Allowing Grief

I am so proud to bring you this moving guest post from Australian writer, psychotherapist and healer Avril Carruthers. You can read more about Avril at the end of this post:

Letting Ourselves Cry

At my fitness training class in the park recently the group stood with fingers on our carotid arteries having one of our routine heart rate checks, when someone mentioned with amazement his experience of seeing a man on the golf course drop dead after making his swing (and a perfect first shot that landed on the green).

My immediate comment was, ‘Wow, that’s great. I’d like to go like that.’

A spate of comments followed about how people they knew had passed suddenly – whether in their sleep or in the middle of some activity, of natural causes. A girl in a pink t-shirt, whose father passed only a few weeks ago after a long, painful illness, walked a little distance away, her face turned away from the group. Her friend followed and put her arm around her.  Someone said, ‘Can we talk about something more positive?’

It’s interesting. Dying is a natural part of life – how come we see it as negative to even talk about it? More than that, this was a very positive story – a peaceful death, albeit sudden, without pain, while the man was doing something he obviously loved.

The girl came back to the group.

‘I’m sorry.’ She wiped tears from her face and made an effort to smile. Reactions from the group ranged from embarrassed to oblivious. Most people looked away.

I said, ‘It’s fine. Don’t ever apologise for feeling sad. And tears are part of the natural healing process when someone you love has died.’

The trainer called out our next exercise set, which was strenuous, and further talk became impossible.

At the end of the session, I checked on the girl in the pink t-shirt. Her name was Sandy.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Okay, I guess. I just wish I didn’t just keep breaking down like this. It’s embarrassing.’

How often do we allow ourselves to be affected by how we feel others are seeing us? Our sadness might affect others – as it did the group earlier - but grief passes in time. If we allow it to well up, not put any limitations as to how much or when, or when we ‘should be over it by now’ - if we let ourselves simply cry - it will pass. The only real problem is if we suppress our grief. If we push it away or try to control it, it ends up making us sick. If we persist in suppressing painful emotions, their impact on us become much greater, simply because they are unresolved and the effect become accumulative.

Sandy talked about her mother Monica’s friends telling her cheerily that at 48 she was still young and would soon find another partner.  While these friends were no doubt trying to be comforting and ‘positive’, what they were doing was actually disrespectful.  Not only are they ignoring the rightful place of grief in acknowledging how much Monica’s husband meant to her, they were also indicating that she needed to be distracted from feeling her grief in order to cope with the grieving process. But in reality, the friends were concerned about the pain they themselves felt at Monica’s pain. They would not see it as selfish, but in fact, it is.

I asked Sandy how it made her feel to see this. 

‘Angry.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘Sometimes I’m so angry I could spit at them all.’

Anger too, is a natural part of the grieving process. The more Sandy allows herself to express her natural anger – and the physical exertion of our fitness class is a perfect way to do this safely – the less she will suppress her grief. The more she expresses her grief, the quicker she will pass through this very painful phase of initial loss.  Sandy and Monica will always miss their father and husband, and if they allow the grieving period to take its natural course, the pain of loss will fade in time. If they suppress it, push it away, pretend they are not sad, put on a false front of cheeriness so their friends will not be upset, their grief will affect them for much longer than it needs to.

What is stronger, an oak tree or a willow? A fully mature oak tree resists the wind with rigid, unmoving boughs. If the wind is strong enough it may blow down the stalwart oak tree, but the willow tree will bend with the flow of air, returning to its upright position once the wind has passed.

Allow emotions to flow through you like wind through the branches of a willow tree and you will remain resilient through all life’s varied experiences.

© Avril Carruthers 12.2.2012

Avril Carruthers is the author of two books published by Allen and Unwin:        Let your past go and live, (2008) and Freedom from toxic relationships, (2011)

www.avrilcarruthers.com

About Avril Carruthers:

Avril Carruthers (BA M.Couns) has had a private practice in holistic transpersonal psychotherapy and healing in Sydney, Australia for over twenty years. Previously a nurse and a high school teacher, she teaches meditation and spiritual development and is an educator at the Australian College of Applied Psychology.

Apart from her qualifications in psychotherapy and counselling, Avril's practice rests on three decades of study and experience in energetic and spiritual healing with a number of martial arts, healing masters and meditation schools. Her second book, Freedom From Toxic Relationships, deals with relationships, the nature of attachment and psychic cords. It was released in May 2011.

Free Writing Workshop, Marrickville Library, Saturday 30 June

Writing Workshop

Author Walter Mason will run a practical writing workshop at the next Marrickville Writers Group meeting.
His book Destination Saigon was named one of the ten best travel books of 2010 by The Sydney Morning Herald.

The Writers Group helps budding authors, hosts discussion groups and author visits, as well as providing competition information and workshops.

This is a free event and bookings are not required.
Saturday 30 June, 1.30pm: Marrickville Library Community Room

Shrine at Khuong Viet Temple, Tan Binh District, Ho Chi Minh City

Eating (and Drinking) in Vietnam

It's no secret that Vietnam is one of the ultimate foodie destinations.
Vietnamese cuisine is delicious and full of regional quirks and twists which keep it delightful and surprising. The traveller can discover a new dish in every city.
I suppose the most popular dishes, at least of Southern Vietnamese cuisine, include banh xeo, canh chua (sour soup), pho bo and bun bo hue.
But here I want to showcase some of the things that I enjoy the most while I am in Vietnam:

Banh Mi Op La (Baguette and Fried Eggs)

OK, I know it's not particularly exotic, but there is something so delicious in the simplicity of this popular Vietnamese breakfast dish. Two fried eggs, the yolks still runny, a sprig or two of parsely, two warm baguettes (banh mi) and lashings of "enhanced" soy sauce (nuoc tuong) and then go ahead and make an enormous mess with hands and fork.

Bo Ne

Vietnam's contribution to global obesity, Bo Ne is a popular street-side dish, and Bo Ne restaurants are normally filled with bodybuilders and chubby guys. A small beefsteak, a meat ball, some fried pate and some french-fries all sizzling together in inch-thick grease on the same plate. You add the bread - preferably rolls and rolls of it. In Saigon this is the macho dish supreme.

Pho Ga (Chicken Pho)

These days you can get Pho Ga in big Pho restaurants, but it's normally tasteless and dreadful. For the real thing you should find the streetside stalls that specialise in only that. Invariably run by women from the North, this street Pho Ga is tasty, delicately flavoured and much lighter and more subtle than its beef cousin. It is also served with a little dish of shredded lime leaves which, added to the soup, impart the most exquisite  flavour.

Hu Tieu

Hu Tieu is perhaps the most pan-Asian dish that can be imagined. Having its roots in China, it can be eaten in different forms in Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand and Malaysia. In Vietnam the favoured variety is Hu Tieu Nam Vang - Phnom Penh style Hu Tieu. The soup is sharp and flavoursome, but generally Hu Tieu Nam Vang is served with way too much offal meat for me. I ask for it greatly simplified - a slice or two of pork and some pork mince, and I add my own dandelion leaves, which come on a separate plate. Delicious. But a word of warning - one bowl of Hu Tieu is not enough for a meal. It should only ever be a snack.

Nuoc Mia (Sugar Cane Juice)

Little stalls selling sugar cane juice on the side of the road are a common sight in Vietnam, and I can never stop myself from pulling up and buying one. Nuoc Mia is perhaps the most efficient system for delivering pure sucrose into the bloodstream ever invented. The cane is pressed right in front of you and the juice (let's call it juice, but we all know it's pure sugar) is strained and poured over ice with a squeeze of lime. The reaction to this drink is almost purely chemical. And tantalisingly, there is never enough of it, so that it's all too easy to order one more glass.

Famous Saigon hair stylist Kien Nguyen enjoying Nem Cuon in Tan Binh District, Ho Chi Minh City

Nem Cuon (Nha Trang-style fresh spring rolls)

These longer and fatter cousins of the more usual Goi Cuon have been popular in Saigon now for some years, and I just adore them. Instead of the more familiar thin and delicate rice paper used to wrap the Goi Cuon rolls, Nem Cuon employs a fat rice noodle, making each roll a longer and more substantial dish. The filling is also different - normally just lettuce and slices of barbecued Nem (cured pork). And finally, the dipping sauce is different - a thicker and more substantial nuoc cham containing grated ginger and chunks of garlic, more reminiscent of the sauce that accompanies Hai Nam Chicken. Unfortunately a restaurant specialising in this dish is just a few doors down from my house in Saigon, and it is easy to "treat myself" a few times a week to a few rolls of this surprisngly filling dish, as a special "snack."

Quy Nhon

For many years Quy Nhon (also spelt, inexplicably, "Qui Nhon" on occasion) was a semi-mythical land in my mind, a kind of personal Shangri-La.

As a young man I spent a lot of time hanging out with Buddhist monks in Ho Chi Minh City, and the gang I ran with were monks from Quy Nhon. They were all smart, had motorcycles and, I must confess, were very, very beautiful. In the 90s monastic regulation was not particularly strict in Vietnam, and monks got away with a whole lot of stuff that would never be allowed now. For a start, anyone who wanted could go into the monks' quarters and hang out, and so every afternoon I would scurry up the dank concrete steps of the Thich Quang Duc Zen Institute in District 3 and spend some quality time with my monks. They smoked and ate the cakes I bought them, and they made a pet of me, taking me around the city on the back of their motorcycles and showing me all kinds of crazy shrines and grottos.

But when they spoke of their home town, their eyes would grow misty, and pretty soon I too had fallen for the fairytale vision of Quy Nhon. It was a paradise, they said, the very heart of Buddhism in Vietnam. Folktales have it that Buddhist monks from India washd up on the shores of Quy Nhon centuries before they ever made it to China, and so these monks count their pedigrees as dating beyond that of Bodhidharma himself.

I finally made it to Quy Nhon, many years later. All of these monks grew up, you see (they were the same age as me), and for the most part they went back to their beloved Binh Dinh province. And so I took my first flight  to Quy Nhon and guess what? Everything they said was true. It is one of the most beautiful and fascinating places on earth. Jam packed full of Buddhist temples which date back centuries, it is also home to the Cham peoples who had once built huge Hindu temples but are now Muslims. In Quy Nhon you can still find remnants of the tantric Buddhism that was once the most influential school in Vietnam.

Mostly I love Quy Nhon for the monks. Grumpy old ones, plump and laughing middle-aged ones, and naughty and chatty young ones.  Monks are everywhere, and Quy Nhon is the only place I know in Vietnam where businesses regularly give free stuff to monks and treat them with inordinate respect. I have spent hot afternoons in monk's cells, unable to sleep with just a fan and watching the slight breeze shift the fabric of the ceremonial robes hung up on the walls to dry out from the previous evening's sweat.

And right in the middle of Quy Nhon City is a 300 year old temple of subtle and somewhat run-down beauty.

There is a much newer tower on the grounds as well, a high and kooky looking building that had been a vision in a monk's dream.

It was constructed as an act of devotion to Amitabha Buddha, who looks out from every arch and eave of the tower.

And further afield in the province of Binh Dinh you will discover exquisite little fishing villages, each built around the local temple.

It is in one of these that one of my most beloved friends lives and I spend my days there on  the terrace overlooking the ocean, and thinking, "Must I ever go back?"

Being Helpful

I was listening to the fascinating and dynamic Michael Port on the How to Become a Millionaire podcast (absolutely essential listening, by the way) and he said something that froze me right in the middle of tidying up my desk (my usual occupation while listening to podcasts). He said:

"We can be helpful; and if we're helpful then we'll probably do a good job."

This is a major change in worldview for me.
I always want to be good: the funniest, the cleverest, the most charming, the most fascinating. And of course, all of that is wrapped up in ego. Ultimately my measure of what is "good" is tied to how much it reflects well on me. I rarely think of what it might mean for other people.

But by considering the world in terms of helpfulness, and more specifically how helpful we can be to others, we can gradually shift our self-referential focus. It also lifts the burden of perfectionism from our shoulders. What we do ceases to become a reflection of us and our insecurities, and becomes instead an effort to lighten someone else's burden.

Now, it's taken me 40 or so years to grapple with this problem of selfishness. I have been blessed in my life to know people who have always had this ultimate goal of helpfulness (my wonderful partner being one of them) but, though I could see it's benefits, I was too mired in self-obsession to really be able to put it into practise.

So I'm trying to be helpful. It seems such a little thing, but actually it is difficult, and each day I have to argue with that devil on my shoulder urging me to go back to trying to be "good." I am trying to stop performing goodness and actually start living it. Here are some of the ways this struggle manifests itself in my life:

1. Is what I'm saying helpful? Moaning, complaining, bitching and gossiping, while enormous fun, are ultimately not helpful modes of communication. I struggle with not broadcasting my ill health, my lack of time or my irritation at people and things. Am I really improving someone's day by indulging in a five minute monologue on the woes of public transport in Sydney or the unpredictability of my bowels/brain/respiratory system? And one of the really big unhelpful utterances I have to watch is "I'm so busy." This is painful and I am always irritated when I hear someone else say it. And yet I catch myself saying it several times a week. Actually, I am not busy. I am just disorganised and lazy. But that is not your fault, and lying to you about the structure of my life is not helpful to you or to me. 
2.  Is what I'm broadcasting on social media helpful? This is an increasingly important consideration for me. I have a reasonable following on social media, and occasionally I am surprised by the extent to which people take notice of and remember what I say on Twitter, Facebook or in my blogs. Again, I could use these spaces to bitch and moan (and I do), to tear down someone's reputation or express my irritability. I could become that most loathed creature, the troll, full of self-importance and self-delusion, dashing off stinging comments and emails as the mood takes me. I could upset people and provoke a reaction. But by no moral or spiritual measure can such behavour be justified or labelled as helpful. It doesn't make me feel better, it brings other people down and ultimately makes them think that I am a bit  of a dickhead. 
3. Is what I'm eating helpful? It's no secret that I am a fat person. And while I despise this society's focus on fatness and the continued demonisation of large bodies, I still need to come to terms with my own health and fitness. I will never be skinny. I will probably never even be a "normal" weight. Bigness is my particular karma, but I can consider carefully what I eat. Not beating myself up over a hugely enjoyable donut with a friend. But simply asking: "Is what I am about to put in my mouth helpful to my health, my digestion and my wellbeing?" This keeps me honest.
4. Is what I am watching helpful? I am by nature drawn to the scandalous, the extreme and the sensual. I am a Scorpio and my nature is particularly (though perhaps secretly) Scorpionic. I love extremes of emotion and experience. I love the dangerous,  the forbidden and the outlandish. This tendency is, of course, part of what makes me such a fascinating and fun person. But I must balance my consumption of culture, images and literature. Murder, mayhem and raunch all have their fictional and fantastic place. But binging on these things, making of them an exclusive cultural diet, is not helpful. Reading twelve Scandinavian crime novels in a row or watching The Human Centipede Two might be easy to do, but after it all I am not a better person. I have not been raised up in any sense. I am not being a prude here - watch and read what you like. But be honest about its impact on you, and about how much time it is taking out of your life. 

Anyway, just some thoughts.


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Michael Port is an author and motivational speaker who has written two bestselling books: Book Yourself Solid and The Think Big Manifesto. His website is here


The How to Become a Millionaire Podcast is a free broadcast hosted by Jaime Tardy who has a website called The Eventual Millionaire. The podcast is a series of interviews with millionaires who talk about how they got to where they are and give lots of practical tips about success and working better. It is always fascinating, and I can't recommend it highly enough.

Nang Nak

I keep singing the praises of a simply extraordinary book I read while I was in Cambodia: The Lovelorn Ghost and the Magical Monk by Justin Thomas McDaniel. It is quite simply the best book I have ever read about popular religion in Thailand, and it alerted me to the significance of one of Thailand's favourite stories, the tragic ghost story of Nak and her baby.

I am not giving too much away if I explain the story briefly. Nak is a village girl who falls pregnant to her hunky husband. Husband is called away to war and Nak dies in childbirth. So great is Nak's love, though, that she remains waiting for her husband in ghostly form, complete with ghost baby. Husband returns from war and doesn't realise his wife is now a ghost. She cooks and cleans for him, they have an amazing sex life, and the surrounding villagers are too scared to tell him he's been tricked. Anyone that does is killed by the ghost. Finally things get out of hand, and a powerful senior monk is called (usually Luang Po To) and he subdues the ghost.

I tell you the entire plot because it is familiar to every person in Thailand, and when they go to see a Nak movie they know exactly what the plot will be. Indeed, this assumption is so much in place that often film-makers will neglect to explain key points in the plot, leaving bewildering gaps that a non-Thai viewer simply cannot fill in.

The Nak story is the most re-told one in Thai cinema, and there are 22 versions that have all been enormously popular. While I was in Cambodia a brand new 3D version had come out, and I went to see it and enjoyed it very much. That made me go back and get all of the older versions so I could compare and contrast.

I have just watched the classic version, Nang Nak, seen as one of the best Thai films ever made. Released in 1999 and directed by Nonzee Nimibutr, it is a simple though beautifully filmed re-telling. It does, however, expect the viewer to know the whole legend. I watched it with someone who didn't know the story, and he was occasionally confused.

One has to suspend disbelief when it comes to the male cast of this film. Every one of them is improbably muscular, looking more like a gaggle of modern-day gay go-go dancers than 19th century Thai peasants. I doubt any Thai farmer of that period would have been quite so buff and broad-shouldered. But hey, I'm not complaining. Despite their distracting and unlikely good looks, the performances are solid and even realistic, for the most part.

It is the female cast of the film, however, that really shines. Particularly the role of Nak, played with unglamorous charisma by Intira Jaroenpura. She has a big-lipped, lisping charm that made me believe she could trick her husband into thinking that she was still alive. It's an absolutely magnetic performance, and I don't understand why she's not a bigger star.

Now, the Thai people believe that Nak was an actual historical figure, and there is a popular shrine to her in suburban Bangkok. And the defeat of her ghost is part of the popular legend of Luang Po To, the most famous monk in Thai history who is still revered and worshipped today. He is featured in the film, and the actor chosen bears the most uncanny resemblance.