Queen of Swords

A few days ago I started reading a book called What Was Asked Of Us: An Oral History of the Iraq War by the Soldiers Who Fought It.

The use of the past tense in the title tweaks me a little, because obviously the war is still going on; there are still soldiers stationed in and fighting in Iraq. But the interviews were done with men and women who had returned after their deployments. (Some of them went back to Iraq for later tours.)

I picked up the book for two reasons. The first is that although my progress has been very, very slow, I still feel a strong call to work with veterans as a spiritual director. Lacking military experience myself, it seems both wise and respectful to learn more about what it's like to serve in a war zone. The second is that Michael has been in Iraq since last fall, and -- as is apparently the case with many -- his emails don't talk much about the specifics of what he's doing or what it's like to be there. I felt a need to understand more about what he's going through, but didn't want to push questions he's already deflected.

Reading the book has been an eye-opening and disturbing experience -- and stripped me of my ability to be in denial about the degree of danger Michael is in. (He has been downplaying the risk, not wanting those who love him to worry about him.) It's also made me wonder what kinds of wounds he's concealing behind the tired-but-usually-cheerful mood of his emails and chats. The concept of "soldiering on" is taking on an entirely new depth of meaning for me. There is so much -- on so many levels -- that has to be set aside, ignored, put on hold in order to keep going and do what they have to do.

I sent him an email yesterday in which I told him about the book, and that it made me want to know more about the degree to which the experiences of these soldiers in 2004-2005 are like what he experiences, but that I also didn't want to pry. He sent back the most frank account yet of what he's actually experiencing, including a particular incident that was so tragic I haven't been able to get it out of my head. Part of me wants to share it, because the details are so important to what I've been thinking about since then, but I don't have the right. Such stories belong to those who were there, not to those who hear them, not without permission to re-tell them, and not without a much deeper understanding of the circumstances than I have. Suffice to say that there is no one touched by the incident for whom I do not weep.

I'm learning a lot from this book -- but I'm acutely aware that my 'knowledge' barely skims the surface of the realities of the experience, and I'm humbled by that. But it also intensifies my belief that I really do need to do whatever is necessary to be able to provide meaningful service to veterans whose spiritual paths are resonant with my own: get a mentor, get training, find a way to plug in. . .

Michael sent me the contact information for a group called Soldiers Heart, which is "a veterans’ return and healing project addressing the emotional and spiritual needs of veterans, their families and communities." I'm upset that there was a three-day retreat/training session in my area at the first of this month that I missed. But there's also a local coordinator I've reached out to.

Spiritual direction is not counseling and it's not therapy. A lot of it is simply listening. A lot of it is simply showing up and being present and bearing witness and holding the space. I don't have to be an expert in PTSD diagnosis and treatment, for example -- but I would be remiss if I didn't get a better understanding of it than I have now.

It would be easy to be intimidated by the task, but what I feel more than anything is the immensity of the need for services like mine. Not for "me" as some kind of savior, but for anyone who is willing to be there, to listen, to walk beside -- not provide answers, but to share the process of grappling with the questions, of seeking light.

My next book is called War and the Soul, by Edward Tick, the founder of Soldiers Heart. What I've read of his articles on the website resonates with me on a very deep level.


And something else just clicked at a very deep level. . . I have always conceptualized the role of the hierodule as having several aspects. One of these is the task of receiving warriors as they return from war to the community and helping them to heal and to re-integrate. As with several other aspects of the hierodule role, although it is usually characterized as sexual, it does not have to be. Over the past month I've put a lot of energy into working out how my self-understanding as a hierodule can exist at all given the changes in my sexuality. Doing spiritual direction with veterans is one way I can continue to walk that path without bringing my personal sexuality into the relationship.