We all have hardwired within ourselves an Inner Resource that we can call upon in every moment. This Inner Resource is a powerful ally that enables us to remain grounded, in control, at peace, in harmony, and at ease within ourselves; it helps us respond to each and every situation we encounter throughout our lifetime.
The Inner Resource is unique to each of us; a powerful companion of unchanging stability; a foundational stone in our practice of yoga, meditation and iRest that supports true health, healing, resilience and well-being.
I have been singing with Threshold Choir for more than three years, and have been singing at the bedsides of the dying for about two. Much of my singing is at nursing homes and falls into the category of “visiting the shut-in,” but two recent bedsides have been an important learning experience for me.
The first time I sang at the bedside of Bruce, he was at home, surrounded by his beloved miniature longhair dachshunds and his wife. He did not interact with us, and others from our choir sang at his home in the following weeks. Then he was transferred to ICU for breathing problems. He had been sick for a long time, and I was part of the team that sang for him while he was on breathing support. Breathing support was removed the next day and we sang for him two more times. His room was always filled with friends and someone was always holding his hand. We had been instructed to sing upbeat, gospel-style songs. His wife told us that she had told Bruce that it was okay for him to go, but his vitals had not changed much from when he was on breathing support. He did not interact with us during any of these visits.
On the fourth sing, Bruce’s wife was holding his hand and the mood in the room had changed from the upbeat vibe the day before to something more somber. Our song mother sensed the change and did not sing the gospel songs, instead singing the end-of-life songs that are our true mission. As we sang, the steadfast courage the wife had been displaying slipped away and she began to quietly sob, her tears falling on Bruce’s hand. We continued to sing with lumps in our throats and tears in our eyes until she regained her composure. Bruce passed away that night.
Last Friday, I sang at the bedside of an eight-year-old girl. She was at home with her mother who proudly showed us a video of her daughter singing. It clearly showed that this little girl had been “medically fragile” since birth. The mother expertly infused fluids into the girl’s IV. The girl was on the couch in the living room and was on breathing support, too. We were visited by her older brother, for whom we sang Hollow Bamboo, and her baby sister, in diapers and still nursing. The mother was trying to be brave, but when the other two children were cleared from the room and she was there with us and holding the hand of her dying daughter, she began to weep during “Guide Me Through The Darkness.” We kept singing softly until she regained her composure. Eva died that night.
Both Bruce and Eva were deeply loved by their families, and yet I could see how holding on to what must be released is the source of so much suffering. The people who were on the Threshold seemed to need to be released by those whose prayers held them back. When the bereaved person truly let them go, the communication seemed to flow through holding the hand of the loved one on her tearful face.
We sang at the end of Bruce’s funeral — the gospel song.
“Yield to the Present” was the sign near the door when Dan Harris, the ambitious ABC reporter, arrived at Spirit Rock in Marin for his 10 day silent retreat in an effort to become “less of a jerk.” The book was a dishy read of behind-the-scenes at ABC news, which I loved, and had a lot of good information on his walk toward Buddhism
Dan’s teachers suggest using our native curiosity to train our Default Mode Network to move from Aversion to Compassion. To move from being a jerk, in his parlance, to a mensch. He shows the brain chemistry and meditation techniques to do it, including asking yourself, when you are ruminating on the same thought for the nineteenth time, “is this useful?”
One of his mentors, Mark Epstein, explains on page 164 discussion Dan could become 10% happier because of mitigation of misery, not alleviation. The waterfall of drama is still there, you gain the ability to step behind the waterfall, creating a space to witness what is going on. Instead of the kneejerk stimulus —> reaction, you have walked behind the waterfall of emotion and created enough space to move to stimulus —> response because you are less caught up in the melodrama that is unfolding. You are less attached to the outcome. You have space for a little insight because you are not clinging to success so desperately. Here the metta prayer he learned at Spirit Rock:
May you be happy
May you be safe and protected from harm
May you be healthy and strong
May you live with ease
My favorite part was in the appendix where Dan Harris mentions the research of Jud Brewer, MD, PhD, addiction psychiatrist at Yale. Here’s Jud’s TED talk shows how to calm the posterior cingulate — get it to “turn blue” in the fMRI.
Last night I auditioned for the Sonoma County Threshold Choir and by the end of the meeting I was invited to join. Three of the seven women had just returned from the International gathering of the choirs which was held in Santa Cruz. They had been singing for three days and were stoked! Ideas for songs to sing just tumbled out and they enthusiastically explored to make each song sound better.
The “what we do” page says the Threshold singers seek to bring ease and comfort to those at the threshold of living and dying. A calm and focused presence at the bedside, with gentle voices, simple songs, and sincere kindness, can be soothing and reassuring to clients, family, and caregivers alike.
They put a recliner in the center of the room and took turns being the “singee.” The bedside singers would come close and sing gently, usually with two-part harmony and often with three. No Ethel Mermans here, they all sang as if they were mostly listening. I have never before heard singing that was an unspoken dialog.
The feeling of kindness and sharing was open and palpable. The bond of the community was remarkable. They liked that I could blend with the soft and gentle sound and they were very welcoming. I am looking forward to going back.
Strangely, what reduces stress best is not trying to make it go away. Instead, by attending to your breathing, your body sensations or a special word, you bring yourself momentarily into a very basic, nonjudgmental awareness. Grounded in this place of awareness, you can allow things to be as they are, almost as though you were sitting in the eye of a hurricane. The stress may still be there, swirling around, but for the moment you are sitting in awareness.