One Hundred Percent Cacao

Early in January I had an appointment at Kaiser and then walked home, which took about a hour and cost about $30, since I passed Whole Foods, where they have pizza; Gus's, where they have a type of fake dairy that one might dip a potato chip in, as well as several kinds of 100 percent cacao; and Valencia Whole Food, where they have a kind of rice-based crunchy snack that I like. In the evening, Sam and I had dinner at Udupi Palace and then he came over to my place for tea and a nice chat.

At work one day, I learned that Carolina has been reassigned to another campus, to units that are almost certainly more interesting than the ones I now have sole possession of, and she will also get the chance to see two of the other chaplains regularly. I felt a series of pangs: The boss likes her more than she likes me. Carolina will become friends with colleagues I hardly ever see. She will gain valuable experience. I felt sad and worried. I reminded myself that what is happening is meant to be—Howie says you can tell what's meant to be by what is: if it's happening, it's meant to be. This doesn't mean that it was so ordained by a higher power but that the lawful working of a vast web of causes and conditions has produced this result, and could have produced no other.

I further reminded myself that I have the tools to deal with this—more wisdom from Howie—and that my best course of action is just to keep doing my job as well as I can. This work is its own reward, for the most part, but if there are additional rewards to be had, they will come from doing my best.

Later I realized that I was misreading the schedule and that there won't be as much fraternization of my fellow chaplains as I had thought at first, and a couple of weeks later, Carolina mentioned the difficulty she is having getting along with the main chaplain at her new campus, so you never know.

Usually the CPE students are in charge of leading an interfaith service that happens twice a month, but due to a student's illness, I was asked to do this early in January. I had fun planning it. It turns out that the activities director does way more work for this event than any chaplain does: She goes around three units finding out what patients want to come, she makes sure that their rehab activities won't conflict, and she physically transports those in wheelchairs to the service. Along the way, she also finds out which patients would like a one-on-one visit with the chaplain and which would like communion, and writes their names  down. She mentioned that the nurses also ask patients if they would like to go to this service, but only the Catholic ones. I was slightly chagrined to hear this, since it is explicitly an interfaith event, for people of any faith or none.

There ended up being two attendees, both in wheelchairs, plus the activities director, which was good, because she was a lovely presence and also made valuable contributions. I started by telling the two patients to let us know if they experienced pain or distress during the session, as we would want to attend to that immediately.
 
I read the June 7 prayer from Prayers for Healing: 365 Blessings, Poems, & Meditations from Around the World, edited by Maggie Oman, and led a guided meditation, a body scan. I said it was fine to skip any body parts that the person was unable to feel, but the activities director said it's good to imagine body parts you can't feel, because that is 25 percent of the work of rehab! Who knew? I will definitely remember that for the future.

After the body scan, I said, "Taking a few moments to bring to mind the illness or injury you are dealing with, or perhaps an emotional difficulty or something that is worrying you. Thinking about what your biggest concern is today." After allowing time to think about this, I said, "It's natural to want our difficulties to go away, to be over, to want to be able to do what we were able to do before. But taking a moment to imagine your difficulty as a friend that you care about, who needs your kindness, or your encouragement, or the wisdom that you have gathered in life. Taking some moments to offer words of encouragement or wisdom to your problem."

I did this myself, thinking about my colleague and her new assignment. I said to myself, "You feel sad."

"Yeah!" something inside myself answered.

"You feel worried."

"Yeah!"

Those "Yeah!"s were strangely comforting, so I said to the group, "You might notice emotions as you think about your difficulty. It is natural to feel sad, or scared, or angry. So, making space for those feelings and naming them."

After a couple of minutes—after I had pondered my own difficulty and received my own words of wisdom—I invited the others to feel their bodies in the room and to open their eyes, if they wanted to, and to share about their experience. The only person who wanted to share was the activities director, though the other two looked peaceful and thoughtful, as they also had during the meditation. In the Sati Center class, we were trained to keep our eyes open during such meditations so we can see what is going on with the person(s) we are leading.

The activities director said she didn't really connect with words to offer her difficulty, so instead she smiled at it. Great idea. I will also be stealing—that is, remembering that. The activities director added that she has her resources, and pulled out an envelope which she said was full of prayers and helpful things she has collected over the years. I asked, "Would you like to share one of your favorites?" and she read us a Native American prayer.

I asked the group to close their eyes and think of a word that expressed their aspiration for the rest of this one day, or a quality that is needed, or an image that provides encouragement, perhaps the face of someone whose support and love can always be counted on. I myself shared that I was picturing the face of my meditation teacher and imagining him reminding me, "You have the tools you need to deal with this."

I closed with the August 24 entry from Prayers for Healing.

Afterward, the activities director took one of the patients back to her unit, and I waited with the other, so she wouldn't be alone. I think this patient must have had a stroke. She very haltingly shared that she is normally "not this quiet." She said it was hard for her to speak right then, but, "Your words—they comforted me." I was pleased for her sake, and it was also gratifying to hear.