Cooling the Fire of Stress

I left hospital chaplaincy close to the height of the pandemic, feeling drained and hopeless. I became tired of seeing people die at the hospital and hearing about the public debate on masking and whose lives matter. I wanted to help more with an integrative medicine approach that had proven to be effective, but I had to be careful not to cross lines and be considered untrustworthy and unorthodox. The fact that I could not visit the forest sanctuary I usually went to did not help, either.

But how much of those frustrations actually came from outside causes? It took me nearly a year to be sure that, yes, they were all results of my internal turmoil. My feelings, perceptions and thought-formations became so entangled with the outside world that they conspired to create a situation that seemed unbearable.

That may sound extreme or harsh, but I don’t blame myself for dropping out. Given where I was and what I knew, that was a reasonable choice for the most part. The question was: where do I go from there?

Long story short, I recently came across a book called Inflamed: Deep Medicine and the Anatomy of Injustice. It eloquently and sufficiently captured what I felt and thought when I left the healthcare system, and echoed my exploration thereafter. The world was on fire. Giving myself some space to attend to the burning inside, I reconnected with my spiritual resources and learned to find the new seeds and keep them alive.

With support, I’ve found the pond where I can turn to for coolness and nourishment. I’ve recognized the gentle stream that is so easy to miss and renews the pond. The pond will be the source of all the goodness I can do in the world. And I realize that it needs to be treated with care, not abuse. I also need to remember to align myself with the stream to fill up my pond.

So what kind of spiritual care am I going to provide for the world, if any? I imagine it to be cool water sprinkled on the fire of stress, be it illness or death, grief or trauma, addiction or hollowness. It can also be water that combines with the flour to become a dough, bringing cohesion in communities that support people in healing and thriving.

The specific shapes and forms remain to be seen, but this is where I start.