If you had told me many years ago that compassion would become a central part of my religious life, I might not have believed you. This was not a concept strongly present in any of the traditions that provided a foundation for my spiritual life; nor was it really central to any of the traditions I found myself exploring as my spiritual life unfolded.

I came to compassion like many other people do – as a direct result of profound personal suffering. This is perhaps the first thing to understand about compassion; it’s not a concept that others can tell you is valuable. You have to come to this realization on your own, through direct experience of the constellate emotions that reveal its boundary.

My spiritual life has been endlessly rich and possessed of intense, profound value. It has also been the source of a degree of suffering I didn’t imagine myself capable of enduring. Experiencing those heartbreaking depths was arguably necessary for growth but the months and years of saturated distress broke me. I very gradually came to understand – really understand – that I wasn’t alone in this suffering. What I was feeling wasn’t actually unique. It was personal, but it wasn’t unique to me. Everyone on earth, all sensate beings incarnate or not, also suffered with a pain and distress as deep and immediate as my own. The causes of their suffering might be known or unknown to me, might appear to me to be greater or lesser in effect than the causes of my own experience, but these things weren’t actually that important. What was important in that moment was the realization that I was not alone. Neither, for that matter, was anyone else.

This realization has unfolded to include many nuances and further realizations. For instance, my empathy and compassion are not dependent on my intellectual understanding of another’s distress; nor should they be. Knowing that my own distress and any resultant traumas are real is enough; after all, I am not alone in these experiences. Valuating the relative impact of another person’s experience of distress and suffering is also unimportant. These subjective experiences are difficult (or impossible) to objectively measure. No tick on a number line should determine how much I care. Though I am limited in material resources and in terms of personal resilience, and though I’m also limited by whether or not another person needs, desires, or even wants action motivated by compassion, none of these things diminish the reality we all experience.

I am not very literate in the subject of compassion and nor have I studied its philosophies very deeply. I’ve relied on my personal experiences and my observations to teach me what I need to know though eventually I need to delve a little deeper into the subject because I can’t always come up with answers on my own. There are questions I have that I might someday be able to figure out but masters and teachers and guides exist for a reason.

Though I strongly believe in the value of compassion and have found it to be of great practical use, I do still struggle with it. There are many circumstances when it seems like it simply doesn’t make any difference or that my mental and emotional energy would be better spent by getting angry or going on the offensive. Sometimes I feel like “having compassion” is used as a mask for bland platitudes and meaningless sentiment. Sometimes being told that someone has compassion for me is cruel. “Do you?” I feel like asking, “Do you really suffer with me in this matter? Or are you simply trying to tell me that you pity me, that you feel sorry for me, that you believe I deserve to feel anguish because of the choices I’ve made?” Compassion is not a simple subject and its expressions are immense and complex.

I find myself wary and weary of the rhetoric of violence. This is only one possible frame for categorical tensions, whether these tensions exist between the groups people align themselves with or between other axes of alignment. This might be strange coming from someone with a Heathen bent. I did after all spend a number of  years trying to fit into that community, I worship Gods who come from that context, and it is the tradition (rather broadly speaking) that taught me my spirit work. It’s also a tradition rather known for celebrating the trappings of violent conflict. Though I understand that these things are frequently celebrated in a historical context – modern Heathens celebrate the bravery and valor of our personal and collective ancestors – perhaps other parts of this tradition’s historic heritage are also worthy of celebration. It’s possible to be known as a tradition of explorers, artists, farmers, and yes, even householders. These are things best served by diplomacy, negotiation, and conflict resolution.

Arriving at a point where I value and celebrate compassion by no means indicates that I’m “good” at it. I’m not. I’m repeatedly forced to confront the trauma I’ve endured reflected back in the experiences of others. I respond by withdrawing and internalizing my pain. I hold this value close to my heart and will still choose actions that lack its mediating influence. I’m still mean, I still choose the lower road, I still take actions that I’d counsel others not to take. I still step into the sphere of others’ emotional lives and feel offense on their behalf; this leads me to dislike and mistrust others when I have no personal reason for doing so and the result is the loss of a compassionate stance.

I am heartened that I have endless opportunities to practice compassion in all its manifold expressions. This, like many other things in my life, is a sadhana, a spiritual practice undertaken for the refinement of the self in this and other worlds. Sadhana pares down the bullshit through discipline and reveals its strength with repeated application. Compassion is a powerful force and it drives an evolution that is reshaping me to the very core.

I haven’t given up on the Pagan Experience Project. I thought perhaps I would but I’ve been thinking about that A/B prompt for, uh, two weeks now and figured if I can’t shake the curiosity over the project then perhaps its worth continuing. It also took me two weeks to decide what to write about.

Radha Alone by Shyamarani Dasi. More information and purchase options here: http://bhaktiart.net/hp_wordpress/?dt_portfolio=radha-alone

Absence is definitely one of the most challenging feature of a life lived close to the gods and a frequent companion of people seeking Their attention. Typically, absence is an experience we seek to overcome; it’s an obstacle to the state of sacred communion that the devotee seeks to return to. Often, the experience of absence is taken as an indication that there’s something wrong. The practitioner’s affection is lacking, the practitioner has failed to fulfill some task that would bring on the feeling of connection, the practitioner is unworthy to experience the presence of the Divine, or the practitioner has failed to captivate the Beloved quite as much as the Beloved has captivated them. Absence is regarded as the indication that something is wrong and that the practitioner has failed in some way.

I’ve experienced lots of absences in my spiritual life and those vacant months piled up as evidence of my failure. Nothing in life had changed but there was no illuminating quality to anything. Though I later learned the regard absence as the opportunity to learn a kind of spiritual self-reliance, even after identifying a valuable outcome from the experience it wasn’t easy or pleasant. These absences taught me to inhabit a space of radical solitude. This solitude is not loneliness or isolation, it is a deep, deep comfort with one’s own company. Absence taught me to be OK with the sound of my own thoughts and the resonances of my own spirit. Absence taught me the sound of my own ego.

(To cast self-reliance as some kind of rugged individualism that resists the throughput of material, social, emotional, and mental support from other people and the systems we have built is short-sighted and rather unnecessarily isolationist. Spiritual self-reliance, to me, is not the fulfillment of one’s spiritual needs through one’s own efforts. It is instead the reliance upon – and requisite trust in – one’s spiritual self, including intuition, magickal ability, and esoteric skill. This reliance results as knowledge of the spiritual self is gained. This includes the recognition of one’s own egoic voice and desires. Ideally, this spiritual self-reliance is weighed against the guidance of the Powers and negotiation on equal footing can begin.)

Quite recently I came across a little passage of text that suggested that absence has a different and more esoteric dimension.

In Blue Lotuses Everywhere: Divine Love in Gaudiya Vaisnava and Catholic Mysticism (in Gaudiya Vaishnavism and ISKCon: An Anthology of Scholarly Perspectives ed. S J Rosen), author June McDaniel writes:

These states of separation and union in Catholic mysticism are associated with the sates of purgation and illumination, which lead towards the ultimate union of love. In this state of purgation, the devotee is without God, and life is dry and arid. […] For St. John of the Cross, the purgative period included both the dark night of the senses, and the dark night of the spirit. In the night of the senses, there is darkness, pain, a lack of joy or enthusiasm. It is a crisis of the senses which is given by God to develop a higher kind of love. […]  Purgation leads to the development of the internal senses (especially imagination and memory) and encourages the transformation of sensual love into spiritual love, and natural into supernatural.

Emphasis mine. Emphasis possibly yours, too.

This assertion is accompanied by relevant selections from the Catholic context and then paralleled, contrasted, and augmented with information about the development of the spiritual body within a Gaudiya Vaishnava context. Though interesting, the topic wanders a bit from A is for Absence and more into B is for Body, Spiritual; a worthy topic but one for another day.

Basically, what we can take from this perspective is that absence can play a very important role in spiritual development, specifically in the transformation of our emotional nature into an aspect of self potently accessible to the divine. This spiritual emotional nature thereby becomes the interface that allows for more nuanced expressions of relationship and all the manifestations that emanate from those feelings.

This transformation can be characterized with the help of the solve et coagula formula if you’re so inclined; something emerges once something is pulled apart. It can be framed in the formula or rot and resurrection. It can be framed as refinement and the shedding of dross. It can be framed as the dedication of aspects of the self to a higher service. It can be framed as an alignment with the spirit world and the creation of the self as a conduit for Their manifestation. There are lots of ways to think about it. But perhaps these things aren’t super important to you right now.

Perhaps right now it’s more important to sit with the idea that the absence you’re experiencing isn’t indicative of your failure or or shortcomings or flawed character. Maybe the idea that this experience is a positive one will transform these days into something more refined, as well.

I’ve tried to start this post four different times. I’ve read the responses to this topic by friends and strangers hoping for some clue that would get me started in a fruitful direction. After several hundred aborted words mostly about my pissy attitude, I gave up. Maybe this stupid project was a dumb idea. Maybe I should just quit. But no. My practice and a significant share of my spiritual experience relates quite specifically to the divine. Leaving them out of a blog specifically intended as an platform for writing and thinking about my spiritual life leaves me without a whole lot to say. Ultimately I decided to go with a Q and A format. We’ll see how this goes.

So: God, huh?

Gods plural. The Gods. Those Gods, them Gods, my Gods, your Gods. Plural. Distinct and recognizable, but not necessarily known in their entirety by the human race. Possessed of their own priorities, motivations, ambitions, and desires. Vulnerable to their own mistakes and failings. Frequently interested in the advancement of human concerns, but not necessarily so. Occasionally injurious but again, not necessarily so. They have an elaborate system of interactivity set up that allows people (and non-people, why not?) to connect in reasonably safe and meaningful ways. Getting the Gods to actually show up and party is best left to experienced and/or ambitious weirdoes with an irrational taste for standing right close to spiritual radioactivity.

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