Stage 4: Comfort of Self

We’re now at the fourth stage of our journey from despair to delight, and it’s beginning to get a little easier.  Here is today’s sonnet by Gerard Manley Hopkins:  

My own heart let me more have pity on; let

Me live to my sad self hereafter kind,

Charitable; not live this tormented mind

With this tormented mind tormenting yet.

I cast for comfort I can no more get

By groping round my comfortless, than blind

Eyes in their dark can day or thirst can find

Thirst's all-in-all in all a world of wet.

Soul, self; come, poor Jackself, I do advise

You, jaded, let be; call off thoughts awhile

Elsewhere; leave comfort root-room; let joy size

At God knows when to God knows what; whose smile

's not wrung, see you; unforeseen times rather — as skies

Betweenpie mountains — lights a lovely mile.

A couple of clarifications - Hopkins often uses adjectives to stand in for nouns, as in line 6, ‘comfortless (world)’.  And he likes to create new words, such as ‘betweenpie’ in the last line.

           

There is a sense of interior space in this poem, of having (at long last) a little room to rest, to breathe, to grow. And a great message, that we deserve kindness and love.

Hopkins is beginning to be gentler with his ‘sad self’, giving himself a break from his incessant internal critical chatter.  It’s time to ‘call off thoughts awhile elsewhere’.

We can do the same.  We can take time out from tormenting ourselves about why we feel so unhappy.  We can resist our negative thoughts. I can stop yelling “Just pull yourself together, stupid” inside my own head.  You can recognise your own worth. You can realise that it’s alright to feel the way you do. 

For Kristin Neff, self-compassion has three basic elements: self-kindness, in place of self-judgement; common humanity in place of isolation; and mindfulness, observing rather than identifying with our negative thoughts.

We can be compassionate to ourselves – have pity on our hearts - just as much as we are towards others. We can treat ourselves just as well as we treat our friends and the people we love.

I love Hopkins’ phrase ‘leave comfort root-room’. It’s about giving ourselves permission and space for a sense of ease and well-being to set down roots and begin to grow.

Maybe it’s time for a duvet-day - or two….

And then, who knows, joy may (increase in) size and catch us unawares.  Hopkins’ evocative image of God’s smile, distilled within his new word ‘betweenpie’, is of a brightly dappled sky seen between dark mountains.  For him that brings memories of the hills of north Wales. For me it conjures up childhood days of sunshine over Glendalough in Ireland.

 We can help our own smiles to grow. One way that works for me is the meditation technique of visualising a constant, infinite stream of warm, spacious, liquid sunshine; pouring in through my head; slowly and gradually filling my body, from my toes all the way upwards.

Stage 3: Determination

The third Hopkins’ poem I’ve chosen to guide us on our journey from despair to delight is called Carrion Comfort.

Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; 

Not untwist — slack they may be — these last strands of man 

In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; 

Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be. 

But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me 

Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan 

With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan, 

O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee? 

   Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear. 

Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod, 

Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer. 

Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród 

Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year 

Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

Now there’s a fair bit of difficult stuff in this poem, which we’ll not worry about too much.  For example how Hopkins likes to use adjectives like ‘rude’ as verbs; or phrases like ‘I kissed the rod’ which means taking holy orders, becoming a priest.

Let’s focus on the first four lines, which are all about his thoughts of suicide. Hopkins is not just accepting his despair. Now has started to wrestle with it. He is not going to die. He is not going to let anyone or anything feast on his rotting remains. He is not giving up – even though he knows how hard it is to keep going - as we can see from his double negative ‘not choose not to be’.  He can. He can stay alive. He can hope.

Unlike Hamlet wondering whether ‘to be or not to be’, or Keats who was ‘half I love with easeful death’, Hopkins is determined to survive. Like the conatus – desire - of my favourite philosopher Spinoza, these lines are all about his dogged, bloody-minded resolve to keep going, come what may.  And we can draw immense strength from that. 

There’s a lot more wrestling in the rest of the poem, but it’s no longer with himself. Now it’s a conflict between Hopkins and his God.  We can take this more generally. Since we have decided we are going to stick around, we can decide there is no point in just meekly accepting our fate. We can decide to stand up and be counted. We can decide to do battle with the conditions that have been grinding us down.  

But what’s the point?

Maybe it’s to strip away the ‘chaff’, the rubbish that surrounds us, so that our ‘grain’, our inner being, lies ‘sheer and clear’. Maybe it’s to find out that we are strong, strong enough to grapple with the toughest of them all, and not be defeated.  

And we have a clue in the last line that the worst is over, as ‘of now done darkness’ shifts these experiences from present to past tense.

Stage 2: Detachment

The second Hopkins poem on our journey from despair to delight is also deeply troubling, but it does offer us a glimmer of light along the way. 

A note before you start reading: in the first line, the word ‘fell’ means ‘deadly, ferocious evil’.

            I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.

          What hours, O what black hoürs we have spent

          This night! what sights you, heart, saw; the ways you went!

          And more must, in yet longer light's delay.

             With witness I speak this! But where I say

          Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament

          Is cries countless, cried like dead letters sent

          To dearest him that lives alas! away.

          I am gall, I am heartburn.  God's most deep decree

          Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me;

          Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.

              Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see

          The lost are like this, and their scourge to be

          As I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse.

The main message Hopkins conveys to me in this poem is his dreadful sense of loss; endless separation from the one he loves; sourness and bitterness; visceral, heart-wrenching grief.

And yet. 

He finds an element of detachment.  Despite his obvious distress, Hopkins is able to write perfectly formed classic sonnet lines: ten syllables, with the stress on every second one: ‘I wake and feel the fell of dark not day’.  And then in the final six lines, he decides to vary the rhyming structure from the standard <cde cde> of the previous poem to <ccd ccd> (decree/me/curse; see/be/worse).

There is resonance again with mindfulness meditation - with the point at which we begin to create a space between ourselves and the pain and distress. Instead of being caught outside in the middle of a thunderstorm, we begin to watch the thunderstorm through a window. 

He has some inner company in this time of trouble. Within the first three lines, Hopkins’ switch from the first person ‘I’ to ‘we’ (I plus heart) to ‘you’ (heart). So he is not dealing with all this on his own. His heart is taking some of the burden for him.   

And maybe there is a purpose for him, behind all this suffering.  With ‘I see’ at the end of line 14, Hopkins suggests that this experience is enabling him to understand the torment of lost souls. We do not have to share his views on the afterlife to gain value from this idea. If we have experienced grief and loss ourselves, we are so much better placed to offer empathy and compassion to people we know who going through it all now. 

Stage 1: Despair

It's time to take the first step on our journey from despair to delight, taken in the company of the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins. We’re going to jump straight in with what, for me, is Hopkins’ most desolate sonnet.

Here it is: take a deep breath, and read:

            No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,

          More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder ring.

          Comforter, where, where is your comforting?

          Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?

          My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief-

          Woe, wórld-sorrow; on an áge old anvil wince and sing -

          Then lull, then leave off.  Fury has shrieked 'No ling-

          ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief'.

         

                    O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall

          Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap

          May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small

          Durance deal with that steep or deep.  Here! creep,

          Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all

          Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.

Yes, it’s a tough one, isn’t it?  It’s probably the most troubled and troubling poem I have ever read.  Grief upon grief. Fury after fury. An endless falling into nothingness. Nobody there to offer any comfort or relief. The only possibilities of escape are sleep or death. 

So how could this dread-full poem ever be helpful to someone in the depths of despair?

Well, I think it offer us comfort in three ways.

First, it makes a connection for us. I first read this poem when I was 18, soon after a big relationship break-up and living in a place and with people I didn’t know.  I felt totally alone, and utterly miserable. And I realised: this guy understands what I’m going through, he’s been there himself, he’s talking my language.  So there was a link for me with Hopkins, a sense of shared experience. And I didn’t feel quite so alone.   

Other people I know have felt the same.  ‘It’s like finding a friend,’ someone told me recently;’ I felt like he was sitting next to me, reading to me. It brings a closeness.’  

Second, reading a poem like this can help us accept that it’s OK, it’s legitimate to feel so distressed - something we may often doubt or feel guilty about.  ‘It’s allowed, you’re entitled to feel that depth.’

And third, there is something powerful and impressive about Hopkins’ absolute, raw honesty here - his ability to give deep expression to the reality of his experiences, however terrifying that reality may be.  There is no pretending, no denying, no hiding.    

You may know that mindfulness meditation is helpful for people who have recurring experiences of depression.  And this is precisely where mindfulness begins – resting in the present moment, however difficult that moment happens to be.  Staying with the reality of our situation. Without judgment or evaluation. Without avoiding the problems we face, or trying to solve them. Just being there.  

This is the first stage of the journey. If Hopkins has the courage to face his misery head on, then so can we.

From Despair to Delight: a journey of six sonnets

I’ve been reading a lot of Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poetry recently.  And I've realised  that his sonnets can offer relief and hope for people going through a period of deep distress. 

I’m going to show you what I mean in this series of posts.

Hopkins was one of the most original poets writing in English during the 19^th century.  Throughout his life he experienced a range of intense emotions, from utter misery to great joy. And he has an astonishing ability to express his emotions in his poetry.

I’ve chosen six of Hopkins’ sonnets which, I suggest, can take us on a healing journey:  from despair, through detachment and determination, to comfort of self and comfort of others, and finally to delight.  The first four are taken from his so-called ‘Terrible Sonnets’, written in Dublin in 1885 during a period of profound sadness.  The fifth was written in Liverpool in 1880, while he was working as a local priest. The final one, his own personal favourite, was composed in north Wales in 1877.

I’ll present each poem in turn, and then make some comments on how they might help us. 

Four things before we start on the journey.

1. The first three of these sonnets are very bleak indeed, so do take care of yourself while reading them.  If they strike a deep chord, then make sure you have someone you can talk them over with.
2. Religion is very important to Hopkins, and permeates all his literary imagery. He became a Jesuit priest, having converted to Catholicism (a very radical move at the time) while a student at Oxford. But it is not at all necessary for us to share his beliefs to get immense value from his poetry.
3. Sonnet structure: Hopkins adopts the standard 14 lines for each sonnet, like Petrarch and Shakespeare before him. Like Petrarch (but unlike Shakespeare) he usually divides them into two parts: the first eight lines set out the main theme, and the last six lines offering a response.  Unlike both Petrarch and Shakespeare, Hopkins often moves away from the standard format of ten syllables a line, with stress on each second syllable; he enjoys experimenting with the length and rhythm of each line.    
4. Reading the poems: I recommend you read through each one a few times, to get the general style and rhythm in your mind.  Then, for maximum effect, read it out loud.  This way you really begin to hear how his words sound and interact with each other.

 OK, with all this in mind, we can begin.  I will introduce the first sonnet for this journey – ‘No worst there is none’ – in my next post, in a couple of days’ time.

In praise of our electric blanket

I’ve been worrying quite a bit recently – partly about family problems and work pressures, which I can do something about; and partly about the corrosive effects of Brexit and Trump, which I can’t do anything much about.  And then I’ve found myself worrying about worrying, which is more worrying still - and definitely not to be recommended.

So after discussing all this with my daughter Anna, I decided it’s time to look up my old wellbeing recipes, dust them off and see if they need any updating.

For those of you who don’t know, a wellbeing recipe is a list – a set of ingredients – of things which give you pleasure and help you feel better about yourself.  It’s not a fixed list. Wellbeing recipes vary from one person to the next, and for each person they can change over time.

My old recipe included some ingredients, like walking in the mountains and diving through waves in the ocean, which are great but not immediately practical for me at the moment. So I’ve worked out a new recipe, composed of ingredients I can use easily and often.

Here are some of the main ingredients:

·        A few minutes of mindfulness meditation every morning, using the Headspace app on my i-phone.  I’m following a set about anxiety at the moment, which is helping me to explore my sensations of stress without feeling I’m being swallowed up by them – imagining, instead of being caught outside in in a storm, that I’m safe inside a house watching the storm through a window.

·        The parkrun at Croxteth Hall on a Saturday morning gives me a great sense of wellbeing, especially now that I’ve managed to stop stressing about how fast I’m going and can enjoy the run for its own sake. There’s one section of the course, when sunlight glistens through woodland onto some ponds, which is magical. And running with my daughters is a huge bonus. 

• My afternoon siesta, which I’ve built into my routine since my cycling accident, is a must-do these days. It stops me from wearing myself out, restores my energy, my memory and my creativity. Highly recommended!    

·        Watching detective programmes on TV with Sue has been in my wellbeing recipe for ages, and it still helps me unwind of an evening. Elementary and Inspector Lynley are our current favourites.

·        At the end of the day, I’ve started reminding myself of three things I’ve been grateful for - and one thing I’ve done well - during that day. They can be small or big things, it really doesn’t matter. This simple exercise, focusing on what’s gone well for me, does a great job of settling my mind down.

·        And finally, sliding under the duvet and into bed, with our double electric blanket turned on to full heat.  A wonderful, warm, comforting cocoon to snuggle into. Blissful, utterly blissful. Thank you, and good night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Conducting an orchestra

A few months ago, I was elected Chair of the World Organisation of Family Doctors' (WONCA) Working Party for Mental Health.  

Yes I know, that is rather a mouthful!

But what it means in reality is this:  I now have the privilege of working with family doctors and their colleagues around the world, to help to improve the mental health of their patients. 

And it really is a privilege.... it's like being the conductor of a high quality symphony orchestra. There are so many excellent family doctors, doing so many important things in the field of primary mental health care -  it is exciting to hear them all, and to help people to work more effectively together.  

For example, in Brazil we are arranging a series of mental health training programmes for family doctors, based on the World Health Organisation's mhGAP programme.  In the Eastern Mediterranean region, we are working with many others to develop comprehensive community based mental health systems.  And in China and Eastern Europe we are finding new ways to help family doctors gain more confidence and skill in diagnosing common mental health problems. 

We are also acting as advocates for vulnerable groups in our communities, including people with severe mental illness, and asylum seekers traumatized by their experiences.

You can read more about us, and keep in touch with our activities and progress, through this link to the WONCA website