Connection

I've posted here before about my volunteer work through the Amma Foundation's Circle of Love, writing letters to women who are struggling with life's hardships. For the last two months, I've written once a week to two women about whom I know very little. I don't know their ages, their marital status, their race, their education... any of the things we take for granted that we know about people with whom we commune.

It's been an interesting process, and, as it turns out, a spiritual one. At first I focused on getting it right: a familiar scenario, even with friends I know well. When a loved one is diagnosed with cancer, or loses a parent or sibling (or, god forbid, a child) to death, my stomach wobbles and my heart clenches and I don't know what to say. I refuse to resort to platitudes, so I'm instead mute, distant.

It's that much harder when you commit yourself to offering words of support to people you've never met. How to write something meaningful without being preachy; how to acknowledge their struggles without making them think that's all I think they're about; how to share parts of myself and my life without making it too much about me. What is their religion? If I quote Buddha (my favorite philosopher, though I'm not Buddhist), will that be an affront?

Spirituality has long eluded me. I've met lots of people I think of as holy, and they strike me as mystical, meditative, wise, always saying just the right thing, shrouded in light that emanates off them, their bodies surrounded by angelic halos you can practically see. Not being that version of spiritual, I guessed that I simply wasn't at all. 

It occurred to me just this week that maybe my path is on the ground.  It's about connection. While I have never been and am still not quite sure there even is a god or spirit or higher power, I've certainly loved the idea that god or spirit is within each of us and that we are all one. I have moved often, changed jobs frequently, made friends easily, and written, and written, and written. In all these years, most people I meet have been willing to open up. Countless times I've heard people say, "I've never told anyone this before..." People trust me with secrets, and I've always thought this was wholly secular. But maybe not. Maybe the way I connect with people and share bits of my life as they share bits of theirs, the more peaceful and at ease we become together in this material world. 

In any event, I figured this out while writing my Circle of Love letters this week. For a moment, I felt some light emanating off of me. It could've been a hot flash - there's been a disconcerting increase in those lately - but this one, at least, I chose to think of as something slightly more profound.

What to Say

I've been thinking about what I'm going to write in the next letters to my Circle of Love COLL recipients. As I call up their names each morning when I rise, I send love and caring thoughts their way. How do I convey this to them, these total strangers?  


A recurring thought for me lately has been "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." 

Of course I'm not going to write that - even bastardized Friedrich Nietzsche isn't what one would call comforting - even though I have always invoked that saying when times are hard for me. It makes me laugh - think about it - you're not dead, right? But not everybody gets my sense of humor (as I've proven time and again at faculty meetings and job interviews). 


Just because I think that humor is the great healer, doesn't mean everyone does. I have another fallback if a more serious bit of encouragement is required. I picked it up from Eckhart Tolle: "This too will pass."

Still. I don't want to speak (or write) in platitudes or ill-placed humor, especially since I don't even know the people in my circle of love. I try to write the letters, being especially thoughtful, reluctant to cut corners or crack jokes. They don't know me yet. What if they are so unhappy that my humor is offensive? What if they are so embittered by their difficult circumstances that words of encouragement simply ring false? I picture them throwing my well-intentioned letters aside, scoffing, even more irritated than they were before the trip to the mailbox. 

The creative process?

Ah. I just figured something out.  I haven't been trying to write a friendly, caring letter. I've been trying to meet one of my arbitrary requirements. I'm supposed to come up with the brilliant new insight on suffering, the be-all phrase that will end their pain and bring them joy and happiness forever after. 

This is a familiar sensation (and not a good one). I'm all too gifted at paralyzing myself into inaction by being unwilling to make a mistake. 

In the end, I have to remember that COLL volunteers aren't required to cure anybody. All I have to do is be myself. That may mean taking the risk that I'll say the wrong thing. Still, I have to just leap out there and write something that I feel and believe in the present moment. I have to hope it is received the way it was intended, and then, as with everything in life ...

I HAVE TO LET GO.

It is the only choice. Give generously and let go. I really do believe what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. And I really do believe that pain, even the emotional kind, passes if you let it. My unwillingness to err, which I push through to write these next letters, is passing with each word I put down.

Circles of Love

A few weeks ago, my friend Bonnie sent a link to something called Circle of Love Letters with the message, "Now this sounds right up your alley!" I thought it was about love letters, so I didn't immediately click the link. Not that I have anything against love letters, I just jumped to a conclusion that a circle of love letters might be - oh, I don't know - the pen-and-paper equivalent of polyamory, maybe? Not that I have anything against polyamory - I just didn't think it was "right up my alley" - not at this stage of my life, anyway.

Of course I had it wrong (the way I always have it wrong when I jump to conclusions).

Circle of Love Letters (or COLL) is about writing - through U.S. Mail! - to people who need support. Volunteers are given the name and address of someone having trouble coping with a difficulty. The recipient will be a stranger about whom the letter-writer will only be given a cursory amount of information. Volunteers commit to writing weekly, and cannot expect a response. 

As I've written before, I've experienced great pleasure when letters and postcards appear in my mailbox. I've also had trouble enduring the frustration of not hearing back. I emailed COLL anyway to volunteer, and the response included guidelines and a summary of the 3-month commitment I would have to make. Then I reached this paragraph:

"Not getting replies to the letters you write can create a challenge, but it also gives an opportunity to focus on what is inspiring to you, to look out for the things that make you feel good. Sending good wishes and love without expectation can be a spiritual practice."

Just a click away, my friend put the very alley of opportunity I needed right on my map.  

Circle of Love Letters