Journal of Sacred Work

Part of our mind is speaking, and the other part is listening. It is a big problem when [many] parts of your mind are all speaking at the same time.   Don Miguel Ruiz

   In a futile yet dangerous effort to simplify the world, we often label other people by the personality characteristic that seems most prominent. If Judy is often sad, we may label her as depressed. If Bob laughs a lot, we may categorize him as always happy. This may be why people are surprised to discover that gifted comedians like Robin Williams and Jonathan Winters (left) also suffer from depression and alcohol abuse. How can this be when they are so good at making us laugh? We all have many voices within. And yet for some reason we seem to think that other people have just one – the one we usually hear…

   A river of melancholy may flow beneath the smiling face of the caregiver walking past you down the hallway. Sun may reflect light off the surface of troubled waters while a sea of problems may swirl beneath.
   It’s a special challenge for caregivers to sustain loving energy when personal problems may seem so overwhelming. I have been reading dispatches from a physician who works with Doctors Without Borders. His letters reflect the heart rending pain. A small child blinded by shrapnel in a civil war in Sri Lanka. A family plagued with dysentery from impossibly polluted water in the only available well. Starvation in Darfur.   
   And yet, through all of this, he maintains strength and focuses on giving the gifts of his skill and compassion. Perhaps he is sustained by knowing that he is giving the gifts of his love.
   I am often struck by how ineffective most "inspirational" writing is for people who are depressed. Cognitive ideas often don’t penetrate the cloak of depression that may lay across some hours of some days. We smile at acquaintances when we are crying inside. A chuckle may cover that burning lump in our throats that tells one part of our mind that the other part wants to cry.
   The only cure I know for heartache is not reading a list of bromides. It is to do what one wise friend told me recently. "You just keep trudging." In some moment, perhaps, the mind stops listening to the song of melancholy and instead latches on to some better and more joyful music.