My Heart In My Hands

I started out writing a poem… and then it became this. Some poetic prose. 

My Heart In My Hands

You ripped my heart out of my chest, and I grabbed it from you, and tried to stuff it back in. But it didn’t fit any more. 

My heart had shrunk in fear and grief, and fell out of my chest, time and time again. Vulnerably exposed, angrily raw, and easily wounded, it stared back at me with questions I did not dare to ask myself, knowing I had no answers anyway. 

My heart grew as I did, taking in the pain of others, suffering alongside them as never before, because I had suffered too. It tried to sit in my chest, expanding as it took in the possibilities of loving people, trusting them again, of being worthy, and deserving of all that is good. 

Some days I felt my heart shrink away afraid, other days it expanded fearlessly full. It felt like the pull of tides, something visceral and real, quite beyond my control. I rode the waves as they came and went, and I learnt that change is the only constant. Slowly, I grew to watch my heart in my hands and love it, not despite its fragmented state, but because of it. 

The hole in my chest had been too big, and then too small, and then too big, and then too small… a rollercoaster ride of self awareness and understanding, laced with compassion and love, for my own broken heart. It would never be the same again, ever. 

I realised I held it in my hands each day, and watched the ebb and flow of daily life shrink it or grow it. I must be kind to this heart beating a tuneful rhythm in tandem with life itself. I owe it to myself, no one else will do this for me. I sit with it, and I love it, in moments of deep pain, and in moments of great joy, almost watching it from afar, willing myself from one low to the next high, searching for an even keel, a quiet lull, a peaceful stretch, when time ticks over and the heart is at rest. 

All of life flows from the heart, and guard it we must, while we let it beat a little wildly, feel so very deeply, and speak so eloquently to us of what it means to be fully human. 

Would I have known my own heart so intimately if you had left it in my chest?  I might never have met it, and yet, I cannot thank you for this. My heart won’t grow in that direction. If the only constant is change, then maybe some day it will, but not today. Today, I sit and watch my heart in my hands, and tears fall, but my heart expands, in love, for me. 

Pavitar

12th Nov 2022

Thanks for reading.

Dawn at the East Coast, 2020.

Musings on The Wounded Healer

Musings on The Wounded Healer

Opening afresh my wounds gape up at me,

Asking me to decide what to do. 

Are they wounds that wound or wounds that heal,

Which will it be when I encounter you?

Gaping wounds cry out to be sewn shut, 

Flooded by memories, plagued by pain.

One stitch at a time at every deep cut,

Nerve endings screaming in my brain. 

Perhaps if I closed my inner eyes instead, 

And forgot for now every shed tear,

If I left them somewhere in my head,

They would fade away and disappear. 

“I have no wounds”, I tried to pretend,

But they grew septic, bleeding out from me.

In extending to others my helping hands,

How could I be the best version of me?

How can we help heal others, 

When we ourselves are broken?

How do we not wound others, 

When we ourselves have wounds unspoken? 

Bringing my wounds into the light, 

Seeing myself and my failures truly,

Loving myself despite the sorry sight,

Letting go, forgiving, moving on slowly. 

If only old wounds never ripped apart,

If only memories never lingered in our mind.

If only we could truly shut our heart,

If only we could forever leave the past behind. 

The wounded healer daily makes a choice,

Not from pain to wound others,

Choosing instead their healing voice,

For their own wounds and those of others.

Reflections on a quiet afternoon on how vigilant we must be to articulate, process, and heal our own wounds even as we help others with their wounds. A daily duty to self and others, to be the best version of one’s self at every encounter, or at least to try. We are all wounded healers.  🙏🏼❤️

Thanks for reading, 

Pav

Choosing Authenticity

Love my counselling work because it’s a constant reminder to me to remain authentic. Woke up feeling so exhausted today, and plagued by memories of the past. Found my emotions threatening to overwhelm me, and I recalled something I’d just told a client recently… 

“If we don’t manage our emotions, they’ll manage us. Acknowledge how you feel, recognise your feelings, sit with them briefly, and then make a choice to let them go”. 

Also reminded of the lists that I help clients make but somehow do not enjoy making myself. Faced with choices? List pros and cons, don’t just wing it on a feeling and a prayer. Write it down, clarity will come. Gosh, I’d forgotten just how hard writing can be and yet my lovely clients work hard at any task I set for them. Must. Write. Also. 

Then there’s the sessions on building self esteem and allowing internal validation to grow, to develop an innate sense of intuitively knowing what you must do, for you. But this is so hard, for me. Trapped in places in the past, I struggle to let go of hurts, judgments, words, and actions that have hurt me to the core. And then I am reminded of what I tell my most traumatised clients:

“Very rarely is there a moment of intense healing that never necessitates a return to dealing with past wounds. We may have to accept that all of life is learning how to live at peace with our old, and fresh, wounds. They remain with us, always, a reminder of our humanity and frailty, and the need to pick ourselves up and keep going, over and over, everyday, if necessary, looking forward, moving on.”

And that other reminder to self which I tell myself ever so often:

“If the past lives in your head without paying rent, it’s time to evict it. Let it go, and be kind to yourself. Direct love, kindness, and compassion to your own heart and mind, and help your healing by loving the person in the mirror”. 

“If you had to describe yourself to a complete stranger what would you say?” One of my fav questions to ask, and to read the answers. Perhaps I need to write this myself, though I’d struggle not to over analyse my every choice of word! 

People are mysteries, even unto themselves, afraid to love themselves because they might find that they are strangely unworthy of love. If only we all knew how powerful truly loving ourselves is as the key to being able to love others, freely giving and receiving love. All of life is a journey along this road, towards this space where we can be seen as we are, and truly loved as we are. Living in that space is the tension we face, knowing how imperfect we are, and yet wanting more of ourselves and of others. 

Love is the key to surviving the trauma that is life. Yes, life is trauma, all the way from start to end. Oh dear, feeling a wave of melancholy threatening to sweep over me… I know you, old friend, I sit with you briefly, I let you go freely. No long visits with you today. I choose joy, and I choose to live authentically, so that I know, in my soul, that what I do and what I say are the same. 

Got four lovely clients today, maybe I’ll do some painting, gonna feed the zoo in my roof garden, and gonna eat some carbs. In short, choosing to focus on the things that bring me joy. Carbs! Haha! No space for things that don’t bring me joy. Evicting unwanted tenants from my head, heart, and soul. Choosing authenticity all the way.  🙂 

Thanks for reading, 

Pav

A Reflection on Death and Dying

Some people are afraid of death, imagining it to be something frighteningly mysterious and darkly disturbing that they must fight against all their lives. I think death is a relief, a rest, a rite of passage, for all of us. Nobody is escaping life alive, we’re all going to die, somehow, somewhere, some day. The mystery might be that we do not know the details, and what really happens when we die, but it’s going to happen whether we have those answers or not. 

I really do think the secret to living fully is fully accepting the inevitability of death, not exactly inviting it but simply acknowledging that it must surely come. And then living life without fear or frenzy, as if one must pack in electrified energy into every second but rather breathing in the essence of each moment in a calm and peaceful way. Savouring each breath as a gentle ebb and flow of waves upon the troubled sea of life, rising above the worry and woes, and recognising one’s place in time and space. Content to be as tiny and insignificant as a grain of sand at the ocean’s edge, as a drop of water in the sea, as a speck of dust floating in the breeze above the tempest. 

Might death then be the same, like a breathing of the soul, finally exhaled from its tiny, caged, physical frailty and set free to wherever it must go? Does the mind live on with its myriad thoughts and ruminations, or does consciousness cease to be? Is the soul an ephemeral or eternal thing that God breathed into us on the day He saw fit to bring us to life, binding us forever with our fellow living, breathing, sentient creatures on this planet, and perhaps beyond? Where will it go when we die, if not back to Him, for all eternity? 

What is a human life, so short, like flowers swaying in the wind, the grass trembling in the rain, or the butterfly fluttering by in the sun? We’re here today, and gone tomorrow, a memory in the hearts of those who loved us, until they, too, are gone. Where do all those collective memories go, and who remembers the ones gone many moons before? 

Death is the only certainty once we are born. Embrace it, expect it, live it. Dying to self is the first death we must endure, and the better we are at dying to ego, the easier that final physical death will be, the one mystery that truly sets us free. That moment in which we gladly say, “It is finished, take me back to Thee”. 

Thanks for reading, 

Pav

Let Me Meet You Where You Are

Someone asked me once if I preached the Gospel to my clients and I said I didn’t. Not so much because I cannot, as a secularly trained Counsellor in a multiracial, multireligious, and multicultural nation, but also because I didn’t want to do so. Some are shocked by this, as if I was wasting opportunities, but I see it as “let me meet you where your needs are” rather than “let me meet you with my own agenda”. I have no agenda, other than to help you, and helping can only begin when I accept you as you are. 

Some of my most meaningful counselling sessions have involved encouraging others who speak of their faith, whatever it may be, to deepen their walk with their God, whoever He might be, if that might provide them solace, comfort, courage and meaning in their journey through life. 

The Muslim, struggling to remain true to her heart as a woman who won’t conform, is also fasting, and I encourage her to draw closer to her God, and a deeper understanding of God as loving, kind, forgiving and merciful, and what a relationship with her Creator, as she calls Him, might look like. Draw near to your God, may He heal your sorrows. She weeps, because her pain is deep, and God seems far. 

The Hindu, whose wife died, is plagued by guilt, but his life philosophy involves an acceptance that God dictates whatever happens in his life, and so I encourage him to see guilt and regret in that light, and to define his faith more clearly so he can live by its values. The diverging dichotomy in his mind between fate and his failures as a husband must heal, so he can make sense of his loss and grief, without self blame. 

The lapsed Christian, uncertain if God still loves him, feeling rejected by family and church for his personal beliefs and sexuality, must find a way towards self love and acceptance apart from the judgments of others, and again, I ask what God means to him, and what might a loving relationship look like, and how important is autonomy, independence, and self actualisation to him? Can all of this, and the concept of God as presented in religion today, make sense to him? Can he reconcile it all and hold it all together? Does he want to try? What might the implications be if he must strike out on his own with no support? 

For the agnostic, who chooses not to believe in an afterlife, the thought of never seeing her late father again is a sadness that plagues her deeply. I encourage her to articulate why she sees the afterlife as a crutch for the weak, and if her father’s death is an opportunity to revisit his Buddhist beliefs, and to reconsider her own, seeking to make meaning of life and death in a way that will make sense to her. 

To the atheist, who says God doesn’t exist, I am happy to chat about values, principles, joy, and meaningful living, on his terms, despite his growing sense of ennui and purposelessness, and that something might be missing in life. I encourage the search for what is missing, and to clearly articulate his philosophy of life for himself without God in the picture, in the hope that the part of the puzzle that will help it all fall into place will become clear to him. It might be anything that fills the hole in his soul, it might even be the realisation that nothing ever will, and that it’s okay to live that way. 

I don’t provide answers, I don’t judge, I don’t preach. I take a journey with you, to explore your own thoughts about life and existence, and I acknowledge all of your thoughts, values, principles, faiths etc as valuable, because they have great value to you. It’s not about me. I don’t force my own opinions and ideas on anyone. For so many of my clients, no one genuinely listens to them, everyone is judging, advising, reprimanding or punishing. Mine is a safe space to be vulnerable and to share, and many weep as they do, because it’s the first time they’ve ever told anyone these things. These dark, deep secrets that they are afraid to share because they fear they will no longer be lovable once they do articulate them. 

No judgment, no fear, only acceptance and a helping hand towards healing, clarity, purposeful and meaningful living, and hopefully joy some day. Come as you are, leave a better version of you. I may pray for you in my own time, and I often ask God for wisdom before sessions. May I be as Christlike as possible, and may He use me to help others. To me that translates to being loving, and a deep sacrificing of self and ego. It’s hard work but it can be done. It’s never about me, it’s always about you. Is it love in some form that says, “Here I am, you are safe, bare your soul, and I will help you heal?” Perhaps it is indeed love. 

I see the same love on the Cross. Thank you, Jesus, for showing the way. 🙏🏼❤️

Thanks for reading, 

Pav

patientvoices.sg1@gmail.com

Letting Go aka "Mindfulness" As I See It

 Have to write an essay on Mindfulness but I found it easier to write a poem instead. An Ode to my last advanced module for my MSc. “Mindfulness”, as I see it.

Letting go.

Uncurling my fingers, one by one

Feeling the fear, feeling undone.

Can I let go, detach, be ever free,

Will everything ever have a hold of me?

“I need”, “I want”, “I love”, are the same,

Desires born of the ego’s flame.

Let go of hunger’s greedy grasp,

Let go of the mutually needy clasp.

Letting go shouldn’t be this tough,

But the ego finds the journey rough.

Dying to self is a lifelong task,

A daily removal of the mask.

Who am I beneath my skin,

What version of me lurks within,

Why am I hoarding all my fear,

When will I let “me” break clear?

They say let the past go, move on.

I say hold on to lessons hard won.

Leave the hurt, the loss, the pain,

Let me never forget what I gained.

Am I mindfully zen, soulfully aware,

Every part of me disengaged from care?

Save my soul from endless suffering,

Bleed the pain out in the letting.

Can I lie calmly upon the sea,

Let the waves just carry me,

Up and down as life dictates,

Content at peace in all states?

Let the storms come, I float along,

As I detach, I grow strong.

Attachment is pain and suffering,

Detaching, letting go, is truly loving.

Letting go is to love without caging,

It’s “I want nothing, I need nothing”.

Loving deeply without expectation,

Floating along without consternation.

It’s frightening, one fears utter loss,

As the ego dies, one sees one’s dross.

Daily dying to self by letting go,

Then ourselves we’ll truly know.

Uncurling my fingers, one by one

Feeling calm, finally undone.

I let go, detach, am ever free,

Let nothing ever have a hold of me.

Thanks for reading,

Pav

5th April 2022

Some Say God Is A Crutch

Some say God is a crutch,

For the weak, the broken, for those who cannot walk alone. 

I say I am weak, I am broken, all that and much more.

I cannot walk alone, I do not want to, I do not need to,

Be my crutch, God. 

Some say God is a figment of our imagination,

I say He’s a pigment of mine.

I see His hand in everything, His face in everyone, 

In nature He is best revealed in all His splendid glory, 

The colours of His love splashed across the world. 

Some say God is a lie, 

Invented to help little children sleep at night. 

I say the truth of this world terrifies the soul,

Shadows lengthen by day’s end as darkness falls,

I welcome the peaceful slumber He brings as I entrust my night to Him. 

Some say God is a hoax invented by those in power to control the gullible. 

I say I exercise free will, and live with consequences, 

No one controls me unless I let them,

No one owns my mind or forces me to believe, 

I choose to believe. 

Some say God is a cruel joke, and He laughs as we suffer, 

Orchestrating a theatrical play with all of us upon a stage,

I say what if God has the first laugh, and the last one too, 

Where does that place you? 

In the furthest corner of your heart a doubt crouches, springing up at you in times of crisis…

“What if He really does exist?”

Some say God is purest love and only love,

There is nothing else in Him.

I say God must also be just and fair if love is to have any meaning at all. 

Justice works alongside mercy, thus love may endure,

For to love is not to close an eye to evil but to know when to draw a line.

Some say God is an invisible old man up in the sky,

Jealously seeking our worship. 

I say He’s my Creator and lives in my heart, 

He doesn’t have to earn my affection,

Neither does He have to be seen to be known, 

Like the wind he is everywhere and nowhere; felt, heard, known yet unseen, all at once. 

Some say God is a magician who sometimes answers prayers, and sometimes lets good people die. 

I say God doesn’t have to answer my prayers, and it’s not for me to question why. 

God shapes the human heart not by granting every wish, but by saying “No” to many desires,

We grow when we seek the Giver and not the gifts. 

Some say God should be female, others insist He is masculine,

Arguing that one seeks to diminish the other. 

I say He is both, even as we embody both qualities, 

And naming one doesn’t negate the other,

God is beyond the polarity of gender.

Some say God is only for the weak of heart.

And I say, no, He is also for the bold and brave.

What depths of terror might one descend to flee faith in Him, to find faith without Him, 

For with faith or without, it is belief that informs the will,

And either way it is the brave who choose to believe, whatever they believe. 

Some say God is many, different things,

And yet to them He is nothing, and that is all they want. 

I say He is many things, and know He is my everything, and that’s enough for me. 

Some say God is a crutch, 

I say I am broken, I need His help.

When I am falling, He catches me,

When I am weak, He lifts me up,

When I falter in pain He bears my weight,

With Him I can walk with my head held high.

I lean on God.

Thanks for reading,

Pav

6th December 2021

(Inspired, in part, by my need to rely on a crutch due to a broken foot that is taking a few months to heal)

Forgiveness is Freedom

Forgiveness is Freedom

To the good time buddies who left when the bad times rolled in, I say thank you. 

To the happy go lucky types who shrank away when sadly, my luck ran dry, I say thank you. 

To the fun loving, laughing ones who ran when the dam broke and tears flooded the space between us, I say thank you. 

To the surface breathers who left when I wandered into the depths, seeking authenticity, I say thank you. 

To the awkward, fumbling ones who never knew what to say to my grief, waiting for me to ease their discomfort, I say thank you. 

To the users and abusers who cast me aside when they had drained me dry, I say thank you. 

To the smooth talking, truth twisters who said one thing but did another, I say thank you. 

To the preservers of optics who turned a blind eye to my true suffering just to look good themselves, I say thank you. 

To the egotistical accusers who exaggerated my faults to hide their own, I say thank you. 

To the angry who demanded tolerance and respect while being intolerant and disrespectful themselves, I say thank you. 

To the unkind and cruel who cut me down to shreds and crushed my heart, I say thank you. 

To the selfish souls who trampled on me to get ahead in life, I say thank you. 

To the unmindful ones who looked at me but did not see me, I say thank you. 

To the hurried ones who heard my voice but turned a deaf ear to my words, I say thank you. 

To the strong, healthy ones who failed to understand my infirmity and weakness, I say thank you.

To the darkly troubled ones who looked away from my soul, afraid of their own inadequacies, I say thank you. 

To the graceless and merciless who did not recognise the suffering of God in my pain, I say thank you. 

To all the hurting, broken people I have encountered who have hurt and broken me, I say thank you. 

To all those that have hurt me somehow, somewhere, sometime... I say thank you. 

Thank you for the lessons I learnt, for the strength I grew, for the grace I saw multiplied in my life. 

For all these souls, I pray, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do".

And for my soul, I pray, "Father, forgive me, for I know what I have not done".

"Help me to forgive, so I may thank You. Forgiveness is freedom. Come, set me free. I choose freedom everyday."

Pavitar

24th October 2021

Taking Stock on World Mental Health Day

It's World Mental Health Day, and I am reminded of what one of my kids said to me. "Mum, you're a good counsellor, you should listen to your own advice". Ooops. I've been feeling very low, and as I have talked with clients, and listened to their voices telling me their pain, I've realised my own pain was growing, though I didn't know why. I heard my own voice, guiding clients through the maze but I myself was getting lost. Why can't I counsel myself? I think the key is simply that it needs two (or more) people to engage in the therapeutic process, to listen, encourage, guide, empathise, understand and basically help healing flow through them. I can't do all that for myself, it truly takes two to tango.

Some nameless grief seems to have overtaken me. So many levels of suffering that need revisiting, tending, and healing. It's not just the body with Crohn's and a broken foot, or brokenhearted memories with post divorce PTSD, or growing isolation and loneliness due to Covid, it's the sense that the whole world is suffering too. My clients are in pain, I am in pain, the world is in pain. I feel the weight of being the wounded healer, helping others while wounded myself, pretty much like everyone else. 

I sometimes wonder where God is in the midst of all the suffering. I don't have all the answers but I know that in times of sorrow I have felt Him close. I do not rejoice in sorrows per se, but if somehow they bring me closer to Him then I can choose to be glad. In conversations with my friends I realise that they too are suffering, but they have been able to hold up a mirror to me. What I see in the mirror, and what others see when they see me are often very different persons. 

I see many wounds, imperfections, trials, sorrows, and an aging body and soul. I don't feel young at heart, frankly I feel ancient, like I have seen and felt too much and cannot bear any more. I see fragility and brittleness (but not bitterness), and deep, deep exhaustion. I feel lonely and isolated and the multiple layers of loss over the past few years seem to pile up high, sweeping me under the rug, as if I was of little consequence in this world. Sometimes, it feels as if at this time in my life I have said so many farewells and shall remain on the shore as others sail away on exciting adventures, leaving me behind, alone. 

My friends see strength of spirit, a courageous heart, a loving and generous soul, a lively and witty mind, and the proven ability to persevere in the face of chronic struggle. Nobody really cares about my age or my creaky bones, my grey hair, and my memory that plays tricks on me. Often, we are all on the same journey, sharing similar struggles. I hope to be a mirror to them too, to help them see beyond their pain.

Who are these two very different people? They are the different halves of me, and yet I am not two people but one. Life's purpose, to some extent, is the integration of these two halves. In the midst of sorrow, we must find the joy to keep going. In the midst of joy, we almost grieve because nothing lasts forever. I thought about what seemed to work for my clients and today I reminded myself of some basic steps to find one's way through life's struggles.

1. Do what is meaningful - works best if you can define "meaningful" in terms of your values. Work, play, relationships, the stuff that takes up most of our time, they must all be meaningful if we are to devote our time to them. 

2. Draw boundaries - you cannot be all things to everybody. Learn to say, "No", without feeling guilty. Even the closest and most intimate of relationships needs boundaries.

3. Self-care isn't selfish, it's essential. Look after yourself first before you help anybody else. You are not a machine. Know when to stop before you break down. 

4. Do what brings you joy - identify the things you enjoy, and do those things to replenish the soul. Schedule these activities to recharge your batteries regularly. 

5. Seek out your friends, and make new ones -  even if you don't feel like it. In fact, you probably need it more when you don't want it. Don't let feelings rule you, find structure that rises above the vagaries of fleeting feelings. 

So many other reminders to self... but these are plenty to start with. I am returning to painting after a year's hiatus, planning a long outing by wheelchair to a pretty place this week, meeting up with friends more regularly, taking a short break from studies, seeking counselling for myself, and re-examining my priorities, values, and purpose in life, while continuing to work with my lovely clients. It's also a time for reflecting, creating, meditating, and praying, rather than the constant doing, drudgery and deadlines. Timely to also ask how God views me, as the Beloved of God, and what that really means and if I believe it in my heart.

May you also take the time to replenish, to find the joy, and to look after yourselves in the midst of all that goes on around and in us. Happy Sunday, dear friends, bless you. You, too, are the Beloved of God. May you know and apprehend the depth of what that truly means. 

#WorldMentalHealthDay #worldmentalhealthday2021 #findthejoy #selfcare #replenish #purpose #meaning #boundaries #prayer #meditation #reflection #counsellors #counsellorsneedcounsellingtoo 

Pix of me wandering around my neighbourhood,  yesterday, admiring the jungle greenery. The wounded healer, in more ways than one!

Thanks for reading,

Pavitar

10/10/21

The Hand of God Is Green

Wrote a poem today. For all plant lovers everywhere, but especially for those who tend their plants with such love and care.

The Hand of God Is Green 

(aka God's Favourite Colour Is Green)

The Hand of God is green, I believe, 

But not with envy, bile or strife,

All around I see green in every leaf,

Evidence of creation, signs of life.

Trees tall with trunks so sturdy, 

Wearing crowns shimmering in the sun, 

Variations of green, bright and shady,

Fragile shoots when life had begun. 

Two tiny leaves on a threadlike spine, 

Breaking free from a hope filled seed,

Comes a show of God's Hand divine,

Both to delight his people, and to feed. 

We plant, harvest, consume our greens, 

We tend gardens our souls to nurture,

Prayerfully, the plant lover's heart sings,

A new song he's heard sung by nature.

Gifts of the sun, the rain, the soil,

Freely given by the Hand of God,

We blossom but we do not toil,

We are from, and return to the sod. 

What is man's life but like a stem of grass, 

Blown which way by the breeze,

A flower that blooms and does not last, 

A plant dying slowly in winter's freeze. 

The Hand of God is green, I know, 

In this world, and the world to be,

He makes creation to thrive and grow,

Life, hope, beauty, for eternity. 

Thanks for reading,

Pav

08/10/21

Ps. Pix of views from my bedroom. Scenes of greens, all around me. I love green.