woundedDog

Many people have pointed out to me that depression and spiritual growth do not exclude one another, and the fact that I keep getting this message shows that it has not yet really sunk in. Because spiritual awareness erases the bulk of my anxiety, whenever I’m in touch with it I feel incredibly free and light, and it seems like depression should vanish too. But although being more awake to the deeper structure of reality eases worry, it does not necessarily lighten sadness. If one understands the true nature of life, one realizes that most daily concerns are petty; but tragedy remains very real. If anything, transcendence heightens awareness of how living things suffer on this earth, and increased sensitivity can readily spawn depression or something like it. So on the one hand I agree: one can remain depressed and still grow in terms of conscious presence.

On the other hand, it is hard to feel truly enlightened when life seems unlivable. Embracing the reality of grief and sorrow is consistent with—and necessary for—spiritual advancement, but when one feels so oppressed by disappointment and loss that life loses all value, then one has been derailed from the spiritual path. When I gave my presentation Saturday I quoted Tom Wootton‘s immortal phrase ‘Depression is Beautiful’, and I believe the words. But feeling so defeated and disgusted with one’s story that suicide sounds perfectly sane is not, I submit, a very spiritual condition. At those times, depression is anything but beautiful.

The goal has to be to feel sadness and grief, and see tragedy and injustice, but still yearn for life. Maybe the word that best describes my mood during my sickness is ‘despair’ rather than ‘depression’. In my experience, despair only leads to spiritual growth when it triggers a transformation in consciousness: in that case despair disappears. Unfortunately, my recent feelings of hopelessness have not pushed me to the point of breakthrough, and I suspect that such an easy way out will not be available to me this time around. Somehow, bit by bit, I have to rebuild belief in myself and my life.

Ten years ago I had a job that brought me status, provided a reliable income, and kept me busy. After arthritis and poor decisions ruined that situation, I’ve tried graduate school, informatics, teaching high school, public speaking, writing, and a few other minor pursuits; all ultimately led nowhere. These days no one has any reason to look up to me, my finances are crumbling, and I have far too much free time. If I could magically build a new career, many of my problems would vanish, but magic is in short supply. Many have suggested I work again as a doctor, but that would entail far more than people outside medicine realize; I would need to retrain, which means securing and completing a residency. After ten years of not working in the field, both of those steps would be challenging, to say the least. Even if I managed them, after adding in the several years post-residency required to master and get established in a field, by the time I was done I would be sixty years old. It is simply not realistic, and after the failed enterprises listed above, most other possibilities are also looking rather unlikely. I will probably need to find self-esteem that does not depend on my having productive work, at least in the short run.

On a positive note, I have recognized one important fact about my old work that seldom occurred to me before: it could be done by anyone with proper training. I was good at it, to be sure, but so were many surgeons. There was nothing about me that made me particularly suited to that work, or enabled me to do things that only I could do. Nowadays, I have a history with childhood trauma, mood disorders, and recovery that could (in theory) be leveraged into helping others in a way that would be uniquely mine. Unlike a surgical procedure, which if done well can seldom be traced to a particular surgeon, I could write or speak or in some other way produce a message that could only be delivered by me. Not that it would be better than all the other helpful sources of inspiration and advice, but it would be identifiably mine. It would be my creation and my expression.

Would writing a memoir, or speaking, or just blogging make up for the career I once had? Frankly, I doubt it. But at least I can see how the old line of work did not give me as much opportunity to express myself. Also, if I had not been through the past ten years of loss and recovery, I would not know nearly as much about the deeper currents of life as I believe I now do. So there are a couple of possibilities here that could only have arisen with the collapse of what went before.

When I can begin to see ways in which my new life offers things my old life could not, then maybe my despair will transform back into mere depression, and I can once again claim spiritual awareness. At the moment, all I can do is write about the possibility, but many times since I started this blog what I’ve written as speculation has gone on to become my reality.

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