Soul Chronicles: The Essence of Illness: Beast or Star?
Segment 5 in our series Soul Chronicles for the Chronically Ill
by Shaler McClure Wright
I’d like to thank Health Story Collaborative for working with me to bring you “Soul Chronicles for the Chronically Ill.” This monthly audio column offers a soulful perspective on navigating the unique challenges of living with ongoing health conditions. My name is Shaler McClure Wright and I’m a writer/artist living with Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome.
Have you ever wondered how you might describe your essence?
The part of you most connected to your soul?
Last month we considered Carl Jung’s belief that body and soul are not two things, they are one. With that in mind, our essence would also be the part of us most connected to our body. And for those of us with chronic illness, we’d be hard pressed to imagine anything with a stronger connection than that!
Let’s take a moment to imagine our illness as our essence…
Your first reaction is probably shock, or even horror. “What! I’m essentially ill?”
So let’s try a softer approach. Let’s imagine that instead of spending our time and energy trying to ignore our discomforts, we shift and allow ourselves to see our chronic condition as a major, ongoing presence. After all, it’s as much a part of us as our heartbeat.
“Renaissance doctors believed the essence of each person originates as a star in the heavens,” says spiritual writer Thomas Moore in his book “Care of the Soul.”
To me, this means we have an inherent connection to something greater than ourselves, and our essence is shaped by that connection. And if our essence is chronic illness, then it, too, is connected to something greater than ourselves, with all the mystery that implies.
If we can imagine our illness having deeper meaning, then we can open to the possibility of discovering hidden aspects of our connection. Moore goes on to suggest a connection between our essence and our suffering—which we might visualize as a connection between our illness and our suffering:
“It is a beast, this thing that stirs in the core of our being, but it is also the star of our innermost nature. We have to care for this suffering with extreme reverence so that, in our fear and anger at the beast, we do not overlook the star.” - Thomas Moore, “Care of the Soul”
I love Moore’s concept of approaching our suffering with reverence. It leads me to wonder how we might also approach our illness with reverence. How might that change our perspective? And what could there possibly be to revere?
I’d like to suggest that our relationship with our illness is likely the most important physical relationship we have. That may sound alarming, but for those of us with chronic conditions, before we can enjoy any other relationship, we need to accept, understand and maintain a committed relationship with our illness.
Elizabeth Nelson, Jungian scholar and author, has developed a technique for recognizing our commitments and evaluating their meaning. To begin, she invites us to shift our focus from ego to soul.
Most of us, she says, sustain multiple important relationships—to people, projects, causes, and one’s self—that demand time and energy. She invites us to imagine each relationship as a metaphorical marriage, to give it the weight it deserves. Dr. Nelson believes “one must awaken to the possibility that we are trying to maintain several competing ‘marriages’ in life,” then asks, “which is your primary commitment?”
For those of us with ongoing health conditions, our primary commitment needs to be to our health, even before our commitments to partner and family. This commitment, however, may be hiding in plain sight because we don’t want to think of illness as a companion who accompanies us through life.
To explore the shadowy aspects of our relationship to chronic illness, we might give ourselves the exercise of writing a letter. Asking our illness what it wants and needs. Asking how we can honor our connection.
In Jungian psychology this process is called active imagination. It’s ok not to know how to begin. Just clear your mind, breathe, and write down whatever comes up without judgment.
You may feel uncertain about writing to a chronic health condition rather than a person. You may feel without direction, but if you can allow your thoughts to wander, and remain open to the images that come to you, you’ll succeed.
Let’s begin by using a prompt for reflection:
‘If my illness is my essence, then my illness is both beast and star.’
How does that make you feel about your relationship?
I like to start by asking a stream of questions, until eventually one sticks, and without effort, another point of view begins to reveal itself. I’ll show you what I mean by sharing a bit of my imaginary letter…
“Dear Illness,
I wonder how you feel, knowing you cause me to suffer?
I wonder if you consider yourself a beast?
I wonder how you could ever possibly be my innermost star?
My resistance to disease makes me want to run away from my body, but it makes you want to stay. I guess that makes you the fighter; the one who is not afraid to dirty her hands. And that makes you brave.
I understand there’s more than one side to you. A beast is only a beast in the eyes of its beholder, and I don’t want to fear you any more. I want to touch your soft spots. I want to rub your belly at the end of the day when you stretch out in front of a fire.
But I don't have a sense of your size. How much space do you take up? Are you really as massive as I fear you to be? Perhaps you’re only as massive as my fear allows you to be.
I feel you thump in my chest. I hear you ringing in my ears. I sense you filling my mind with white fog. I see you drenching my clothing with sweat. You’re good at demanding my attention.
But you also inspire me—with your strength and resilience, your willingness to dance with the unknown, your comfort with change, and your refusal to surrender—even when we can’t see a path through the fog.
I can honor you for our differences. I’m grateful for our differences. Perhaps I am even better off for our differences. In a way, you complete me. You’re the part of me that never gives up.
If you are part beast, then the beast is the most animated part of you, but not the most effective. The beast feels trapped in my body and misunderstood and is crying out for attention. The beast in you is needy.
But there is another, quieter part of you, looking ahead for opportunities to escape. Perhaps that is the star in you; focused on the possibility of illuminating a path in the dark.
I want to learn to see you in full—to see you as both beast and star—and I promise to hold you, my essence, just as a star holds the light of the moon.”
I hope you can see how writing this letter has revealed something new about my relationship with my illness. I now realize I want to deepen my connection, instead of trying to pretend it doesn’t exist. For all of us, illness has more than one dimension, and if we can learn to see it in full, then perhaps we can be more honest about our commitment.
“A good life is nourished by making wise commitments,” Dr. Nelson reminds us, “And ultimately, committing wisely is care of the soul.”
Go here for more episodes of our Soul Chronicles series.
Shaler McClure Wright is fascinated with the mysteries of creative process, the healing power of creativity, and the creative synthesis of method acting, intuitive learning and depth psychology. A graduate of Wesleyan University and The Actors Studio, Shaler has worked as an actor, writer and educator for more than 40 years, and lives in southeastern Connecticut with her husband and son.
Website: www.shalermcclurewright.com
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