A three-letter word

Because I'm a speech and language therapist, I'm also a bit of a word-geek. Or maybe it's that I'm a bit of a speech and language therapist because I'm a word-geek. I'm not sure yet. But I love words, their meanings, and discovering a word's journey through time. Take this word: Hal. It's an Old English word meaning 'whole', and being a word, it has lots to say.

Hal: 'entire, whole, unhurt, uninjured, healthy.' What a beautiful meaning to carry. It may only have three letters, but as we all know, it's not size that counts, it's what you do with it. And Hal is not only beautiful in meaning, but has also done its bit for the English language, giving us Old English words like hælþ (health) hælan (to heal) and halig (holy, sacred). 

There's another word that keeps cropping up in my thoughts: violence. 'An unjust or unwarranted exertion of force or power. Force that damages, injures or hurts.' The opposite of Hal. 

My Sunday School taught me well enough to ensure that I don't usually inflict violence on other people. I'm tempted towards violence when the cat starts humping my feet, but depending on how well I slept the night before, I usually manage self-restraint. But Sunday School didn't show me how to resist the violence I would be tempted to inflict on myself. Perhaps because that sort of violence can be subtle.

Like moths to a light, humankind is drawn to the way of violence - to think that we can become masters of our bodies, minds, sexuality, emotions, dreams, and spirituality by the exertion of force. When I see a side to my personality that I dislike, I am sorely tempted to squash it, crush it, repress it, lock it away in a dark place out of sight, like a despotic god on a power-trip. Hal on the other hand, would gently coax that side out into the bright warmth of day, and ask it why it behaves as obnoxiously /enviously /impulsively as it does. Hal would listen carefully and find the wound that needs healing. Hal would say that those unlikeable characteristics are no less part of me, no less deserving of love, and perhaps (if it were possible) be more deserving of my love, since they are really messengers of the truth - if only I would listen to their message. And as I would start to love them, I would find a greater degree of wholeness - of unity within these different parts of me. This is Hal.

When I try to separate my body from my mind, or my sexuality from my spirituality, I am in the way of violence again. When I say that I 'have' a body, rather than that I 'am' a body, I have dealt myself an injury. It makes me believe my body should be and do things according to the bidding of my mind, like any other commodity I possess. When I buy into an an economic system that turns planet Earth from my sister into my slave, and humans into units of production, I am in the way of violence. But Hal gently calls to us. Who hasn't seen a glorious dawn and felt the presence of Hal - the profound connection and wholeness that happens in that moment between the senses, soul, spirit and sunlight? These moments are sometimes even healing. The way of violence surrounds us, but so does Hal. Hal doesn't shout or raise her voice in the streets. Hal is the quiet whisper in my soul, the burning optimism that rises in the face of a glorious dawn, or a sudden rainbow. My soul can hear an invitation into the way of Hal, of wholeness, healing and one-ness.

Hal is that little word that gave us 'health', 'healing' and 'holy'. The way of Hal is the way of whole, is the way of healing, is the way of holiness, is the way of God. Hal and God - both three-lettered words.