Preparing the Ground for Conscious Service

by Gail Straub

Over the years, hundreds of students have come to my classes searching for ways to balance self-fulfillment with service to others. These seekers have come to understand that with spiritual maturity comes the capacity to go beyond oneself and to embrace another's suffering. Yet our encounters have also made it clear to me how complex social contribution can be.

Along with their eagerness to serve, my students are asking important questions. How do I balance the urgent needs of our times with my own need to care for myself? If I choose not to serve, am I taking care of myself or has my personal drama or spiritual laziness seduced me? How do I find time to serve? How do I open my generosity to my natural desire to give without shame, shoulds, or guilt?

I designed a major component of my "Grace Spiritual Growth Training Program" to address these inquiries and explore the nature of conscious service. I called this part of the training "A Compassionate Encounter with Suffering." To begin, I asked the students to choose an area of service that would help them deepen their compassion. The idea was to move into a situation where their hearts break, using the mantra "my heart is breaking, my heart is awakening." In leaving our comfort zones, we would find a fuller connection to the human family and the natural world. I was asking a lot. The response and the learning were remarkable. Over a period of six years, my students documented their work with battered women, homeless people, holocaust survivors, prisoners, racial healing, abused animals, endangered forests, toxic waste dumps, the elderly, the handicapped, hospices, people with AIDS, and much more.

For the most part, we exchanged our experiences by reading excerpts from our service journals. Sometimes we illuminated the insights from our service through painting, sculpture, photography, poetry, dance, or drama presentations. At times there was such unbearable pain and heartbreak in our sharing that I wondered if I'd gone too far. But I hadn't. We grew strong together.

We taught one another that our hearts were capable of far more compassion than we had ever imagined. Sometimes we had to go through fear, confusion, and resistance to arrive at that place. Often our caring was messy, complex, and full of shadow. We found that moral prescription-feeling burdened by shame, guilt, or shoulds-destroys the true joy of giving, and that more and more our service arose from effortless generosity. We learned that we were personally healed in profound and inexplicable ways through serving others.

The first phase of excavation in digging for the awakened heart is to prepare the ground for conscious service. This is much like the commitment to tell the truth as a precondition for the healing that comes from our personal stories. Here, too, there are several preconditions that prepare the way for the awakened heart: defining what service is; learning to follow our rhythm of compassion so that we balance self-care while we engage in service; and choosing the area of service that's appropriate for us.

Defining Service

Service can manifest both in formal volunteering, such as serving in soup kitchens or prisons, replanting forests, or helping in a shelter for battered women, and through informal channels: the office worker who goes out of her way to listen to a colleague in crisis; the father who coaches his son's basketball team as a form of mentoring; the restaurant owner who sends her compost to an organic farm or makes sure all of her leftover food goes to homeless shelters; the couple who takes in an aging parent rather than send him or her to a nursing home. We need all these acts of loving kindness to build the kind of communities that we hope for.

Sometimes we manifest our service within our vocation: the teacher who makes sure he builds the self-esteem of all his students; the business owner who treats each of her employees and customers with respect and kindness; the publisher who makes a commitment to using renewable resources (soy inks, paper from companies with sustainable timber practices) or aspires to bring books into the world that add inspiration and value to people's lives. The issues discussed here are intended for anyone- parent, social worker, businessperson, or concerned citizen-who desires to care in a more conscious and loving way.

We also need to remember that our capacity to serve changes with the different cycles of our life. The generation in its twenties is brimming with idealism and longs to channel its moral passion out in the world; they may join the Peace Corps or Teach for America, or Greenpeace. Later, our caring may take the form of conscious parenting, serving on school committees, and coaching Little League. As the children grow older, serving as a family-in a nursing home or a soup kitchen, or planting trees in the community-offers the children important values and teaches them that giving is a form of self-fulfillment. When the kids leave home, middle-aged couples often discover a deep yearning to give back to society. They may use their vacation to work for Habitat for Humanity, or start a mentoring program for inner-city teens, or travel as eco-tourists.

In addition to these broad cycles, we need to continue the ongoing practice of balancing our own self-care with the care of the world. My students range from their late twenties to their mid-seventies. No matter what phase of life they are in, they are all looking to balance their own needs with the needs of those they serve. Without the in-breath of self-reflection, we can't sustain our involvement with the suffering of the world.

Listening to Your Rhythm of Compassion

The second part of preparing the ground for conscious service is learning to follow your rhythm of compassion: Knowing when it's time to be on the in-breath, caring for self, or on the out-breath, caring for the needs of the world. Being in rhythm, capable of balancing your inner and outer impulses, is a precondition of mature compassion for society and the earth. An ongoing practice I use with my students is to ask them to really listen to their rhythm. Where is compassion leading me at this time in my life-inward towards personal needs, or outward, paying more attention to my role in the world?

A busy lawyer spends one less late evening in the office and instead volunteers at an AIDS hospice. Later he asks his teenage son to join him, and their relationship deepens to new levels. A therapist feels empty and disconnected from the world. Rather than leading another group of her clients, she volunteers her skills at the local shelter for battered women. A college professor takes one less afternoon in the research library and finds fulfillment working outdoors cleaning up a local river. To balance their lives, these people needed to focus on the out-breath. Let's explore three perspectives on how to follow our rhythm of compassion.

Busyness: The Trickster of Balance

A major block to finding our rhythm is that we're often too busy to listen to where compassion is guiding us. So many of my students longed to make a more meaningful contribution to the world, but many found they had no time. Others were dedicated activists and found no time for their own lives. In classes and workshops, we study the following passage from Thomas Merton as a way to be sensitive to our rhythm of compassion. It is a reminder to those of us who are overextended activists addicted to service, and to those who are addicted to busyness and never have time to serve.

The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of innate violence. To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything is to succumb to violence. The frenzy of the activist neutralizes his work for peace. It destroys her own inner capacity for peace. It kills the root of inner wisdom that makes work fruitful.

Many of my students found that busyness, at work and at home, was often a defense against deeply buried wounds. It kept them from what really mattered and the longing to contribute something back to the world. In slowing down, they could address and heal these painful places. As they cleared the decks, to make time for either service or their own self-nourishment, many found they could do with a lot less. Less work, less television and e-mail, less talking and overanalysis, less stimulation, and less noise. They also made fewer dates and phone calls, and decided to forego social situations that left them feeling empty or indifferent. What a relief it is to clear away the things that drain our energy and make room for what nourishes us. Now we have the space to really hear our rhythm of compassion.

Belonging to Place: The Roots of Balance

If busyness is the sly trickster trying to upset balance, then belonging to our place, putting down deep roots where we live, is the sturdy anchor of balance. Belonging to our place-be it urban or rural-provides the literal grounding for our rhythm of compassion. Our place is the presence that witnesses us and provides us refuge.

Belonging to a place is not only a primary aspect of caring for the earth; it's also a fundamental need for spiritual well being. It's both personal and political. I often tell my students that knowing the details of their home landscape is as important as knowing the details of their life story. Without a sense of place, we are rootless with no ground to grow in. And herein lies part of the loss of soul in modern life. When we lose our attachment to place, we lose our grounding. Genuine belonging to place allows us to belong to ourselves, to be rooted in our rhythm, knowing when to pay attention to self and when to focus on the world.

Knowing the details of our place develops mindful intimacy, the opposite of disconnected busyness. We stop and notice the sight of the willow tree in our yard turning an incandescent autumn yellow, the dusk sounds of the birds in the park across from our apartment, the feel of the stone wall we have built along our driveway, the healing refuge of the small brook down the street, the smells of our beloved garden, whether it be half an acre in the country or a tiny rooftop plot in the city. As we come to know a place-the trees, plants, creatures, stones, water, and how they change with the light and shadow of the day and the cycles of the seasons-these elements combine into a strong network of attachment. Whether it is in the country, the city, or suburbia, this attachment is what makes a place a home and provides the foundation for a balanced rhythm.

There are few things in life as steadfast as our place. It is our ground for meaning. As I learned to live in harmony with the seasons and cycles of my place, I began to live in harmony with my own rhythm. I could return to the refuge of my place to attune to my changing rhythms. I realized the roots of caring for place, self, and others are bound together as in a great tree.

The Friends of Balance: Imagination, Discipline and Support

The qualities of imagination, discipline and support are the friends of balance, helping us find and sustain our rhythm.

In watching certain friends who seem to gracefully juggle family, self-care, work, and social and environmental causes, it's their ingenuity that strikes me. Getting their kids and spouses involved with their volunteer work at the local teen center combines caring for society with rich family time. Organizing everyone at the office to donate clothes, tools, furniture, and time to families who have been devastated by a fire boosts the morale at work and helps people in need. Setting up a recycling program at work makes environmental awareness a daily habit. For one of my students, gardening is her deepest form of renewal. She and her daughter spend precious hours gardening together, and they give much of the fresh produce to the local soup kitchen. Imagination gets us out of the box, beyond the limitations of our ordinary routines.

The ingredients of our rhythms of compassion are as varied as our chosen forms of self-renewal: poetry, dance, silent retreat, time in the mountains or by the sea, long distance running, reading, solitude, singing in a choir, or playing an instrument. They are as infinitely diverse as we are in our chosen areas of contribution-education, conservation, drug rehabilitation, child abuse, racism, hunger, overpopulation, human rights, or endangered species. The creative challenge is to call upon your imagination and let it guide you to the particular combination that integrates the inner and outer for you.

Our rhythms are as varied as Bach and the Beatles. Some of us tend to serve too much and get burnt out. We need to pay attention to taking time for self-renewal. Some of us are addicted to busyness and we need to clear the decks and find out what really matters to us. Others have spent too much time focused on their own self-care and are looking to move out into the world.

There's no right or wrong here, rather an invitation to listen intently to your rhythm and to find out which direction compassion is leading you. This requires imagination to guide you to the unique ingredients of your rhythm; discipline to help you carve out the space for quality of life and then take a stand for it; and support to guide, reflect, and nourish you. And we need to recognize that this balance of inner and outer is an ongoing practice-sometimes we're in rhythm, sometimes we're not.

As you continue your work as a spiritual archaeologist you are now digging for the tools of compassion that awaken the heart. The first phase of your excavation is to find your rhythm of compassion so that you know when it's time to be on the in-breath, caring for self; or on the out-breath, caring for the needs of the world. Learning to listen to your rhythm is much like the sacred agreement you made to tell the truth as a precondition to finding your personal story. Being in rhythm-capable of balancing your inner and outer impulses-is a precondition to the awakened heart.

Choosing the Path That's Right for You

Once we've learned to pay attention to our rhythm, we're ready for the final aspect of preparing the ground for conscious service-choosing the appropriate path of contribution. Advises Mirabai Bush in Compassion in Action: Setting Out on the Path of Service: "Be brave, start small, use what you've got, do something you enjoy, don't overcommit." This sentence says it all and speaks of Mirabai's years of devoted activism as well as her wisdom in assisting others to find their way.

I use Mirabai's advice as the guideline for helping my students choose their arena of service. First of all, recognize that if you're just starting out it takes courage to face the challenges of the world. Begin with a level of commitment that's appropriate for your life cycle. Look for something that calls out to you. Go back to the place of belonging in your life story for clues as to where you might want to contribute. For instance, both my citizen diplomacy work and my environmental activism grew out of my deep sense of belonging with the earth. Then begin slowly, working one day or even a few hours a month perhaps, and gradually add more hours as you get into the flow of it. One of the biggest mistakes people make when they start out is to overcommit.

Remember, it might take some time to find the right fit for your skills.

Excerpted with permission from Chapter 6 of The Rhythm of Compassion: Caring for Self, Connecting with Society by Gail Straub. © 2000 Gail Straub. Published by Tuttle Publishing, Vermont (to order: 800-526-2778 or www.tuttle-periplus.com). Gail Straub has been a teacher and activist for over 20 years. In 1981, she co-founded the company Empowerment Training Programs with her husband David Gershon. They have offered their Empowerment work all over America and in Europe, Russia, China, and Asia. For more information about Gail Straub, her company, and her training programs, visit www.empowermenttraining.com . Image from cover of The Rhythm of Compassion .