Continuing our theme of "mind-body medicine," which we revisit from time to time, one of the more interesting books to come out by a Vietnam veteran talking about his experiences in war and afterwards is "At Hell’s Gate: A Soldier’s Journey from War to Peace," by Claude Anshin Thomas. Thomas grew up like many guys who went to Vietnam: poor in a hardscrabble American town, son of a WW II veteran, with whom he had a rocky relationship; athlete in school who had perhaps a glorified view -- from his relationship with his dad and from athletics -- about what combat would really be like, or what it would do for him. He was clearly under the impression that it would "make him a man," and when reality hit, and he saw the things war really was made of, and that he saw himself do, well, it was a little too late to turn back. That was Vietnam in 1966. The scars from that experience would be touchstones for the rest of his life, and honestly -- he's shown more healing than many. First and foremost probably because he's been willing to admit the level of pain and suffering that Vietnam left on his "soul." Here's some of his reflections from his book that Michael Herr, author of Dispatches, says was "written with relentless courage and utter compassion." According to Herr, "this account of violence and transformation is one of the most amazing and wonderful stories I've ever read." --- Thomas, who went to Vietnam at 18, received numerous awards and decorations, including 27 Air Medals, a Distinguished Flying Cross, and the Purple Heart. We first wrote about him back in February of 2006, and several times since, because his book -- and the way he's transformed his experience -- appear to be virtually one of a kind. As he himself says, Vietnam is not unique in that "everyone has their Vietnam...everyone has their own experience of violence, or calamity or trauma." What stands out about Thomas, though, is his willingness to acknowledge all the raw trauma, and somehow, to transform at least parts of it. Now, for Thomas in his own words about some of the scarring, as well as some of the transformation from within: "My body is covered with scars from my wars. Every time I look at my body, touch one of these scars, I touch again the reality of war, and when I touch the reality of war, I touch all the suffering that is intrinsic to war. In the past, when I felt pain from a scar, I tried to repress it, to hide it from myself. But the physical wounds are not the most significant wounds of war. The wounds of the soul, the spiritual wounds, the emotional wounds – they are far deeper, though less obvious. And they are much more unpleasant to look at."
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"Recently I spoke with a man who said, “If you didn’t feel things so deeply, if you were numb or if you were able to deny your feelings, you probably wouldn’t have any trouble with the war.” But in fact, the vast majority of the people who have closed themselves off from the reality of their experiences in war are suffering tremendously. Hiding or avoiding does not eliminate suffering, it just drives it more deeply underground. Then our suffering controls us more profoundly, in one form or another. We cannot hide from our pain. Trying to do so is like attempting to pour a liter of red paint into a half-liter container: It will spill and spread, covering every aspect of our lives.
That’s what was happening to me when I hit bottom, a place where the pain was so intense I didn’t know how to hold it. I thought my only option was to die. As we wake up to suffering, we may feel at some points as if we might explode. Because waking up to the boundlessness of suffering is intense, the pain is raw, the feelings immense – spaceless, formless, empty.
The practices of mindfulness and meditation have provided me with invaluable resources and tools in those moments, in those hell places. They also help me to go to those places with others, to support them in caring for and healing themselves. I am able to sit with the dying, the wounded, encouraging them to tell their stories and listening deeply. I also go to the front lines and talk to soldiers about not fighting. I talk candidly with them about the effects and consequences of war. I am also able to go to the back wards of hospitals and mental institutions to visit the hidden casualties of war and listen to their stories. I sit with the disenfranchised, the social and cultural lepers, and listen. In all these places, with all these people, I practice breathing in and breathing out. I practice being fully present. And I offer them the tools of Zen Buddhist practice (direct experience), spiritual practice. I hope to help them discover the practices and tools that have helped saved my life: sitting meditation, walking meditation, mindful speech, and deep listening. I also hope to provide the experience of sangha (community) – to demonstrate how community can support us on the path to healing and the path to awakening.
I invite people to bring an end to their isolation. Because together we can do more than we can do alone. These tools, this practice of meditation, are important, even critical, because suffering is a reality of our lives, the lives of all of us. The “Apocalypse Now” is not just in Vietnam; it is not just for Vietnam veterans. It exists for all of us because we have eaten the fruits of war, the fruits of violence, the fruits of hatred. If we don’t wake up to this, it will destroy us. From the inside out, it will destroy us. I know this from my own experience. And I know this because I observe this happening all the time.
-- At Hell’s Gate: A Soldier’s Journey from War to Peace, by Claude Anshin Thomas.
