for us. It is a time when we can open up a door within ourselves to see what is there, to let in some fresh ideas and new possibilities. We can briefly step out of the rushing stream of our lives to find an island of peace and stillness, a place for calm reflection.
I believe that the moment we come through that door and enter into this circle of chairs—what I call a healing circle—we are entering into a sacred kind of space and time, a time where we can slow down enough to get to know ourselves more deeply, and a space where we can truly connect with others in a way that is real and satisfying. The healing circle is a space, like a gentle container, where we can practice loving ourselves and reclaim our already existing wholeness. The retreat allows us to uncover that treasure which is the healing power within our own human heart.
Jackie has been listening intensely but doesn’t understand the part about “reclaiming her already existing wholeness.” She is a 45-year-old mother of three who worked full time as a nurse when she was diagnosed with breast cancer ten months ago. A loving woman who was used to “taking care of everyone else,” she bravely marched on through chemotherapy, wearing the smile of optimism for everyone to see.
Now two months off treatments, the suppressed worry and stress, coupled with her physical exhaustion, have left Jackie raw, irritable, and on the verge of tears. As she looks out at the others in the circle, her stomach aches as she thinks about the possibility of recurrence. She worries about how her husband and kids would cope without her and feels that she is a terrible burden on her entire family. As fears play in her mind, she struggles to make her distressing thoughts and painful feelings go away.
Tim continues his introduction by asking the group questions that are also on Jackie’s mind: “How can we be whole and yet feel so broken? Where is our wholeness when we are in so much distress? How can we find that deep well of peace when our life appears to be shattered?”
John sits up straighter in his chair when he hears the word “shattered”. In the prime of his life, his leukemia has forced him to walk away from an executive position in a software firm. He is frustrated with how weak he is after months of chemotherapy and feels disoriented by the total loss of his identity as a successful businessman and head of a family. Fair-weather friends have disappeared and family conflicts have created awkward silences and emotional distance. He feels that his whole life has been ripped away from him— he feels ‘shattered’.
Jackie, John, and many others in the circle have come to the weekend because they want to be cured of their cancer and they want to feel happy again. The retreat offers a simple and effective way to work toward these goals, but at times its approach may seem paradoxical. Participants are asked to be proactive and do the practical things that will maximize their chance of recovery, but they are also asked to suspend their attachment to any specific outcome.
Instead of trying to control what will happen in the future, Tim asks people to focus on what they can do in the present, to find a wellspring of wisdom to guide them in reclaiming the joy of wholeness that was there all along, but may have been hidden under the intensity of striving for a particular result.
The cancer journey, and life in general, contains some degree of suffering. Acknowledging this is an essential step in reclaiming a sense of wholeness. Embracing turbulent emotions has a transformative effect on one’s whole being. Most people want to reject their awful feelings, dispelling the energy by acting out or stuffing them down into shadows of the psyche. But deep within these so-called “negative emotions” lies the energy of life and a doorway to profound insight.
For Jackie, John, and the others in the healing circle, the process of reclaiming their already existing wholeness begins by simply showing up, showing up with all their fear, anger, and despair – as well as their courage, fortitude, and wisdom. Tim invites everyone present to bring all of themselves into the healing circle for the weekend—all their awkwardness and self-critical judgments as well as their laughter and joy. Showing up just as they are gives them a real and solid place to begin, a ground of truth from which to start their journey.
Tim continues his talk, saying “Our physical bodies are part of our wholeness, but this is not the whole picture. Our physical experience is nested within our psychological and social realms, and nested in awareness itself. Wholeness and healing are about integration, about bringing all of these parts together— synchronizing our body, mind, and spirit.
“We are shattered yet whole. To struggle with this paradox is itself a process of healing. The loss, sorrow, and pain—and everything that can come with a cancer diagnosis—brings us to a bigger understanding of what it really means to be human. This is what we’ll learn on this retreat.”
The people in the circle seem to be settling back in their chairs. In a moment of silence a few people turn to their loved ones to whisper, or smile at each other and hold hands. Others look across the circle, curious and somehow uplifted by all the people in the room. Others seem to be looking deep into themselves, as if remembering a sense of wellness. The nervousness in the group is fading, and a sense of possibilities and purpose begins to arise.
Chapter 4
Opening Circle
When your fear touches someone’s pain, it becomes pity; when your love touches someone’s pain, it becomes compassion.
Stephen Levine
Friday evening. Rob facilitates the first group exercise by asking everyone sitting in the large circle to take one or two minutes to introduce themselves by telling a little of their cancer story, what has been most difficult during their journey, and their hopes for the weekend.
There is an uncomfortable silence when people realize they will be sharing the intimate details of their lives with fifty strangers. Rob asks for a brave volunteer and waits.
Earl raises his hand. He is a small pale man in his sixties with a thin white beard and dark-rimmed glasses. He looks comfortable in his V-neck sweater. His wife is beside him, her arm across his back. Earl’s voice is soft, almost hollow, but he is articulate and seems completely at peace with himself. “I was diagnosed with prostate cancer five years ago. I’ve found myself on the wrong side of the curve every step of the way. I now have metastatic cancer that’s gone through the bones and into my internal organs.
“I’m in the middle of the reprieve that comes from the hormone therapy. I’m doing great. I have a little bit of trouble justifying all the special attention I’m getting.” He squeezes his wife’s hand, then looks brightly out to the others. “But I’m getting used to it.” He continues in an even voice, “The biggest problem I have is the effect it has had on Pat”— he taps his wife on the knee, “and the rest of my family. For me, a kind of acceptance came with the diagnosis. But it was painful to see people having to absorb this bad news as it came on to them rather quickly. We thought the cancer was under control, then it shot through the roof.”
Earl pauses, then offers his hope for the weekend: “I’m looking for heart connections and more.” He raises his eyebrows briefly and smiles gently.
Earl is unlikely to undergo any type of transformation during the weekend. He already rests calmly in a place of deep peace, acceptance, and love for his fellow travellers. He’ll bask in the energy of the group, listen closely to their stories, and immerse himself in the group exercises. He’ll support others whenever he can, like volunteering to speak first in front of the group. His inner radiance is already a guiding light for others, especially those who have been recently diagnosed. Near the end of his life, this man is very much alive.
Pat is younger than Earl, her dark hair woven evenly with grey. “Pretty
