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Written especially for Challenges. HONORING
THE CENTER THAT HOLDS Over the years of my ministry, I have had the opportunity and the honor of working with many people who were in the process of recovering from various childhood wounds and addictions. I use the word “honor” quite deliberately, because, despite the wounds and the layers of addiction, many of the people I worked with had such spirit, strength and deep-down integrity, that it deepened (as well as challenged!) my faith, inspired me, and gave me hope. Even though I was the defined “helper” in the relationships, clearly there were mutual gifts exchanged. In this article I intend to explore the source of this strength, spirit and giftedness. For me, it is a spiritual source. To write about spirituality in the healing process from childhood trauma, addiction, and wounded-ness is to take a risk. For whenever we try to capture in words something so inherently elusive yet powerful, we risk oversimplifying and overstating at the same time. Sometimes, the best we can do is to point to places in the process where traces of the spirit have been experienced. Yet not to attempt to speak about it, not to name, and perhaps claim, spirituality as an essential part of healing is to do a great disservice to many survivors I know and have worked with. Somehow, we have come to a point where we are raising generations of disconnected individuals, cut off from their full humanity within (addictions, alienation, emptiness, false self), and cut off from one another without (racism, hatred, violence). Childhood woundedness and trauma play a major role in this disconnection. In the last decade we have seen a tremendous increase in the knowledge of the incidence of child abuse and the profound effects that childhood abuse and woundedness have on the consciousness and functioning of these children when they grow up. The legacy of childhood woundedness is often a constricted self unable to feel and experience an authentic connection with God (or however we name that reality that transcends the empirical self), our true self, or others. This leads to various addictions, codepen-dence, poor self esteem, and a sense of emptiness that all the consumerism in the world cannot alleviate. As a culture we are now more sensitive to the recovery movements and programs which recognize the woundedness and seek to address the needs. There seems to be a growing recognition of the role that spirituality can play in the recovery of our full humanity. The role of spirituality in recovery from childhood trauma is crucially important during these times when so much focus has been on the psychological and social impact of the trauma, and on psycho-social models of healing. Religion? Many people get confused and concerned about the similarities and differences between “religion” and “spirituality.” Let me share some thoughts on this dilemma. Spirituality is notoriously hard to define, and religion is a word that covers a vast array of human belief and behaviors. Whereas in the past these two words “spirituality” and “religion” tended to be used interchangeably, recently there has been emerging a clearer sense of some divergences. Many people who consider themselves spiritual would not describe themselves as religious. And for some people who are religiously identified with a specific traditional religion, the word spirituality is suspect and smacks of new age dabblers in all sorts of strange undertakings and beliefs. The difference was starkly delineated by a participant in a twelve-step program: “Religion is for those who fear hell; spirituality is for those who’ve been there.” It is perhaps helpful to look at the etymology of the words. Religion comes from the Latin word “Re-ligare,” which means to bind together again, to reconnect. The word spirit comes from the Latin, “Spiritus” which means breath, wind, and spirit. A spirit is hard to grasp or hold onto. Our words “inspiration” (which means infused with the spirit) and “respiration” (which has to do with breath) share the same root and show the different shades of meaning. Religion is the organized, historical institution with rituals, traditions, creeds, hierarchy, etc. Spirituality is the contact with the life of the spirit within us, a spirit that seeks to keep us vitally connected to God (the Source of our lives), with our true selves, and lovingly with others. Religion when it is functioning properly and healthily nourishes the life of the spirit within us. It names that spirit, tells us stories about that spirit and how it changes, comforts and challenges us in our lives. I don’t just mean the life inside of us either, but our lives in the context of our relationship to others, and to the world. A healthy and helpful religion will be true to its etymology, “to tie back again, to reconnect,” by reconnecting us with the life of the spirit within us--symbolized in the Genesis account of the creation of humanity where God’s very breath (spirit) is breathed within us to animate us. It’s a matter of relatedness and connection. The spirit within us leads us to awareness of the connection we have with God, our true selves, and lovingly with others. Our spirituality is our openness to the life of the spirit within us. The spirit within us is not something we have made but something that is a “given” by the very fact we are alive and breathing. In many sacred traditions the word spirit, as mentioned above, has a deeply rooted connection with words having to do with breath, breathing, and wind. The spirit is as intimate to us as our own breath, and just as connected as our breath is to life, and yet just as elusive as the wind. So spirituality is about our connectedness to true life within us. For many obvious reasons the true life within us is constricted and shut down by the experience of childhood trauma. It is just too painful and overwhelming for the child to bear or to integrate into the developing self-system. The sense of aliveness and connectedness to the center of life which was given as a birthright is now dampened, muted, distorted, and fractured by the traumatic event. In this manner, the human psyche has a way of protecting us from total disintegration by partial and temporary fragmentation. This separation from our true selves, that which holds and knows our true eelings and experiences, is a survival technique and not meant to be developed into a way of life. Those very adaptations, such as dissociation, fragmentation and numbing, that are meant to save the integrity of the life of the psyche, can become, as we grow older, walls that diminish our lives and separate us from our true selves. Spirituality in recovery and healing thus involves our reconnecting with the center of true life within us. It is a center that holds, even when our whole lives, and the provisional selves we have developed to cope with the world, seem to be falling apart. There is a wisdom in the psyche that many of the spiritual traditions have long recognized, that intends our healing and wholeness. So when the time is right, the same psyche which split the experience for our own protection, begins to call us back toward wholeness through integration. Spirituality in recovery and healing thus involves our reconnecting with the center of true life within us. I have come to call this center that contains the key to our full sense of aliveness and connectedness “the Center that Holds,” as opposed to the various centers out of which we try to live and cope, and which invariably, and of necessity, fall apart. The phrase comes as a counter-balance to some well known lines from Yeats’ poem, “The Second Coming:” Turning
and turning in the widening gyre The image is taken from the sport of falconry in which a falcon would fly in faster and larger circles while still being tied to a falconer. The centrifugal force would be tremendous, and the center, that which was supposed to be in control, simply cannot hold. The poem continues: mere
anarchy is loosed upon the world, The feeling of “mere anarchy being loosed upon the world,” the world that the self has built to cope, is the usual precursor and summons to the journey of recovery. As images and memories of the traumatic event begin to intrude into consciousness, it feels as though the “blood dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned.” Denial is no longer possible in the same way and the innocence, as expressed by the fantasy of a happy childhood and perfect parents, cannot be maintained. It is a time of mental disorientation, emotional instability, and spiritual anguish. The old world is crumbling and it feels as though there is nothing to take its place, nothing to hold onto, and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men can’t really put it all together again in that same old way. But this crisis is also an opportunity to stop living a provisional existence and to discover or recover one’s true life story. When things fall apart, and the center cannot hold, it feels like one is losing a grip on life and reality. There is a desperation to hold onto things as they were because they were at least familiar. The desperation is rooted in the survival instinct because the worldly center (hereafter simply called “center” with a small “c”) believes that there is nothing else beyond itself. So it fights for its life. But there exists another Center within us, one that does hold, one that intends our wholeness and integrity. So we have two centers within us. One center is formed by the world and the people around us. It is the center we construct and operate out of in order to get along in the world as we experience it. This can be a broad and fairly healthy functioning center, or a narrow and barely functioning center depending on the circumstances and atmosphere under which it was formed and called into being. Beneath this center lies another Center, not called forth by the world, but given as a birthright. It is a Center that intends our wholeness and well-being, and it attempts to guide us and lure us on paths that will make us whole. Within this Center lies the wisdom and knowledge needed for us to grow into the authentic and unique individuals we were intended to be, and potentially still can become. This is the Center that I call the Center-that-Holds; both in the sense of its holding together even when our world seems to be falling apart, and in the sense that it holds us, embraces us, and envelops us in its purpose of life, love and connectedness. Since our worldly center (or ego, or self) is humanly constructed, it can be de-structed and fall apart. Our essential Center, the Center-that-Holds, can be covered over, ignored, doubted, trivialized, scarred and wounded--but never destroyed. But the worldly center does not know this or trust this. It fights for its life when things begin to break down. It is a moment of crisis; and as the Chinese character for “crisis” conveys, it is both a danger and an opportunity. The crisis at the onset of recovery can lead to one’s “undoing” or lead to a deepening relationship between the two centers. The journey of healing from childhood trauma and addiction becomes an ongoing process of “centering;” that is, aligning one’s worldly center more clearly and consciously with the Center-that-Holds. The more successful one is in this centering process, the more authentic one’s life feels, and the growing connection between the centers brings with it a sense of aliveness. Nearly all the great religious and spiritual traditions speak of this dynamic of leaving behind our exclusive identification with one center and opening towards the deeper one. It is often described as a “Rebirth” or as being “born again.” Other traditions speak of the divine spark within. The Hindu tradition speaks of the Atman-Brahman connection. In psychologies that recognize the transpersonal dimension of the human psyche (which comes from the Greek word for “Soul”), one often comes across references to a “true self” or “higher self.” In Jungian terminology the Center-that-Holds would be analogous to his Self archetype, and the worldly center would correspond with the ego-complex. As you can see there are many different ways of naming the experiential reality of these two centers with us. Let me make it clear that I am not denouncing the worldly center as bad; it is necessary to develop one in order to help us orient and operate in the world. The danger lies in our over-identification with this center. One can become so mesmerized by the dramas of life that one forgets the deeper Center. It is important that there is communication between the two centers, the more conscious the better. The worldly center that develops in an abusive situation tends to be more closed off and protective. This is understandable and necessary in order to survive and not be overwhelmed with the feelings and pain that the situation engenders. But this closing off, or “shutting down,” can lead to a cutting off of communication not only with the painful feelings and memories, but also from the helpful relationship with the Center-that-Holds. One metaphor or analogy that I find helpful is that of the acorn. Let the hard outside covering stand for the worldly center. It is necessary and functional. It protects the soft vulnerable core inside that contains the power to grow and to become what it is fully intended to be, an oak tree. If we become over-identified with the outer shell and hold onto it at all costs, then we are in trouble. In the natural course of events, the outer shell is supposed to crack open, allowing the inner potential to come to fruition. But when this outer shell begins this process of cracking open, we fear that there is nothing inside, or because of the repressed traumatic material, we fear being flooded with “unknown” feelings and danger, and we try to hold onto the shell. When a crack appears, we try to patch it up as quickly as possible and keep the outer shell intact. Many therapies focus on doing just that--patching up the cracks and keeping one functional. Sometimes this is called for because losing the outer shell too quickly can damage the inner core when the right circumstances are not present. There are no easy and foolproof guidelines to help discern the timing, but in my experience, the psyche of the client will get messages from the Center-that-Holds that will help in the discernment process. Early in the healing process, which often feels like a process of disintegration for the client, the Center is projected upon the therapist. The client feels that the therapist carries the knowledge, wisdom, understanding and expertise that can help him or her get things back together. When the healing process goes well, the client will slowly be able to realize that the knowledge, wisdom, understanding and expertise resides within. Through dreams, images, intuitions, and through a series of experiences, prompting and connections, which I have come to call “inner providence,” the Center-that-Holds makes contact with the struggling worldly center. Inner providence is a concept I use to explain the experiential reality of clients when things seem to come along at just the right time to help in the healing process. Sometimes a book, or a chance encounter with someone, a movie, or almost anything really, can become timely grist for the mill of healing and recovery. It is a sense of being “gifted” with a particularly meaningful happening, just when you needed it. It is a feeling that things are ordered by some higher power in a way that enhances one’s chance for healing and wholeness. There is much more I could say about this Center-that-Holds, how I have seen it manifest in people’s recovery process, how we can establish and maintain a life-giving connection with it. But I have already gone on long enough. Maybe another time! TO BE CONTINUED © Copyright 1996 Richard T. Fournier. The pastor of historic Old First Church (of Christ Congregational, 1637 in Springfield, MA), Rev. Fournier is a graduate of Boston Latin High School, Colby College, and Boston University’s School of Theology (magna cum laude),with a M.Div. degree. His “extra-curricular” activities include teaching courses in spirituality at Smith College, leading recovery workshops, and serving as a retreat leader.
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