Love Lost and Found

I learned how to love from a complete stranger who loathed me.  It was a very difficult lesson which was the result of a deeply unsettling experience.  Even as I write this several weeks later I still feel a little unnerved by the whole thing.  But I'm a lot wiser now, and a little sadder.

A few nights before the incident that taught me how to love I went to bed hurting badly over being rejected by a dear childhood friend for reasons I can't discern.  It's been at least six years since she threw me over, and normally I would have accepted the situation by now and moved on.  Unfortunately, because of a Facebook connection, I'm occasionally reminded of my loss and the pain resurfaces.  That was the situation when I went to bed nursing old wounds.  But this time the pain I felt manifested as anger and the desire for revenge.  So I spent a long time imagining outlandish scenes of humiliating my old friend on social media. 
It's not unusual for irrational, vengeful thoughts to afflict wounded or rejected friends and lovers.  That was the only "normal" aspect of the mordant minutes I spent lying in bed before I finally fell into a fitful sleep.  Not surprisingly, late that night I dreamt about the loss of my old friend and woke up shouting invectives at her. 
When I awake from a bad dream because I'm shouting or screaming, it invariably marks the beginning of a bad day.  Sure enough, the day after blaspheming my lost friend was a bad one.  Apart from banal stuff such as professional rejection both as a writer and an actor (never good for the ego), I sliced a very small piece of my finger off while chopping vegetables, and  I also experienced lower back and hip pain that periodically flares up.  On that day it was more painful than it's ever been.  Usually a good walk, which I love to do, works out some of the stiffness and pain, but not this time.  The right side of my lower body hurt so much I limped.  Fortunately, I was off from work for two days.  Otherwise I would have had to call in sick. 
Yup.  The karma dump truck dropped a big load on me for my unkind and vengeful thoughts, although I hadn't yet made that connection.  And there was a lot more to come.
I dealt with the physical and psychological crap I was going through by going to my local Y to soak in a whirlpool bath and detox in a sauna.  One of the reasons I love visiting the Y for hydrotherapy is because of the community of women that gather in the tub and sauna.  Women of all shapes and sizes, ages, and ethnic backgrounds come to laugh and chatter in numerous languages while sitting around the large, communal tub.  Usually it's the physical size and cultural background of the women who go there that determines whether they wear a swimsuit or not.  I always go naked. Wearing a swimsuit spoils the pleasure of feeling a jet stream of warm water directly against my skin.  The same goes for the sauna.  Tight clothing defeats the purpose of sweating.  For a couple of hours the heat of the hot tub and the sauna drain me of any toxic feelings.

When I landed in the tub there were more women than usual having a soak.  I found a corner to slip into, and a beautiful woman of great girth, sporting a swimsuit and lots of raven coloured hair, moved slightly to one side to make room for me.  When I thanked her for accommodating me, she acknowledged me with a curt, perfunctory nod.  I wasn't sure if I was imagining annoyance on her part.  A few minutes later she left.  In retrospect I regard her role in the drama that was about to unfold as a harbinger of what was to come.  
Shortly afterwards another very large woman came to the tub.  She was around my age and wore a muumuu which came to her knees.  She sat in the only spot left in the tub, which happened to be next to me.  And though it didn't bother me, I noticed that I was the only completely naked woman there. 
Despite the very close quarters, Madam Muumuu and I didn't make eye contact.  I couldn't help thinking that that was a deliberate choice on her part, because I felt a bad vibe coming from her.  Maybe she was a generally miserable person.  However, a few minutes later she exchanged some friendly words with the Chinese women sitting at the other side of the tub.  That's when I began to worry that the malice I felt was, indeed, reserved just for me.  Sheesh.
As we continued to sit in the tub in very close proximity, the palpable hostility I felt from her intensified, but I still clung to the slim hope that her animosity towards me was all in my head.  That hope disappeared instantly when we finally caught each others' eye and I flashed a quick smile to indicate that I bore her no ill will.  But she clearly did for me, because as soon as I smiled she turned her back on me and shook her head in disgust.  I was mortified.  And deeply puzzled.  She didn't know me from Eve, and I hadn't done or said anything, offensive or otherwise, to have elicited such animosity. 
A few minutes later an opportunity for her to demonstrate just exactly how she felt about me occurred.  I was unaware that a bandage on the small cut I'd inflicted upon my index finger a couple of days earlier had come off and was floating in the water.  It was wet but perfectly clean.  (I wouldn't have gone into the tub if I was still bleeding.)  When Madam Muumuu spied the bandage, she picked it up and threw it onto the tiles, exclaiming in a voice thick with vitriol, "Whose bandage is this?  That's disgusting!"  She knew perfectly well it was mine.  I quickly offered a sincere apology, and felt truly grateful that at least it was a clean, harmless bit of flotsam. 
The situation was becoming more uncomfortable by the minute, but I wasn't going to leave the tub, because I had just as much right to be there as she did.  The Chinese ladies, who hadn't noticed any of the goings on at our side of the tub departed shortly afterwards, leaving Madam Muumuu and me alone.  Talk about awkward.  But as awkward as it was, I knew I had to address the issue at hand. 
I spoke to her as reasonably and politely as I could.  "You're obviously very angry with me," I said.  "Would you please tell me how I've offended you?"  My newfound enemy was clearly taken aback.  I guess she didn't expect me to call her out on her unprovoked enmity.  At least I felt some satisfaction that my forthrightness had momentarily thrown her off balance.  She mumbled something inaudible and then moved to the side of the tub that the Chinese women had vacated.

I was relieved not to have her sitting right next to me, and tried to relax as much as I could under the circumstances.  But it just wasn't working.  I had no intentions of leaving, so I had to come up with some way of ameliorating the situation.  I wondered what a yogi or an enlightened person would do, even though I suspected that a truly  enlightened person wouldn't have found themselves in such circumstances.  Nonetheless, I considered my dilemma for a moment and decided that an instructive, civilised response would be one of compassion.  Perhaps I should try returning conspicuous hostility with love.  But how could I send love to Madam Muumuu when I didn't feel it?  Then it hit me.  I'm an actress.  I could act or pretend to send love, because that's what actors do.  Truly fine actors conjure up genuine emotion when they perform.  And actors' training consists of many exercises that require them to be or feel something completely foreign and outside their experience.  I've done it many times. 
"So - " I thought to myself, "I'm no saint or sage, but I am an actress, and I know I can act as if I feel real love for this enemy of mine."  So that's what I did.  I lay back in my corner of the tub, breathed deeply, and pretended like hell that I felt genuine compassion for someone who despised me.  A few minutes later I realised that I felt calmer than I had since I first entered the tub.  In fact, I felt fine.  Really, really fine.  No sooner had I observed the welcome change in my mood than Madam Muumuu got up and left.  I have no idea if she "received" any of the love I sent, and I really don't care.  I was just happy that she was gone and that I was free of anxiety.
Shortly after Madam Muumuu departed, another woman entered the tub.  We exchanged brief, sincere smiles of acknowledgement.  I felt safe, my paranoia was gone.  As I sank deeper into the water I felt a sudden, but not entirely surprising release of emotion.  That's when I crumpled.  Hot tears streamed down my face.  I made no attempt to hide them.  I'd been through a horrible and emotionally intense assault on my psyche.  The woman who had just arrived asked me if I was in pain.  "Yes," I answered honestly, without mentioning that it was emotional rather than physical.  She said a few kind and appropriate words.  I thanked her and then we fell into sweet, companionable silence.
A short time later I left the tub.  I dried and dressed, and as I exited the change room I passed Madam Muumuu, who was laughing and chatting gaily with other women.  It became even more obvious that all the animosity I felt from her was specifically for me, and not the world in general.  Normally that realisation would have brought me right back down again, but the love I'd "practised" during my actor's exercise in the tub was sticking to me.  I walked blithely by.
I headed for the subway by way of a lovely, old growth park.  Still feeling the effects of having conjured love out of seemingly nowhere, I was suddenly aware that I was walking completely free of pain for the first time in three days.  Walking was a joy again, and I haven't had a physically painful recurrence since.
I won't pretend that Madam Muumuu didn't rattle my cage big time.  It's hard to find out that someone despises you simply because you exist. 
Sometimes, when I'm feeling down, I fret that I'm a big, fat failure.  Most of the time, however, when reason holds sway over self-doubt and fear, I know I'm not really a loser.  But then along comes Madam Muumuu to reinforce all those dreadful, destructive feelings.  If that doesn't make her an enemy, I don't know what does.  She is a perfect representation of the Jungian archetype known as the "shadow," the unconscious, negative aspects of one's psyche.
I now know that expressing love is a practice.  There are many people for whom loving comes quite naturally, and I envy them, because they almost always receive it in return.   (I should mention that I have no problem with showing affection for animals.  But humans are another story altogether.) 

Madam Muumuu's appearance in my life was no accident, nor was the fact that I was completely naked and exposed when we encountered each other.  I couldn't have been more vulnerable.  But those were the circumstances in which I learned first hand, and the hard way, that love really does heal.  Even the pretense of love heals, because it requires positive behaviour modification to pretend to care.  More remarkable still is that I learned this lesson from someone who had absolutely no love for me. 
At last I understand what the Buddha meant when he said your worst enemy is your best teacher.  I also discovered that sometimes I am my own worst enemy.  But that's okay, because I've learned the importance of practising self-love.  And learning to love oneself, as the song goes, is the greatest love of all. 
So mote it be.
-g.p.