Staying with the theme of healing mental illness, I’d like to share the story of “The Girl Who Crunched Bones,” a folktale from Zambia that can be found in Five Minute Tales, by Margaret Read MacDonald.

There was this girl. Every day she went into the bush. Every evening she returned. Her mother called her. “Here, come and eat. Here is good food for you.”

The girl replied, “No, I am not hungry.”

Each day it was this way. The mother worried. “How can my daughter refuse to eat? How can she live like this?”

The mother went to a village elder for aid. The elder said, “Here is a magic herb. Put this in your mouth. When you call,  your daughter must answer. This way you can discover where she is and what she is doing. During the day she does something. You must find out what she does.”

The next day the girl left her home. The mother waited. Then she put the herb in her mouth. She walked into the bush and began to call.

“Kambilocho! Kambilocho! Tuuu!”

The daughter answered from over there.

“Kukutu…kukutu…kukutu…I am crunching people’s bones.”

The mother ran home in terror. The people of the village said, “What happened? What happened?”

The mother told them, My daughter, she made sounds like crunching bones! Her voice came from that place, that place where graves are made.”

The people of the village said, “We will go with you.” They all walked to that place.

What will they find? Find out next time!

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, an estimated 26.2 percent of Americans ages 18 and older — about one in four adults — suffer from a diagnosable mental disorder in a given year. I wonder how many of thse Americans could be restored to mental health if they had one person to listen and understand?

Maybe it’s time to turn of the TV, the computer, the cell phone (gasp!) and give someone we know who is “troubled” our undivided attention, our empathy, our compassion. Yes it will be uncomfortable. Of course you will feel inadequate and helpless. But it’s not about you. It’s about being there for people wrestling with mental illness.

We have the power to listen people back into existence. Lets use it!

Cursed to live as a bird and blown about Ireland, Sweeney comes to rest in a thorn-infested hawthorn bush.

Nearby was the hut of the hermit Mullin. He was a gentle man, and even the foxes came to him for food.

St. Mullin heard the harsh cry of the ugly bird, but in his ears no sound was ever harsh or ugly. The more he listened, the more he understood. All day long he listened to Sweeney, feeling all of the birdman’s pain and understanding the sorrow of the king.

St. Mullin sat patiently all day, whistling sweet tunes and offering crumbs of bread in his open hand. Slowly, the bird fluttered down from one branch to the next until he was at the end of the day, within Mullin’s reach.

Mullin then gently folded his hands over the wounded bird. He fed him from a bowl of milk, and gave him the crumbs of bread to eat.

In a few days, Sweeney returned to his human form. Mullin took him to a small spring and bathed him, dunking his head in the water three times.

Mullin asked God for the healing of Sweeney’s mental illness, and God listened. Sweeney’s first words were to bless the hawthorn that humbled him and the hermit who healed him.

Then the king, healed of his mental illness, set out on his journey home.

Next time: Thoughts on the healing of King Sweeney.

Cursed by the prophet Ronan to live like a bird, King Sweeney embarks on a restless and painful journey to find healing.

Sweeney found a tall mountain ash that grew high into the sky. He greedily plucked its red fruit. He thought:

“The mountain ash is the tree of poets and singers. Surely my voice is sweeter than theirs, and I am worthy of this tree.”

And so the spotted bird cawed and cawed with its shrill cry.

But a hail storm pelted both bird and tree with such large hailstones that the mountain ash was stripped of its leaves and its fruit. Sweeney lost any of his feathers. He barely managed to fly away, seeking refuge.

The wind grew gentle and carried him to the south of Ireland. There he settled atop a small hawthorn bush. He now sang of longing for his family and his home. And, as he hopped from branch to branch, the thorns tore into his flesh.

Sweeney thought: “How fitting it is for me to perch in this hawthorn bush. I have nested myself among the thorns of suffering all my life. I have caused pain to everyone who knew me. Yes, Sweeney deserves no more than the lowly hawthorn bush for his home.”

Sweeny’s suffering is about to end. Come back to find out how!

Cursed by the prophet Ronan, King Sweeney has become a bird and takes to the air.

Sweeney, in the shape of an ugly gray and spotted bird, was blown by the winds from one corner of Ireland to the next. Every other bird shunned him.

Once he found a home atop a great oak tree and said to himself:

“The Druids honor the oak for it is a holy tree, and I am as great as any magician.”

But a powerful wind came from the west, ripped away the topmost limbs and sent Sweeney blowing across the landscape.

The birdman Sweeney then found a home atop a solid and great copper beech tree. Its dark red leaves reminded him of the rich red velvet cape he wore as king.

Sweeney thought, “This ancient beech is worthy of mighty kings, and I am the mightiest of royalty.”

But then a swarm of beetles bored into the tree, and its rotted trunk came tumbling down. Sweeney fled as the tree crashed to the ground.

Where will Sweeney go next? We continue his painful journey next time!

Did you know that you are a “healer?” Your ears have astounding power to heal! Listening with empathy is perhaps the single most powerful balm for people suffering emotional pain.

Consider the story of  Sweeney- King of the D/alnAraide wounded at the battle of Mag Rath (AD 637), cursed by the prophet Ronan, and destined to live wild in the forest.

There was once a king who name was Sweeney. He was healed of mental illness by a hermit who lived near a Hawthorn tree. The hermit’s name was Mullin. This is how it happened:

King Sweeney was called a “madman” in all his dealings with people. He ignored his wife and family. He harangued his pastor. He disputed unreasonably with everyone. And he gleefully led his soldiers in constant warfare.

Everyone in their hearts muttered curses on the troubled king; no one wanted to truly listen to him. His household and his kingdom ached with pain and suffering.

Following one bloody battle, the prophet Ronan shouted a curse on Sweeney:

“May you spread wings and become a bird wandering from tree to tree without a home. You have brought no peace to your people or your family’s home, and now you will have no peace until the day of your forgiveness and healing.

And with that king Sweeney raised his hands to strike Ronan, but his arms turned into wings. He flapped they, and lifted high in the air. His human words of anger and cursing turned into a shrieking and cawing worse than a crow’s. He flew upwards towards the clouds.

Return next time to follow the tortuous journey of king Sweeney.

Three old men, one of whom had a bad reputation, came one day to Abba Achilles.

The first old man asked him, “Father, make me a fishing net.”

“I will not make you one,” Abba replies.

Then the second said, “Of your charity make one, so that we have a souvenir of you in the monastery.”

But Achilles said, “I do not have time.”

Then the third one, who had the bad reputation, said, “Make me a fishing net, Father.”

Abba Achilles answered him at once, “For you, I will make one.”

Then the two other old men asked him privately, “Why did you not want to do what we asked you, but you promised to do what he asked?”

Abba Achilles gave them this answer: “I told you I would not make one, and you were not disappointed, since you thought that I had no time. But if I had not made one for him, he would have said, ‘The old man has heard about my sin, and that is why he does not want to make me anything,’ and so our relationship would have broken down. But now I have cheered his soul, so that he will not be overcome with grief.”

—

“How far you go in life depends on you being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and the strong. Because someday in life you will have been all of these.” George Washington Carver

It is said that a long time ago, a Buddhist master was teaching about enlightenment in ancient India, when his words were interrupted by the barking of a dog. The loud insistent barking so annoyed one man in the crowd that he threw a rock at the dog, striking him on the left side.

At that instant, the master fell to the ground and cried out in pain. Later, when his worried disciples asked what had happened, they saw that on the teacher’s left side there was a large bruise. The dog’s pain had so touched this teacher’s noble and tender heart that it became his pain. He took it on himself.

from Awakening the Buddha Within: Eight steps to Enlightenment by Lama     Surya Das

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“To care for anyone else enough to make their problems one’s own, is ever the beginning of one’s real ethical development.” Felix Adler

Living with mental illness can suck the hope right out of you. When my depression and dissociative identity disorder were at their worst I had no hope; no hope for my marriage, no hope for my career, no hope of healing. At times, in my despair, blowing my head off or running my car into a concrete wall seemed like my only hope of relief from pain. It was at these times that my pastor was a voice of encouragement to me and taught me that compassionate treatment of mental illness requires a mouth that speaks encouragement.

My pastor believed in me when I no longer believed in myself. He encouraged me to see the light at the end of the tunnel that my mental illness had become for me. My pastor drew me back again and again to the words of hope contained in my religious tradition. He encouraged me to begin speaking and writing about my experience with mental illness, and when I did I found a new purpose and with that purpose hope. My pastor spoke words of encouragement to my wife as I wrestled with mental illness. Those words kept her going through some very dark days.

A mouth that speaks encouragement can counter the despair of stigmatization. A mouth that speaks encouragement can lighten the darkness of depression. A mouth that speaks encouragement can unshackle the chains of guilt and shame that often bind us in a hopeless dungeon of despair.

You don’t have to be a member of the clergy to have a mouth that speaks encouragement. Who needs you to be a mouth that speaks encouragement to them as they struggle with mental illness? If you have a mental illness do you take time to speak encouragement to yourself? Compassionate treatment of mental illness requires a mouth that speaks encouragement.

57.7 million Americans with a mental illness need people with a heart that forgives, an ear that listens, and a mouth that speaks encouragement. Will you help just one?

In my struggle with mental illness my therapist taught me that compassionate treatment of mental illness requires an ear that listens.

It’s a sad fact that many of us trying to cope with mental illness have no one to listen to us. Some of us have been stigmatized into silence. We dare not speak our pain for fear of the negative attention it may bring us. Some of us have been isolated into silence. Friends, family, and community have withdrawn from us leaving us to suffer and cope on our own with no one to confide in. Some of us have been counseled into silence. Repeated mismatching of therapists with our needs has left us feeling misunderstood and ambivalent toward the therapeutic process.

I consider myself fortunate, no, blessed, to have had a therapist who listened deeply to me. My therapist listened me back into existence. She listened to me cry my abandonment and curse my abuse. My counselor listened to my failures without judgment and to my fears without disdain. And she listened with clinical expertise to the symptoms of my depression and dissociative identity disorder and offered me ways to heal. When my therapist listened to my anger, hurt, shame, failure, darkness, and symptoms she communicated compassion to me. Her compassion told me I was worth something even when my illness caused me to feel worthless.

Listening requires maintaining an active presence, empathy, and openness to hear the person telling their story–something difficult to do when the story being told is filled with the pain of depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, PTSD, or dissociative identity disorder. Listening is difficult where forgiveness is needed, yet listening is often the key that unlocks the compassion hidden in our hearts that enables us to forgive. Theologian Paul Tillich wrote, “The first duty of love is to listen.”

You don’t have to be a therapist to have an ear that listens. Do you know someone with a mental illness who needs to be listened to? Do you listen to what your own pain is telling you? Compassionate treatment of mental illness requires an ear that listens.

When I was suffering with depression and dissociative identity disorder my wife taught me that compassionate treatment of mental illness requires a heart that forgives.

I know that without the forgiveness of my wife, Carol, I could not have healed. At the very least, my healing would have taken years longer. Carol’s decision to release me from the toxic debt of my past offenses toward her had the healing effect of freeing my energy to focus on rebuilding our relationship (instead of having to defend myself against blame and recrimination). It also allowed me to focus on healing the hurts that fragmented my identity into fifteen separate personalities. It was Carol’s forgiveness that gave me the strength to gradually forgive my family for their abuse of me as a child. And it was her forgiveness, as well, that offered me the means to forgive myself for my failures.

In fact, my wife’s ability to forgive became a model for me as I struggled with releasing both my family and myself from all blame. If Carol could let go of the pain I’d caused her, I reasoned, then I could let go of the hurt my family had inflicted upon me. By the same token, perhaps, I could could release myself from guilt I felt over the pain I’d caused others when my mental illness was at its worst. My wife understood that that hurt I’d caused her was a by product of my own hurt.

For me, Carol’s forgiveness was a living example of the forgiveness of God. And the combined forgiveness of my wife and God became the foundation on which I began the journey to healing for my mental illness and to mend the trust and love that had vanished from my marriage.

Is there someone struggling with mental illness who has hurt you that you need to forgive? Do you need to forgive yourself for the hurt you have caused others as you’ve wrestled with mental illness?

Compassionate treatment of mental illness requires a heart that forgives, and that forgiveness sets people with mental illness free to focus on healing their mind, body, and soul.

People living with mental illness often hurt the people we are closest to. Sometimes we hurt people intentionally out of anger over the way we are treated. But often times the hurt we cause our family, friends, or employers is a by-product of the disease we struggle with. We don’t mean to damage relationships, but because we are ill-equipped to deal with the thoughts and emotions our mental illness causes, we make poor decisions that adversely affect those we love and work for. Some of us attempt to self-medicate our pain and get caught in the grip of an addiction that damages our relationships and careers. Some of us, because of our diminished ability to function from day to day have difficulty staying employed and put great economic stress on our families causing feelings of resentment.

When I was in the throes of dissociative identity disorder and depression, I abandoned my wife when she needed me and betrayed her when she trusted me. My actions almost destroyed my marriage, and cost me a very good job. I found myself in a vicious cycle. I acted out the pain caused by my mental illness and my acting out caused me more pain and shame exacerbating the symptoms of my disorder, causing me to feel even worse. I was a classic illustration of the principle that “hurting people hurt people. It was my wife’s choice to forgive me that broke this destructive cycle. Next time I’ll tell you how.