We are not just single beams of white light
We are not just single beams of white light
Conceptually unpacking what 'being whole' means
The notion of wholeness, or coming to or returning to wholeness is on my mind a lot. It’s in part due to my own therapeutic journey and in another part to my own research into what really matters when it comes to living a full, meaningful life.
I conceive of wholeness as me being my ‘whole self’. As being all the various aspects of me, in togetherness.
To be my whole self, and to achieve wholeness means I have to understand that I am a multidimensional person. I am not just a list of labels or a binary definition, or a singular worldview that expresses itself through an ideology or philosophy. I am all of these things. And all of these things are not necessarily in conflict, in opposition, in denying obstruction. I think it means accepting all parts of me, or at least acknowledging them.
It can have quite religious connotations. A person becomes whole as part of the journey on a religious path. It also alludes to the original state of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden: being whole, without sin.
However, that’s not what I’m talking about.
What I want to talk about is how I conceive of being a whole person in two phrases, which generate images that have stuck with me over the last year or so. I wanted to share as I think the concept of wholeness could do with some imaginary unpacking. They are:
Prismatic facets
Being in-the-round
My own journey to wholeness has been so far defined in these images, and form the basis of the further enquiry: what do we need to do, to be whole? What is the work we need to do?
Prismatic facet
Being prismatic came to me with almost palpable relief when my favourite writer, Grant Morrison said something in a podcast interview about a year ago. I can’t for the life of me find the source, but it has stayed with me, so let me paraphrase…
In this interview, a bit comes up between the host and Grant that astronomers and scientists know that Jupiter - as a gigantic planet in our solar system - both protects and potentially attacks us with its ability to divert or direct asteroids that comes its way.
Morrison makes the remark that it’s a good example of how things are prismatic.
In Grant’s view, Jupiter is on the one hand an inert celestial planet made up of gases that orbits the sun in our solar system, abiding to the rules of physics.
But on the other hands, it is also The Father. It is Jupiter, the Roman god. He throws asteroids at us in rage, or decides to protect us out of paternal love. I mean, the planet is named after him. The symbolic role of the planet is as important as its physical one.
Their point is that you don’t need to choose either/or. Jupiter is both. They then go on to say that it is true of everything: a chair is not just a chair. It is also a throne for a noble hero. It is also a dead tree shaped into form for our comfort. They say that reality is prismatic, and everything has multiple dimensions that make up its whole.
This definition defies easy labelling, and invites me to hold things in paradox. Sometimes in an unresolvable way.
I find thinking of ourselves as being prismatic to be very helpful. We are physical beings, made up of atoms and molecules, running biological processes, according to the laws of science. But we are also dreamers and conjurers of imaginary spaces, creating magic of our own making. Each of us splits light into various colours, of varying hues and clarity. We are not just a single beam of white light.
In my end-of-life doula training, the subject of being whole came up a lot, and how we can - as doulas - work with all people, regardless of background or difference. During that time, an image of a diamond appeared to me.
Diamonds as we know are made up of very dense carbon that when cut can be fashioned into multifaceted objects. I particularly like The Enigma, which is made of carbonado, a rare black diamond, and the largest cut diamond in the world.
But what does this have to do with end-of-life doulas?
The image of a faceted diamond came to me was because it struck me that doulas act as wayfinders or ‘along siders’ for people of every faith and background. Unlike religious practitioners or medical professionals, they sit as a third-type of person who works with someone beyond the limits of a professional silo. When doulas work with people of faith, it occurred to me that we would benefit from seeing the greater whole of spirituality (the diamond) rather than the specific faith that the person lives with (the facet).
I felt that if a doula could step back and try and work with the larger spiritual needs of someone, whether they were a lapsed Jewish, a committed Muslim or a scientifically-minded atheist, they would be engaging with that person’s whole self, and help them work to become more whole.
I also felt it recognised that even inside one faith, how one person may feel about their religion may be a specific facet to that larger diamond of a faith. After all, there is no one way to be religious.
Palliative care prides itself as being holistic, and attending to everyone’ multidimensional needs. However, the evidence does show that it fails to do so with spiritual needs. I think that is because the profession focuses on the facet, not the diamond.
When I think of the phrase prismatic facet, I think of the fact that though I may split light through one facet, I am made up of many more that make up the whole. It would benefit me, and everyone else, to recognise that being both multi-faceted and capable of generating prismatic light of wildly different ideas, beliefs, behaviours and them not being of something else, but of the same thing.
Being in-the-round
In the contrary, by not living in wholeness means I am likely projecting a flattened version of myself for other people. I do this for a number of reasons, sometimes based on need, or other times on preference. But that flattened version is not the full person. People often don’t get to see the whole of me.
And so, to be in trusting relationships with people, means projecting other angles of yourself to that person, or better still to show them the object that casts the shadow.
A bit like Plato’s Cave, but for a person.
This image of being a whole person in-the-round that can be seen in various aspects, that casts a flattened shadow resonates deeply.
It came back to me about six months ago, when I experienced a sense that I was a whole person, made up of various shades and textures that spun around into a blurred face. I am this mixture and blend of various aspects of myself.
I thought it was an original image, but when I started looking for it, I was surprised to learn that I likely saw it many years ago. Clearly the inspiration for this mental image came from the urns designed by Nadia Gonegaï, who transforms a silhouette of a loved one into a three-dimensional object.
Of all the recent ‘design for death’ products that have come about in the last few years, I actually think the is one of the most potent and beautiful.
For me, to be a whole person, I feel one must be conceived and seen as a person in-the-round; that understands and lives in a larger sense rather than just an isolated facet; that perceives things in a prismatic way and hold various differing (sometimes dissonant or contradictory) views and perspectives as part of ourselves.
I also think that there is a great need for people to have the space, time and support to explore these - or other images - themselves to help discover what wholeness means to them.