving them access to inner wisdom that could transform their lives. Unless, of course, they were not quite ready. Think Nicodemus or the rich young man. On the flip side, think of the woman at the well. Yes, Jesus simply helped her to see what she already knew, but until then, hadn’t been able to trust. But once the light was shone on what was already in her heart, she could no longer contain it. She became the teacher.

Kabir Helminski, author of the book I mentioned a few posts back, seems to be my personal excavator right now. It reminds me of a phrase I heard long ago – “When you are ready, the teacher will come.” What has made me ready to learn at this time? Two things, I think – retirement and heart surgery. To be honest, I was truly dreading my retirement from The First Church in Belfast last January for so many reasons. Relationships would change. I would miss the people, especially the children. I would miss planning and leading worship, a passion of mine. I would miss preaching – I loved the whole process, from preparation and prayer, to the writing, to the sharing. Most of all, I knew I would miss having the identity and purpose of pastor. I had a recognized role to play in the community. I was afforded almost instant intimacy with people at sacred times in their lives – weddings, births, illnesses, and deaths. Being a pastor was all-consuming, and yes, at times, exhausting. But I knew who I was and what I was for.

I immediately discovered after retirement that though it was a major change, it wasn’t enough to make me ready for the next stage of my life. I let go of the church and my role, but not my preoccupations. If I wasn’t a pastor, who was I now? What could I do? How do I use all this education? Who could I perform for now (a powerful habit from childhood)? How can I give purpose to my life? Who was I meant to serve? What does God want of me?

After about eight weeks of this anxious questioning, my chest started to feel tight. I visited a cardiologist and within days I had a stress test, an echocardiogram, a heart catheterization, and was shocked to be told I needed triple bypass surgery. My focus changed to simple survival. The questions took a back seat and all I could do was submit to present need and allow myself to be cared for. Thank God for Joel in this time and for the doctors and skilled medical personnel who knew what they were doing.

Now, nearly four months later, I realize that the surgery was a necessary step in embracing this next phase of life. No, I do not think that the powers that be sent heart disease for this purpose. But I do think that the All Loving One regularly transforms suffering into wisdom and light. In this time, I was shown that the questions preoccupying me following retirement were very much of the ego, the very questions that I had been wrestling with all my life. Now, ego can be a helpful guide in life, but it can also subvert other kinds of growth that are available at this later stage.

So, enter Kabir Helminski, teaming up with my retirement and heart surgery, to guide me away from egoic striving and lead me into the Present. The Present – the very place that was calling me when I first heard in my heart – “Go into the silence.” I know I’ll be writing more about this later. For now, I can only say that the Present has brought me the cool morning breeze, the soothing waters, the call of the owl, the sway of the prairies grasses, blessed time and rest, and the smile of my beloved. In other words, joy.

THE GENEROUS HEALER

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” August 9, 2023

I was determined to use this early morning to read my new book or write my next blog post. But after I made my coffee and went to the living room, I heard the leaves singing the breeze through the trees outside. I felt the cool flow of air on my face and bare legs and settled down to take it all in. To enjoy it. My book and journal remained untouched for over an hour as these gifts of the earth touched my senses and soothed my soul. Joel emerged from the bedroom expecting me to be lost in a book, but instread I was lost in the pleasure of the wind, the song of the trees, and the scent of high summer.

I am sensing changes occurring in me. Yesterday I was reading an article about the numerous natural springs located throughout Maine. I was reminded of a single spring that we used to visit in the summer in Putnam County, New York, when I was a child. It was piped out of a rock configuration and it was sheer joy to cup our hands and drink straight from it, the water crystal clear and freezing cold! I asked Joel if we could journey to visit these springs in their various settings in the Maine countryside. This was an unusual request to come from me, the nearly agoraphobic homebody of late. I am usually asking him to accompany me to a new bookstore or a coffee shop. I think he, my nature man, was happy with this new venture.

I can sense a yearning to have these waters splash all over me. Now, where did that come from? The desire to cool off in that freezing spray? The more that I think about it, I think it is connected to my longing for healing. Inner and outer.

When I was in the hospital, not long after coming out of anaesthesia, the television set was on a channel of music and nature scenes, mostly water – ocean waves, babbling brooks, flowing streams, cascading waterfalls. I remember imagining all that water flowing over me when I was not really conscious of anything else. It soothed me. Touched me in a way that the soft breeze is caressing me this morning. I think the healing nature and feel of water was planted in my brain when I was barely aware of what was going on.

Unfortunately, when I got home, I was terrified of taking a shower because of having to deal with the fresh incision. But now that my scar and I are on much friendlier terms, I am actually considering shopping for a bathing suit even though I have not put one on in years! I am longing for the water. It is calling me like the morning wind song.

The earth is a healer. I want to learn to touch and heal her in return.