Taking the form of Guanyin, find shelter for the homeless person
– Zen Koan
One of the foundational tasks of psychotherapy is to stop kicking parts of ourselves out on the street. You know the ones I’m talking about: the shuddering fear, boulder of grief, spinning confusion, electrified memories of violence. Rather than driving them out like foreign invaders, we can treat them for they are: an inseparable part of us. We welcome them in, set a place at the table, and invite them to tell us their story.
Guanyin (AKA Kuan-yin, Kannon, Avalokitesvara) is the supreme embodiment of compassion in the Buddhist pantheon. In your life, she might appear as a child, an animal, a tree, your father-in-law, or even you. Regardless of form, her fundamental nature is the same: she is the one who hears the cries of all beings who suffer throughout the myriad realms of existence. In the context of therapy, she lives in our own capacity to truly hear, see, and feel the material of our lives without turning away.
Turning away from the undesirable parts of ourselves is as natural as jerking your hand away from a hot stove. When it feels as though we will drown in sorrow or be immolated in our own shame, most of us will find some way to disconnect, at least until the intensity becomes tolerable. But too often that is where we leave it. We stuff down, tune out, move on.
I’m reminded of the words of Emma Lazarus, inscribed at the Statue of Liberty:
Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
When we ignore the difficult parts of ourselves, our lives lack dimension, foundation, purpose. We are blown around by the fickle winds of circumstance or lie immobile under years of accumulated sorrow. The prescription then is to open to, measure, accept, and digest the living content of our lives. We shift our eye away from perfection or even improvement, and toward wholeness and the specificity of who we are.
The old Chinese Zen Master Linji Yixuan puts it succinctly,
Wherever you are, just take the role of host, and that place will be a true place.
This is the beginning and the end of therapy, the culmination of the practice and every step along the way. Just the opening of the heart to what is. It doesn’t mean that we won’t ever face difficulty or tragedy ever again, but there is a freedom and gravity to who we are. And wherever we find ourselves, we can know that all of our life belongs to us.
Do take care of yourself and I hope to speak with you soon.
-Jesse
