#6 Internal Disarmament
As I was talking in a small group in my congregation abut struggles I bring to the community, I spoke of my hesitation to open fully to all the hurts and needs of others. When somebody said that it was good to have boundaries, I responded that my sense of unease was not with the boundaries themselves, but the vigilance with which I patrolled them.
The words I heard myself using to describe my internal landscape-- “patrolling boundaries” -- stayed with me. As a member of a peace church, I have supported the stand of conscientious objection and the goal of disarmament among nations with little hesitation. Yet here I was, arming myself, and on active duty.
How many of us are heavily armed inside? We build up defensive walls and fortifications to protect our vulnerability. We go out into the world armed with righteousness--or congeniality or silence or massive good works--so that what we are most fearful of won’t show. We have internal bunkers ready at hand to retreat to when there is danger of attack. We patrol our boundaries, protecting the territory that we have so laboriously secured.
My meditation moves in two directions. The first is one of humility. How can we stand in judgment of nations for doing exactly what we do ourselves? We can certainly advocate for change--we can still hold out a goal of disarmament--but we can’t do it quite so self-righteously. We can have a greater understanding of, and compassion for, the military people and politicians who are playing out the same fears on a national scale. We can invite them on a journey with us--as a great stretch into the unknown.
The second is on what it would mean to practice disarmament ourselves. It would certainly be in our best interest. When we are armed internally, our energies are harnessed to our fears instead of our dreams. We spend precious moments in our bunkers, keeping safe, protecting ourselves, time that could be spent out in the open, learning, loving, exploring frontiers.
And I think there has to be a difference between having boundaries and patrolling them. I need to be clear where I end and another person begins, but I don’t think I need to be armed to the teeth to keep people from walking all over me. (And I certainly don’t need pre-emptive strikes to keep me safe.) I’m reaching for the relaxed “no”, the warm “I love you but that wouldn’t be good for either of us.”
I remember once having the image of fear containing me in a very small area in the center of my life-space. If I lived all the way out to the edges, I would always be bumping into other people, rubbing against them. But maybe the danger of invasion is actually greater when there is a vacuumm when we aren’t living fully in our own space. If we reach all the way out, and don’t fear the others with whom our edges connect, then the chance of invasion seems slim. We can trust ourselves to keep our boundaries--and to it without being on constant guard, using up energy, or institutionalizing fear.
Pamela Haines
Philadelphia, 2003
The words I heard myself using to describe my internal landscape-- “patrolling boundaries” -- stayed with me. As a member of a peace church, I have supported the stand of conscientious objection and the goal of disarmament among nations with little hesitation. Yet here I was, arming myself, and on active duty.
How many of us are heavily armed inside? We build up defensive walls and fortifications to protect our vulnerability. We go out into the world armed with righteousness--or congeniality or silence or massive good works--so that what we are most fearful of won’t show. We have internal bunkers ready at hand to retreat to when there is danger of attack. We patrol our boundaries, protecting the territory that we have so laboriously secured.
My meditation moves in two directions. The first is one of humility. How can we stand in judgment of nations for doing exactly what we do ourselves? We can certainly advocate for change--we can still hold out a goal of disarmament--but we can’t do it quite so self-righteously. We can have a greater understanding of, and compassion for, the military people and politicians who are playing out the same fears on a national scale. We can invite them on a journey with us--as a great stretch into the unknown.
The second is on what it would mean to practice disarmament ourselves. It would certainly be in our best interest. When we are armed internally, our energies are harnessed to our fears instead of our dreams. We spend precious moments in our bunkers, keeping safe, protecting ourselves, time that could be spent out in the open, learning, loving, exploring frontiers.
And I think there has to be a difference between having boundaries and patrolling them. I need to be clear where I end and another person begins, but I don’t think I need to be armed to the teeth to keep people from walking all over me. (And I certainly don’t need pre-emptive strikes to keep me safe.) I’m reaching for the relaxed “no”, the warm “I love you but that wouldn’t be good for either of us.”
I remember once having the image of fear containing me in a very small area in the center of my life-space. If I lived all the way out to the edges, I would always be bumping into other people, rubbing against them. But maybe the danger of invasion is actually greater when there is a vacuumm when we aren’t living fully in our own space. If we reach all the way out, and don’t fear the others with whom our edges connect, then the chance of invasion seems slim. We can trust ourselves to keep our boundaries--and to it without being on constant guard, using up energy, or institutionalizing fear.
Pamela Haines
Philadelphia, 2003
posted by Pamela Haines | 3:19 PM
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