Dear friends,
I’ve visited people in hospitals, prisons, new homes, refuges, temporary homes, on the road, off the grid, at protests and parades, in times of shock, and times of ease.
I know you have too.
What are your rules for visiting? What do you tend to? Often, the more intense a setting for a visit, the more preparation I do: the first time I visited a friend in prison, I think I rehearsed my words 100 times.
Other visits — the ones for which we didn’t think we needed preparation, or the ones whose circumstances sneak up on us like a diagnosis — visit us back with surprise. I visited a friend who’d been taken to hospital in an emergency and castigated myself that I’d forgotten to bring a portable phone charger for him. To compensate, I stayed with him past midnight, grateful for the rule-breaking nurse who let us tell stories to each other in whispers in the corner of a nighttime ward.
I’ve visited … and I’ve been visited: by friends (living and dead), former colleagues, acquaintances, detractors, ghosters, lovers, leavers, challengers, the rowdy and the reconciled, the hungry and the harmful.
And I’m not even going to start to list the visits I’ve avoided. (I know you have those too.)
The Ignatian examen has helped provide a scaffolding for me, given me a structure that helps prepare for what’s coming, whether anticipated or strange. But, to paraphrase a certain politician I’d rather not credit, the unknown unknowns are far more complicated than the known ones. Those are very hard to plan for.
How do you prepare for a visit? That’s the question for this week. The visits you’ve made recently — what did you do to prepare for them? Let’s make a list of wisdom, a list of things you knew, things you wish you’d known, things you could never have known.
All of this came as a result of reading this week Anne Etta Green’s powerful prose poetry piece in Intima (a gorgeous online journal of narrative medicine) titled “How to Visit the Personal Care Home.” I’ve known Anne since she started bringing groups from St. Joe’s in Philly to Corrymeela years ago, and admired her capacity to link poetry and medical training in her classes. Consider this, from the 11th piece of wisdom in her piece:
Sit with your mother at dinner. For five dollars, you can eat with her. As your aunt would say, cheaper than McDonald’s. They bring a ham and cheese sandwich and some soup. There is coffee, all decaf, and water. There is juice. The portions are old-people tiny. Sometimes when they serve goulash, there is an alternative option which your mother prefers. Sometimes there is ambrosia salad, the odd whipped concoction with bits of canned fruit in it …
I think, too, of those who prepare — or try to, at least — the architects of annihilation to move away from war. What preparations are they making? I know that the rooms of such negotiation are filled with agendas, affiliation, loyalties, pride, fear, refusals, and trauma. Filled also, I hope, with some kernel of possibility for the cessation of the catastrophe that’s being unfolded upon Gaza and the West Bank. I think, too, of the kidnapped Israelis — those who’ve survived — and how they cope with the atrocities they face. I want ceasefire. I want the release of captives. I know you do too.
Preparation is at the heart of survival. May it lead us somewhere better.
So, again: how do you prepare for what comes to you in your week?
I look forward to reading your wisdom,
Poetry in the World
A list of events: Online; in the US (Keene Valley and Rhinebeck, NY); Greece; England; and the Scottish island of Iona
June 27–July 7, Patmos, Greece
I’m one of the speakers at the 10-night “Journeying into Common Good” salon, together with Krista Tippett, Allison Russell, JT Nero, and Joe Henry. More details here.
August 7 at 6-7:30pm (Eastern Time, US), online
I’ll be exploring conflict and change through poetry at an online event in partnership with the International Center for Cooperation and Conflict Resolution at Columbia University. You can register for free here.
August 10–11, Keene Valley, New York, US
I’ll be speaking and sharing at a weekend of events titled “Exploring Spirit and Reconciliation,” held at Keene Valley Congregational Church UCC. Go here to learn about the weekend’s activities and to register.
August 23–25, Northamptonshire, England
I’ll be at the Greenbelt Festival, and, among other events, I will be interviewing the brilliant Jenny Mitchell (whose poem “A Man in Love with Plants” we featured on a Season 7 episode of Poetry Unbound). You can go here to learn about the festival.
October 6–11, Rhinebeck, New York, US
I’m back for a week at Omega (just two hours north of NYC) for a week of reflection on poetry, poetry prompts, and group discussions. Expect lovely people, gorgeous surroundings and food, and conversations about how poetry opens your world. Learn more here.
March 10–15 and March 18–23 2025, Isle of Iona, Scotland
I’m holding two Poetry Unbound retreats on the gorgeous Scottish island of Iona. Each retreat is the same. Both retreats are booked up, but you can get on the waiting list by contacting the folks at the St. Columba here.
II am a teacher and so if I am to be good at my job, I must be prepared. I must have thought through the day's focus, the needs of the class, and be ready to guide the thinking and discussion around that focus. So, when I began an internship as a hospital chaplain, I had to learn an entirely different way to "prepare". I had to learn that I was prepared when I was totally empty of my own agenda. I had to prepare myself to truly listen and that reqruired making space within to receive whatever was about to be received. IF we are too full of ourselves, we have no internal availability to receive the other.
What a beautiful question. Thank you Padraig. Three things this week come to mind.
1. Preparing to visit a family after the unexpected death of their brother, a young man. I breathe and listen as I get the information from the funeral director and I take notes. I breathe again. I find out how many people will come to the meeting and who they are. 20. It's not usual to have that many people for a first meeting with a celebrant to discuss what rituals and ceremony are being called for. I welcome this 'grief circle' because this is how I imagine I can connect with so many folk. I create an outline, the words I will use to introduce myself. I hear whispers in the background of my mind. What will I say? How will I be with this family? What if it gets out of control? I breathe again. I offer myself self empathy. I check in for the shared needs that I imagine are present. Mourning. Safety. Connection. Understanding. I go gently with myself and trust I will know what to say. I will listen and guide and listen some more.
2. As I prepare to guide a mediation within a small company, I breathe as I start the preparations for the meeting by listening and offering empathy (both silent and spoken) to the key individuals. I note the points of connection that might become possible and the needs that I witness as being present both met and unmet needs. When I feel unsettled, I offer my concerned Wendy: self empathy. I hold myself close. I remind myself I am here to listen, to facilitate, to trust. I take time to listen to my own inner guidance of what I sense will be the best path forward within the skill base that I think we will all bring into the mediation circle.
3. Before my two grandchildren, 7 and 10, come over for the weekend... I breathe. I prepare by ensuring I have food in the house and their beds made. I rest up. I connect with my intention to play and hang out and to provide a safe place. I breathe a lot. This weekend, I was pushed and found a tired grandma lurking not too far beneath the surface. Sometimes that happens no matter how much I prepare. Best then to breathe, and call in grandpa support!
In this precious life how do I prepare?
Breathe mindfully... often, everyday.
Practice self empathy so I can live into the hard moments.
Practice deep listening and empathy with a sense of curiosity, an intention to connect, mindful presence, awareness of needs....
Connect with a friend.
Trust the sacredness of each moment... and don't take it all too seriously. Love.