Memorizing Magic

Part 2

This post and the last one are not my usual fare. My next essay will go back to the hidden wisdoms and the joys I found amid the wreckage at the state hospital. But I need to finish relaying how memorizing and repeating a blessing prayer helped me rehab after suffering a brain clot. Doing this also gave me unexpected tools as I try to process current global miseries. As a reminder, here is the poem.

Blessed are we who allow our hearts to break,

For it will take some time for the long and slow dissolve,

For the brittle unreality to release its grip on me,

Until we fully embody the healing that was, is, and shall be.

The clot coming on the right side of my brain is not a coincidence. Most of my life, I have been ruled by the left side. This side is bent toward logic and facts. It helps me with my compulsion to focus on the future. It is that part of me that watches for being treated wrongly or unfairly. And it can be bitter and unforgiving.

The right side of my brain is different. It helps me process emotions. It is largely responsible for any feelings of bonding and affection I have towards other humans. The right brain lives in the present moment and doesn’t hold onto grudges. This kind cooperative gentleness helps me forgive when I let it.

When I retired, a pile of feelings hit. Maybe it was having more time, or maybe it was a function of aging, but there seemed to be a lot of emotions wanting to be heard. There were the unresolved emotions of leaving a career. There were also personal things I felt guilty for, weaknesses in me that had hurt others. I couldn’t distract myself with work or justify my denial. I had the time. I slowed down, and the pains I had caused spoke up. And there was also dealing with others who had wronged me. And there were questions about meaning and God that I had never answered.

As an idealistic young person, I wanted to love better, forgive more, be less harsh with myself, live in the moment, and not hold grudges. But I had given what I knew to give. And the truth was that loving those in my immediate clan had proven challenging enough; caring for anyone outside of my circle seemed improbable at this late stage in my journey. I tried to ignore these things. I was tired and retired.

In the immediate BC (Before Clot) days, I had decided on reaching for smaller goals. I had done some good, I suppose. But being a better spouse, a better dad, and a better granddad seemed the most achievable; any more emotional blossoming seemed a bridge too far. I imagine it as some sort of knock-knock joke.

“Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“You.”

“You-hoo?”

“No, this is not fun. You need to listen to me.”

Slam the door.

I essentially shut down all those right-brain processes and abilities. Not surprisingly, my brain gummed up.

As for the poem I had memorized, the phrase, ‘the long and slow dissolve’ referred to my hope that my clot might go away. (Something my physicians said was highly unlike, i.e. near impossible.) Nothing more was in my awareness.

I recited the prayer day after day, month after month. I figured, at worst, it was a silly set of words with little relevance. If nothing else, I was exercising my addled brain. I had no idea I was enacting a prophecy with roots that were ancient. Nor did I have a clue about the transformation it would inspire.

Looking back now, I see my post about returning to writing on my Substack was the day when my spiritual clot began to clear. Emotional blood flowed once more. I liked people again. I needed them to know that I wanted them to do well. I hoped that their kids and grandkids did really well. That is the right brain’s best trait; it thinks of us.

My physical clot might not have dissolved, but an emotional one had. A left-brain dominant way of being, one that had caused longstanding trouble, was melting away. This is perhaps a bigger miracle than the physical clot leaving.

The next line of the poem, ‘For the brittle unreality to release its grip on us,’ was a little tougher to parse. But I think it relates to how the clot formed in the first place.

Many of my unresolved/undissolved emotions were based on unrealities. One unreality was that I didn’t think I could tolerate the pain of my feelings, so I didn’t let my heart break. Also early on in life, I felt unlovable. That was an unreality I held onto for a long time. Another unreal way to look at things was thinking that my shame and guilt were ‘me’, rather than them being feelings that I had.

Thinking I had to earn belonging was maybe the most brittle fiction that had held onto me. I had lived most of my life as a zero-sum game. You win, I lose, or vice versa.

For the clot to dissolve, I needed to be released from these “unrealities.” Did I let these brittle stories go or did they release me? I think it was both. An unconscious and conscious dance. They let me go, and I chose to let them go. Whatever, somehow the old stories were gone. The threat of dying has its up side, it seems.

Whether it was my releasing them or being released by them, the absence of brittle unrealities helped me process my emotions. (That is a tongue twister.) This also led to realizations about new paths as well. Maybe there was an alternative to zero-sum. Maybe I could become more of a win-win person? When you won, I won. I could lean toward wishing others well. Even when others did not want me to do well, part of me still hoped things went okay for them. Others finding genuine love, purpose, and meaning was a good thing. That was a good thing.

As for the last line of the poem, I think I completely conjured it up. ‘Until we fully embody the healing that was, is, and shall be,’ was a free association that my heart burped out. I am not sure I understand the words. My best guess is this: in the process of healing, there is something timeless. The seeds of healing are in us, were in us, and always will be in us. Knowing that healing wasn’t something that had to come, but was here, had always been here, and would always be reachable in the future, felt right. Health was something that my fragile flesh was embodying, could faithfully learn to embody, and had embodied.

That is my best guess, anyway. Maybe I will understand it more later.

This whole process has been a spiritual metabolism that required patience and trust. It has taken three years to this point. That is both a long time to be struggling and a short time in comparison to my 67 total.

Fast forward to a world in crisis. I understand many of the issues that divide Americans are tangled and torturous. I have spent my whole life studying us (thank you, left brain). I know the neurochemicals of us, the evolutionary compulsions, the psychological roots, the cultural pressures, the effects of trauma, the violations we perpetrate, the social pressures, and the stories religions tell us; why they work and how they harm. I have a conception of the influence of genes, nurturance, geography, and the effects of capitalism on a soul. The lowliest of us are intricate, massive miracles of mayhem with an essence of goodness. This is fertile ground for lots of clots.

But I am trying to do more than just fret. I want to believe I can find ways to participate in the power of community to dissolve. But for someone who grew up like Mowgli, community can be difficult. And yet, I could argue, that even verbalizing positive wishes is a good start. I credit the blessing poem for guiding and promoting my changes. Should I? Did I become what I memorized? Or did my wanting to be more loving, kind, and forgiving lead me to the poem in the first place? Did memorizing the words manifest the healing, or did the healing allow for the words to be found and effective? (See Embodying healing that was, is, and will be.) Synchronicity and free will work well together but can be very confusing. Get to the point, Tim. I hope others will find, receive, or manifest that which will help them become the light. We will need them to do this during the coming dark days.

There are national and global harms being inflicted at an alarming rate. These will need to be processed and declotted. What the ultra-wealthy are doing and have done feels the most damaging and irredeemable. They destroy our children in the most savage way imaginable. They spin lies to keep the rest of us apart. And the cherry on top, their carbon footprint is on our necks, and we can’t breathe. They sow this chaos and then get wealthier from the panic.

Until all the billionaires out there receive a visit from the ‘Ghost of Polycrisis Future’, how can I wish them well? Should I? Maybe one day I will remember that they are wreaking havoc on their souls, too. I will recall they are like cancer cells that grow unchecked to the detriment of the whole body. Maybe there will be a day when I remember that they need treatment.

But today is not that day.

Today is the day I recall James Baldwin’s words: There is no such thing as someone else’s child. It is the day when thinking about the next generation and what they face consumes my thoughts and breaks my heart. It is also the day I remember experiencing the magic of a memorized prophetic poem.

Thanks for reading.