The Blessing of Paradox

One year ago I posted 'Blessing for a Friend on the Arrival of Illness' by John O'Donohue. I had just joined a cancer support group and one of the members quoted these lines from it:

 

            'you feel that against your will

             a stranger has married your heart.
             Nothing before has made you
             feel so isolated and lost.'

There were murmurs of recognition and nods of assent from around the room. These startling words captured where I was with the illness perfectly. I went home and found the whole of the blessing on the internet. I read it again and again, all of its first half spoke to me very powerfully:

            'Now your time on earth becomes full of threat;

             before your eyes your future shrinks.'

I must admit that I found the second half of the blessing quite incomprehensible. For example, I should seek a way 'to embrace this illness as a teacher who has come to open my life to new worlds'! What in hell was he on about?

I knew what I wanted: exactly the opposite. To be rid of the illness as soon as possible, so that I could return to the relative safety of who and where I was before the diagnosis. My world had become so very dark and difficult. I had a long, red post-operative scar down the centre of my torso, stretching from neck to groin. Every day I had to face the prospect of my own death. I certainly didn’t need any 'new age' claptrap to add to my pain and confusion.

            'May you use this illness

             as a lantern to illuminate
             the new qualities that will emerge in you.'

            'Fuck, fuck, fuck', I shouted: 'give me a break!'

But, strangely enough, something like this now seems to have happened. I'm still not exactly sure how. I do know it's been a very hard journey that's taken the best part of a year thus far. I also recognise that I had much further to descend into the slough of despond before I was able to begin to recover. And herein lies an important paradox.

It seems to me now that within the very power of the illness, its overwhelming ability to break you, to sever your grip on who and where you used to be, there also lies the seeds of healing, the resources for rebuilding and growth. The veritable treasure of darkness.

To John O'Donohue, this is a journey of faith (not necessarily the progress of a pilgrim) and belief (not necessarily in a higher power). He describes it as a journey of faith in your own possibilities, a journey of belief in becoming and emergence within yourself. A journey 'to release whatever has become false in you'. A journey of learning and revaluing 'to become more fully yourself'.

Such a journey is of course a struggle. For becoming is, by its very nature, ambiguous and uncertain. Furthermore, it is pursued between the heavy pull of opposites (for we come to know light in relation to darkness, and vice versa) so the journey is filled with paradox.

For me this journey has been a huge ordeal. I'm strong, resourceful and was determined to escape from my situation and find my way back to before. Stress, fear and sleeplessness were my companions, until it dawned on me that the journey I was trying so hard to make was unavailable. A terrible realisation. I felt consumed by the shadows of death. Then, very slowly, I began to discover that the different life and self I did have wasn't necessarily worse: indeed in some ways it could actually be better.

As John O'Donohue perceptively observes, the struggle of becoming takes place over the span of each day, in which you are trying to 'bring this night-wound gradually towards the healing and freedom of dawn.' We all have been there and will again be there, our struggles rising and falling over the journey of a human life.

I'm still finding my way: doing my best to accept where I am, to value it differently and even to enjoy it. I know that I cant go back to who and where I was before. Indeed, I wouldn’t want to. I'm now more fully myself than I have ever been. A patchwork of strengths and limitations: sure. A work in progress: of course. And long may that journey go on.

Sadly, just two months after his 'Book of Blessings' was published, John O'Donohue died suddenly (in his sleep) aged 52.