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Dialogue through Suffering to Renewal

We are living through a moment in history in which we must go to the wellspring of our traditions in order to rediscover their meaning and force. It is a time for religions to struggle together to reawaken mankind to its hidden mystery so that our vision, thoughts, choices and actions become reflections of the light, instead of instruments for darkness.

The attempts of many traditions to explain the mystery surrounding the light that may be ignited in one's darkest hour often came to mind during a grave illness that I recently survived. Cardinal Martini has described the mystery of suffering as a Trinitarian experience: if one asks the crucified Christ to share in one's suffering, abandoning oneself in His eternal gesture of love, one participates in the Resurrection which St John's Gospel says happened at the moment of Jesus' death. For the Christian, such a moment is Trinitarian because the individual is neither alone, nor the same thing as God, but in a state of communion in which the Spirit of God is shared. It is a moment when one's heart is pierced by the eternal and experiences the great consolation of love, light and peace. The Crucifixion-Resurrection event signifies this mystery. Many Hindus understand this moment to be a synthesis between the individual self and the eternal Self, while many Buddhists understand it to be the junction of phenomenological reality with the unifying reality. Therefore, the experience of this great consolation is a converging point for Christians, Buddhists and Hindus, while the expression of it is very different. Many Hindus symbolize this moment of Enlightenment as the Vedanta, the great window which opens up at the center of one's being when one realizes her individual self is neither one, nor two, but "Advaita", non-dual with the Eternal Self.

Frequently occurring in periods of great suffering, the moment of Enlightenment is symbolized by the Lotus Flower for the Buddhists, because just as the higher consciousness, or Buddhità breaks through into the various levels of lower consciousness in periods of crisis, the Lotus Flower grows out of the dirtiest waters. The Hindus popularly see this mystery through the dance of Siva, the constant play of destruction and creation of nature's forms. Pope John Paul II constantly reminds us we are living such a period in our collective history, trembling as all our reference points are stripped away. He calls it a Kairos, a moment when eternity can break into chronological time and completely transform it. It is a moment of tremendous vulnerability when we as Christians can only consign ourselves to the Father through the doorway of His Crucified Son, who is mankind and God, and thus receive the consolation and guidance of the Holy Spirit.

Having lived such an experience first on the personal, then on the collective level, I will humbly attempt to add to such traditions. Facing the hard fact last May that the horrible pain in my spine was being caused by rapidly-spreading cancer cells, chomping on my vertebrae like viscous dogs, I was ready to accept God's will and die, the sooner the better. I floated on the surface of those interior waves that take me towards the other shore, where once, in a special dream, I received a fusion of light from my father. My father was considered by his patients, friends and family to be a saintly man. Since his drowning death 25 years ago, many people who knew him have told me that they have prayed to him in tough times and have received comfort and graces. My mother never encouraged her five children to think of our father as a saint, because she didn't want to frustrate us with a parental figure too high to emulate. For years I removed my father from my conscious mind. To make a long story short, fourteen years after his death, he came looking for me in my dreams. Two quick appearances turned my life around. When I was completely entwined in the web of today's social, moral and psychological illusions, he came and told me to follow him and never look back. Those dreams were so crystal clear, more real than the real, that I didn't hesitate to break all bonds and follow.

The succeeding months were packed with battles between a withered life and a new one struggling to be born. But, just as in the days of King Arthur, my knight in shining armor finally arrived on the scene and beat back all those raging dragons that were trying to devour me. I blossomed into a wife, student and mother. My student life was a luxurious time when I could contemplate creation and the beyond. For the most part I have kept that period of my life a secret. Now I see the spiritual riches I received during the eight years I studied theology as a gift that I should share in return for receiving more time to live.

In all modesty, I'll try to get back to the point. About five years ago, I had another one of those dreams. This time my father came to me in a glowing-white translucent body. His gaze met mine and I was struck with joy. He said to me, "Kitty, I'm sorry I had to break your heart when I died, but now I can make it whole again." He took me in his arms and placed my heart against his. At this union, a rushing light poured through his heart and through mine and dissolved our separateness. It was a river of gold that brought with it the greatest sense of pain as well as hope and joy that I have ever felt. As I was being woken up, our individual selves sifted out of the light. I asked my father with urgency how I could become like him. He said, "You remember how I was when I was alive, now you can follow Pietro's mom as an example." When I awoke, I was completely awed. I knew something great had happened, but I was also perturbed. As was my father, my mother-in-law is one of the most self-sacrificing persons I have ever known. The idea of having to follow their example to reach such light was, quite frankly, not very appealing. In the days, months and years that followed, I tended to push the self-sacrificing part of the dream out of my mind and cherished the peak experience. I wondered why I wasn't automatically raised to a permanently blissful and generous state. In fact, I continued to be just as egocentric as always. Other people, including my children, were for me mostly unpleasant distractions away from my inner, secret treasures.

About two-and-a-half years passed when I woke up from surgery and found long plastic tubes draining blood from my upper chest into two wheel-like containers. I knew they meant I had had a mastectomy. My greatest comfort in that moment was my dream. Thank God I had had that message so that I didn't have to fear dying. I was only going to crawl back into that delicious light earlier than expected. But then I allowed myself to be convinced by the doctors that I had a good chance to survive, and that the last thing I should do is contemplate death. So, I began to reflect and saw that maybe I had exaggerated in my spiritual life. I had been focusing on the transcendent and suddenly I was being hoisted over. I thought,

"I've got to change my approach. Edith Stein was Edith Stein, a nun, no children. She could take on the sins of humanity and offer them to God in her sacrificial death. Not me. I've got two small children. I've got to stop reading the lives of the saints. I must become earthbound."

Being a typical Pisces, my life took another major shift. I began to read all the earth goddess literature I could find in an attempt to sink my spirituality into the cosmos. The effort pushed my senses into an uproar. I found myself mixed up in the dance between the two poles of asceticism and eroticism, fantasizing about the Hindu stories of seduction between Parvati and Siva. Siva, the manifestation of God's creative powers is also the great ascetic. But when he is so consumed in the control of his senses and focused on the transcendent, the world risks annihilation. Then, Parvati, earth goddess, arrives on the scene and awakens his senses. In their great love story, nature begins to flourish, a balance is met for a while, then Siva slips and slides his way to debauchery, seducing the wives of sages and getting completely out of hand, which eventually empties him of all his creative powers. He then must take to the forests and make the inner journey once again. During the two years that followed my mastectomy, I suffered the worst temptations of the flesh imaginable. My imagination had made a leap, but my conscious was just as Christian as ever. In terrible moments of jeopardy, I felt the force of God keeping me from committing any grave error. I kept repeating to Him that I was going to enjoy myself, unless he stopped me. And he did. Whamoh! Metastasis to the spinal column.

This round there was no doubt in my mind that my time was up. For three days following the diagnosis, I savored the fusion of light I had received from my father, which for me was nothing less than the Resurrection. There were moments when I would begin drifting off to sleep, with the voices of close friends speaking with my husband Pietro accompanying me to the other side. It tasted so sweet. It felt so easy. What a disappointment to have to wake up and face the hard reality of fighting cancer. A doctor in the family jerked me back to my responsibility towards my children. He told me to fight, that 80% of the chances for recovery depended on my determination. The only problem was, how was I supposed to fight? What on earth did that mean? Who was I supposed to punch in the face? I sunk into the archives of my biblical archetypes, and Yahweh Sabaoth, God of the Battles, surfaced. I supplicated "Yahweh, God of Power and Might, send me Your fighting Spirit, and a sword, and a shield, Glory, Glory Glory!"

A mother of my daughter’s schoolmate showed up that afternoon to speak to me about a Buddhist mantra. She said it was a mantra that gives courage and determination, "It's like the sword of the Samurai. It sharpens the mind to reach its mark." She sat at the foot of my bed, with another Buddhist friend who had won her battle against cancer, and we began to repeat NAM MYO HO RENGE KYO. After 30 minutes the black daemon that had me in a chokehold began to weaken his grip. The immense fear began to shrink as my inner self began to pull itself out of its state of shock. A friend and theologian assured me that it was O.K. to recite the mantra. He said the Buddhists had gone far in developing the psyche, and the results of such methods are a sign of the power of the human spirit, and that that which is good for the human spirit is not in contrast with God's love. I went ahead chanting, "NAM MYO HO RENGE KYO, NAM MYO HO RENGE KYO", and someone inside began flexing her muscles. A trembling Kitty grew into a roaring lion. With the little community of Buddhists fighting at my side in the months that followed, I won this battle. Thank-you Buddhists. Thank-you Yahweh Sabaoth.

On another front, another army was fighting on my behalf - a communion of saints. While I exercised my responsibility to sharpen my mind and determination through the Buddhist practice, I asked God to listen to all those who were praying for me. Though I felt undeserving of any special intervention, I knew I had a lot of people praying for me who had chalked up high merits. It was enough to think of the hard work and sacrifices of Pietro's parents, to receive the serenity that God was listening to their one constant request. And there were many others. An army of Christ's humble servants raised my Spirit in hope.

The crisis forced me to go beyond my individual self to the Self that unifies all. It revealed to me the necessity to go beyond self in human relationships in order to become a real person. It made a great impact on my relationship with my children. Though I thought I loved them, I see how much of that was just an idea of love. In reality they drained me of time and concentration, and filled my days with confusion. But since it was my maternal instinct which obliged me to fight when it would have been easier to curl up and die, I now see how precious my time is with them. Every chance to instill in them some self confidence, a talent, or some spiritual value is not to be missed. Self realization as an individual has lost its meaning, giving me the freedom to receive and give love. It is as though a stagnating, underground reservoir has finally found an in and outlet.

The moral and practical support given me by my friends was just as fundamental. I was forced to become vulnerable to them, and their warmth and solidarity made me grasp the ideal that love can triumph over death. Not that love will make death vanish, but it is the door through which eternal beauty enters time and makes the darkness bearable. It took me onto that level where I felt the everlasting value of human relationships. Before this crisis, my spirit sought the isolated peaks of contemplation, now I see how stunted I was when I could not share my joys and hardships with others, or be ready to accept theirs. The ideal of the community is finally taking form in my heart. Not only because I see now that it is the community that has the chance to survive while individuals will surely die away, but through the experience of extreme need and brotherly support, I felt my heart open onto eternity. We spin an eternal web when our hearts truly open to one another other, when we share in God’s life which is communion.

Many people ask, "Why do bad things happen to good people?" Who knows. But I have discovered that bad things force us to the very center of our being which reflects onto eternity like a mirror. It is the experience of every religion. Thus, skeptics have always replied that religion is a crutch for the weak. But the experience of such consolation is too great to be an illusion. Though expressed in different categories and symbols, religions all describe the change of consciousness which suffering can bring about. When our surrounding circumstances force us to seek refuge through the door, which Christians know as Christ, our consciences begin to vibrate with the Word, which transforms our vision. When that vision opens one to the capacity to build real bonds with family, friends and community, then all doubt ceases. I can't help feeling that our global circumstances are forcing our collective consciousness through the same process. We are living through a moment in history in which we must go to the wellspring of our traditions in order to rediscover their meaning and force. It is a time for religions to struggle together to reawaken mankind to its hidden mystery so that our vision, thoughts, choices and actions become reflections of the light, instead of instruments for darkness. Persons thirsting for greater meaning in a world fraught with indifference and insecurity will surely be struck by the miracle of religious minded people finally aligning their efforts to bring mankind to its eternal source. The challenge strikes me as being no less urgent than what I have just undergone.

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