The Spiritual Life
The Path to Peace
Now that I am in my mid-70s, I think and feel I am leading a spiritual life.
So, what is spirituality? Spirituality is the quality of being concerned with the human spirit or soul as opposed to material or physical things. This shift in priorities allows us to embrace our spirituality in a more profound way and connect with the natural world and others around us.
I cannot say I have moved away from material or physical things fully, but I have less interest in them, as I age. Beautiful things still catch my eye and give me a lift (a spiritual lift?), but in a way that I can appreciate their style, texture, colour and crafts person ship. However, I acquire less, and enjoy what I have already. I have been able to connect to the natural world and others around me.
It took me a while to get here. On reflection, it was in my late forties and early fifties I began to move in this direction.
It wasn’t that I lived non-spiritually earlier. But a need for a different kind of life began to emerge as I aged. The American psychologist Abraham Maslow created a hierarchy of needs, a theory of psychological health predicated on fulfilling innate human needs in priority, culminating in self-actualization, a stage when one makes the fullest use of one's talents and interests – and the need "to become everything that one is capable of becoming." It is based on leveraging one’s abilities to reach their potential, is an individual process and varies from person to person.
By the time I reached fifty, I felt I was at the self-actualization stage. I’d led a full life, professionally and personally, was comfortable financially, had a family and a circle of friends. I had a good realization of my creative, intellectual, and social potential through an internal drive, as opposed to external rewards such as money, status, or power.
Many confuse religion with spirituality. Although almost all religions speak of a spiritual life, the focus is more on ritual and traditional beliefs passed through generations.
Growing up in India, others around me had religion in their lives, mostly Hindus. My family was a little off the Hindu path. My grandfather, from my mother’s side, was an Arya Samaji, a member of a social reform movement in the 1800s, that broke off from mainstream Hinduism. They were unhappy with the caste system and certain rituals that, among other things, kept lower caste Hindus out of worship in temples as they were considered unclean. So, we didn’t go to temples, had no pictures or statues of gods and/or goddesses at home. We did a Sunday ‘havan’ at home seated around a fire with wood, aromatic herbs and ghee, reciting some generic and basic Sanskrit mantras. My school and college were run by Irish Catholic nuns. We were introduced to the Bible and had moral science classes. My maternal grandfather worried that my sisters and I would become Christians. We didn’t.
After graduation, my work based at a Quaker centre in rural India introduced me to a certain kind of equality practised in their faith. A bit later, in the U.S. I worked at a campus ministry which served college students as a refuge for counselling. Later, in the late 70s, I moved to Washington, DC as a policy analyst at the social arm of the United Methodist Church. It took me a while to realise that I was so close to religion, and yet I wasn’t a religious person. Many religious denominations were the original development workers, which was my chosen field of work. I had faith - in humanity, in the goodness of human beings and my choice of work in contributing, however small, to making the world a better place. And that, there was a world outside myself that I was deeply connected to.
As I neared my fifties, I began to think of leaving my full time work and reflect as to how I wanted to live, which was probably the last quarter of my life. Among the many happy coincidences were my decision to study to be a psychotherapist. And, a few years later, to meet the Zen Buddhist monk and teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh, at a retreat in Delhi. I was struck by Thay (as he’s fondly called by his followers) and his message of mindfulness. I began to practice in a Sangha (a community of practitioners) to bring mindfulness into my life.
Mindfulness is simply the idea of living in the moment. Not dwelling in the past or worrying about the elusive future. It’s learning to accept our feelings and thoughts and not push them aside because they are unpleasant. Breath work is the at the centre of mindfulness. With deep breathing and meditation the mind becomes calm, and we are able to address, mindfully, the many complexities in our lives.
The practice of mindfulness has helped me to be in touch with my ‘troublesome’ emotions and not push them away; by breathing and relaxing I am able to accept and manage my emotions and therefore, my behaviour. As a Sangha we carry the practice of mindfulness to schools, with students and teachers, the police and the public. We organise days of mindfulness and retreats for young people. This gives me meaning.
In choosing psychotherapy as work, I am now more open to the suffering of others in a deeper way. Listening to the stories and challenges of my patients makes me more empathetic. I am grateful and thankful for my life and those in my life. I carry the practice of mindfulness to my patients.
Many of us are plagued about the meaning of our lives, and our death.
The secret to finding meaning in life may be not to look for it. Psychiatrist Victor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor, wrote about how he held onto meaning and purpose as a counter to suffering. However, he advised against actively searching for meaning, instead suggesting that meaning is a side effect of pursuing other goals. Research too supports the idea that those who report actively seeking meaning in life also report lower life satisfaction and happiness. I was lucky to find meaning in my life, but it took a while longer to find peace in my life.
Making peace about our deaths is harder, but if we live in a way that gives us peace, we may not be afraid of death. Much of our time is spent is thinking about how to live longer, and medical technology has made much of this possible. We talk, however, less about the quality of life than the years we live. In some ways, I am fortunate to have been exposed to death at an early age. My maternal grandfather was murdered when I was eight years old, a rather violent death. Over the years I have lost my parents, extended family members, friends. I remember them fondly and appreciate the time we had together. I feel they lived as long as they were meant to. As for myself, I am ready to die, now.
I am fortunate to realise the meaning of my life early. I wanted a life where I could make the world better for others. The selfless role models of the Catholic nuns and their emphasis on us giving back to society and my parent’s focus on sharing with those who had less than us had a deep impact on me. I wanted a life that was relevant, beyond myself. It started with me, but didn’t stop there. I was connected to the world around me.
My spiritual practice has brought me peace, I feel calmer, better connected to myself and others and pursue what gives me joy. I have reduced activities that do not give me as much pleasure as they did. My tastes in people, food, entertainment have changed. I eat healthier and less, and cook more. And do more with my hands.
About two and a half decades ago, I began making preserves and jams of fruits, and a whole new world of learning opened up for me. I made labels for the bottles, which was a novel and exciting experience. And, I baked - muffins and breads. I started painting with watercolours, gifting them to friends, and using the images for cards and an annual calendar and had two exhibitions of my artwork. Not only that, but I pay more attention to the plants in my home. During the COVID-19 lock down, the gardener didn’t come to work, and I began to relate to plants in a new and inspired way, trimming, weeding, watering them, collecting the dry flowers and making pot-pourri, filling tall glass bottles with the dried flowers, adding a sniff of aromatic natural oils and sharing them with friends.
I engage with the world around me more thoughtfully. I do not despair at the wars, conflicts and regressive trends in my country and many others. My mindfulness practice clears the way for accepting what is, knowing that it will pass. Yes, there is and will be suffering, but out of this suffering we will emerge stronger and more aware.
My spiritual life exists of creating harmony between my body and spirit, heart and mind. As I age, I need less external stimulation and prefer deeper and more meaningful relationships. I travel more thoughtfully. I like being home.
And finally, as Thich Nhat Hanh, in his book The Art Of Living, says: “Spirituality is not religion. It is a path for us to generate happiness, understanding, and love, so we can live deeply each moment of our life. Having a spiritual dimension in our lives does not mean escaping life or dwelling in a place of bliss outside this world but discovering ways to handle life’s difficulties and generate peace, joy, and happiness right where we are, on this beautiful planet.”
Thank you for this essay, Anita. It is immensely calming to read it. Meditative read.