In this blog post I want to explore the concept of a personal ‘spiritual practice’ as a support for the grieving process. I will attempt to describe what this means to me and what activities I think of as being helpful spiritual practices for me as I grieve the loss of my eldest child.
What do I mean by ‘spiritual’?
So what do I mean by ‘spiritual’? I have a strong sense of the presence of something that lies outside and beyond the material world of things and the everyday activities of being human as a member of society and the various communities I feel I belong to. This ‘something’ that I think of as the ‘spiritual’ is intangible and mysterious and I don’t exactly experience it directly but things happen that sort of indicate or ‘point to’ its existence. I can feel awestruck or suddenly connected to the ‘something’ that seems to unite everything at the same time as feeling deeply personal and familiar. I know that many would call this ‘God’ or ‘Allah’ or another name.
For me, spiritual does not imply religious, but does include the concepts of love, acceptance and connection that perhaps all religions have in their origins behind the superimposed dogma and required beliefs. Certainly, when called upon to state my ‘religion’ I choose ‘spiritual but not religious.’ as the closest definition of my position.
Rainbows and other everyday spiritual experiences
When my son died rainbows appeared. This was so unexpected and yet immediately meaningful. Witnessing a rainbow, for me, is now a spiritual experience and that means that witnessing that beautiful ephemeral spectrum of coloured light takes me closer to what lies beyond the ordinary. This also seems to me to take me closer to the essence of shared consciousness that unites us all, whether we are still living out a human existence or not, and thus closer to my son. I think of this realm as sort of all-encompassing ‘love’.
Other experiences that can take me closer to ‘what is’ are sunsets and moon risings and flocks of geese and bumblebees alighting on lavender blossoms. Babies smiling and gurgling. Looking up into the sky through a tangle of lofty tree branches. Listening to waves crashing onto the shore. Certain forms of music, especially piano music from Muse to Beethoven.
What do I mean by a spiritual practice?
So a ‘spiritual practice’ then means an action or activity or a set or series of actions or activities that I engage with, perhaps regularly, perhaps sporadically or occasionally, that aim to encourage feeling connected with this ‘all that is’. This could be a lot of different things and might be something that others also practice or something individual and personal.
So having defined the words I guess I have made this sound much more complicated than it needs to be. For my family and friends, sharing the moments when we see rainbows is a form of spiritual practice for us that supports us in our grief.
Here are two of the other spiritual practices I have found helpful in taking me closer to a connection with ‘what is’ beyond the everyday and ordinary as I live with profound loss.
The Tara Chant
During my psychotherapy training I was introduced to the concept of a bodhisattva as an enlightened being who is committed to resolving all the suffering in the world. Green Tara is a bodhisattva and she is usually depicted as sitting in a meditative pose with one leg extended so that she is always ready to step forward in compassionate action to resolve any suffering that she becomes aware of.
There is a recording here of Deva Premal singing the Tara Chant.
“Tara is the mother of all the Buddhas. When you practice Tara you come closer to her, and can feel her motherly love; you feel you are well-loved and nurtured by the most beautiful mother of all Buddhas.
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For me, to chant the Green Tara chant brings a sense of support and compassion towards my own suffering and others’ suffering. I like to do this by listening to this recording and singing along. This brings me a sense of not being alone but being connected with all that is beyond the everyday world and importantly not feeling powerless in the face of suffering because Tara is always there ready to accompany me.
Christmas food preparation as a spiritual practice
I used to love the October half-term holiday when I was a teacher. I would use some of the time to make mincemeat, Christmas cake and puddings and sloe gin all ready for Christmas. When Sam died this became something too painful to even think about doing as it brought with it memories of my children’s childhood years and family times. After a number of years I made the conscious decision to do this anyway and to allow the feelings of loss and sadness to be there alongside the other memories whilst measuring, chopping and slicing and filling the Kilner jars. In a sense this activity that my mother did with me as a child and her mother before her brings me into a feeling of connection with the archetypal love of all mothers and the inevitable love and pain that parenting entails. Thus I understand this to be a form of spiritual practice for me too as something that takes me closer to the realms of whatever it might be that connects and includes us all.
These spiritual practices help me not to feel alone in my loss
In my experience there are many different things that could be helpful grief-related spiritual practices for me. I realise that it could be argued that grieving in any form is a spiritual practice but I suspect this is not true when we feel alone in our grief. Maybe the most helpful practices are those that support us not to grieve in isolation but in connection with other beings and with what lies beyond the ordinary and everyday. Some of the hardest times to live with profound loss are the times when we feel that we carry this alone. For me, my personal forms of spiritual practice, help me to know that this is not true.