[Part of our ongoing exploration of Healing America’s Narratives: The Feminine, the Masculine, & Our Collective National Shadow, this essay continues our exploration of Chapter Twelve’s inquiry into the role of love — and its lack — in American culture. The book is available here.]
In Part 1 of this inquiry into love, we introduced Br. David Steindl-Rast’s, Dr. M. Scott Peck’s, and Marianne Williamson’s respective reflections that love is “the joyful acceptance of belonging,” “the will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth,” and the absence of fear.¹
With the intersection of these views of love as our starting point, let’s explore how we might observe the presence or absence of love and actually “practice” love in our own lives, and observe the presence or absence of love in others and decide how much time we want to spend being around and influenced by those whose behaviors discourage the healthy manifestation of love.
The previous post ended with these words: “With whom and what do you joyfully accept belonging? For whom are you willing to extend yourself? How does it feel — or might it feel — to live a moment, a day, a year, or lifetime in the absence of fear?” Each of these depictions of love can be observed and practiced.
To what extent do you joyfully accept belonging — to and with yourself, members of your family, your friends, colleagues, neighbors, pets, written, visual, and audible sources of information and entertainment, strangers, those you disagree with, and the natural world? How might you practice joy, acceptance, or belonging to and with any one of these?
To what extent are you willing to extend yourself in order to nurture your own growth or the growth of others? Where is the boundary beyond which you are not willing to extend? These questions are not intended to elicit guilt, shame, or inadequacy — no one can be all things for all people. Healthy boundaries are essential for a healthy life. A commitment to everyone and everything is most likely a commitment to no one and nothing.
How familiar are you with a feeling of no fear (or anxiety or worry)? What might an absence of fear feel like, and how might it manifest? Imagine a moment (or longer) during which what you habitually fear, worry, or hold anxiety about does not exist. Engage your senses — see it, feel it, hear it, taste it, and smell it — how does it look, feel, sound, taste, and smell? Is it light or heavy? Is it expansive or contracting? How might you practice letting go of fear, anxiety, or worry?
We’re not speaking here about the immediate, rational fear that comes up as the bear or large dog attacks, as the tornado or tsunami approaches, or as the gunshots ring out in the school, store, or church. We’re referring to the habitual, heavy, persistent state that arises not from an immediate threat, but from a pattern of attention to and concern about an uncertain future. How would it feel to let that go?
Love is always present. It becomes palpable when we let fear go.
My experience, ironically, is that this needs to be an ongoing practice. We must practice love — despite its pervasive presence.
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- The “joyful acceptance of belonging,” is from Br. David Steindl-Rast, Gratefulness: the Heart of Prayer, (Paulist, 1984), 167; “the will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth,” is from M. Scott Peck, The Road Less Traveled, (Simon & Schuster, 1978), 81; and ‘the absence of fear’ (not a direct quote) is based on Marianne Williamson’s reflections on A Course in Miracles, (Foundation for Inner Peace, 1976, 1992) in A Return to Love, (HarperPaperbacks, 1993).
Reggie Marra, MA, PCC 