The Gilmore Book Club

HARRY POTTER CAN SHOW YOU HOW TO SEE INTO PEOPLE'S MINDS

DEVELOP AND STRENGTHEN YOUR INTUITION, Learn from Pain- OCCLUMENCY LESSONS- PART 2

If you could have a magical power, what would it be? You’ll have to read the seventh Harry Potter book, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, to find out what Harry, Ron, and Hermione would choose, but you only have to read through the rest of this post to find out which magical ability I actually have.  (You can always go back to Part 1 of this series if you need a refresher.)

Now in his fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry Potter is forced to compete in a dangerous tournament held by three international wizarding schools. With a bit of luck, hard work, moral fiber, and a little help from his friends, Harry makes it through the first and second tasks with relatively high marks from the panel of judges. Yes, snatching a golden egg from the talons of a dragon is thrilling. Yes, Harry’s descent into the lake to swim amongst the merpeople is chilling and mystifying. Yes, the Prefect’s bathroom, with its many jets of scented water and tubs big enough to swim in, sounds like the most incredible themed spa, and I’d like to manifest that into existence somehow. But that is not what caught my attention during my latest re-read of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

Each year, Hogwarts employs a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher; the post is considered cursed, and no one can keep the job for more than a year. This year's teacher is Alastor Moody, more commonly known as Mad Eye Moody. He previously spent many years as an Auror, a dark-wizard catcher, and has extensive knowledge about the darkness that can ensnare a witch or wizard.

Moody is unlike any Hogwarts teacher in many ways. He has no qualms about turning students into ferrets to teach them a lesson about attacking someone behind their backs. Mad Eye is so suspicious that he will only drink from his flask. He's also missing an eye and a leg. Instead of the missing limb, Moody walks on a wooden peg, making a clanking sound that always announces his presence. The eye, however, is supplanted by a magical one that can roam in other directions and look elsewhere while his original one looks straight ahead.

Upon first reading, Moody was not the character I related to the most. If you've read the books, you'd probably guess I'm most like Hermione Granger, book-loving, high-achieving, rule-abiding, and you'd be right. In many ways, I'm still like her, but I have grown up, just as Hermione does, and have found that I'm not entirely the person I once was. And the journey to where I am is more moody than magical; some might even call it mad…

Pain beyond pain. The darkest of wizards he may be, but Lord Voldemort's description of trauma is disturbingly accurate. An odd phenomenon happens when you're chronically ill or have experienced any other physical trauma that requires an extensive recovery period: you cease to exist solely in the real world. You begin to live in the in-between, the plane of lost souls, here in appearance, but detached, unable to attain the grounded, realness of being, but not quite moving into the beyond. You're lost in the ghostly realm.

I know that pain, and over the years, I've known that pain more intimately than I know joy and love, for that pain never leaves and manages to blast through moments of goodness.

So many of my symptoms are invisible. They wear clever disguises that people often mistake for something else entirely. Instead of exhaustion, they see shyness, aloofness, and a boring personality. Instead of the physical inability to walk or move, they observe a distaste for social events- a party pooper. Instead of pain, they see coldness or rudeness. Instead of someone constantly fighting multiple chronic illnesses, they see someone not worth their time.

It's heartbreaking to be treated this way, but I understand how it came to be. Our culture is trained to be graceful around those with broken limbs, pregnant bellies, or hair falling out from chemotherapy. We even make allowances for those with a red, runny nose. But if we can't see it, then it doesn't exist. And I would have thought the same if I hadn't gotten so sick at such a young age.

I feel like we've all asked ourselves this question at one time or another. Harry was trying to figure out how to fight a dragon, but we muggles just need a list of strengths to mention in job interviews. I was always good at reading, writing, and being a hard worker, but many other people are also good. What was it that set me apart? Being sick or in pain certainly set me apart. However, it felt more like a weakness than a strength.

But Mad Eye Moody? One look is all it takes for the Hogwarts students to see that their new professor is strength, wisdom, and badassery combined. And he's got a whole trunk full of tricks up his sleeve.

I feel like we've all asked ourselves this question at one time or another. Harry was trying to figure out how to fight a dragon, but we muggles just need a list of strengths to mention in job interviews. I was always good at reading, writing, and being a hard worker, but many other people are also good. What was it that set me apart? Being sick or in pain certainly set me apart. However, it felt more like a weakness than a strength.

But Mad Eye Moody? One look is all it takes for the Hogwarts students to see that their new professor is strength, wisdom, and badassery combined. And he's got a whole trunk full of tricks up his sleeve.

There are several ways to hide oneself in the wizarding world, including disillusionment charms and invisibility cloaks. Our friend Harry Potter just so happens to have the best invisibility cloak in existence and routinely uses it to sneak around the castle and its grounds. But Moody catches Harry under the cloak one night, and it's revealed just how powerful Moody's eye really is.

The ability to see invisibility: that's a rare power even in the magical world. But Moody's missing eye makes me think of another world that, thanks to Marvel, you might also be familiar with.

In Norse mythology, there's a story about Odin, the Allfather, who yearns to achieve wisdom so great it can prevent Ragnarok (sounds like a super cool word, but it's their term for the apocalypse, so it's actually quite a bummer). Different sources offer different versions of how this story unfolds, but the essence of it is this: Odin sacrifices one of his eyes and hangs from the World Tree for nine days and nine nights, and he is rewarded with otherworldly knowledge.

So, what happened to Professor Moody? The reader doesn't witness the events that took Moody's eye and leg from him, but we do learn through bits of conversation that he lost both body parts in the battle against death eaters, aka Voldemort's evil groupies. Alastor Moody is one of the most powerful and experienced Aurors (professional bad wizard catchers) in the wizarding world. When trouble comes to Hogwarts, who does Headmaster Dumbledore want nearby for extra protection for Harry? Moody. And who better to teach your students how to defend themselves than one who has experienced some of the evilest things in the world? (ok, Lupin would be good too but come on, you knew the answer I was going for here was Moody.)

I distinguished Moody as a professional because for those who have read all of the Harry Potter books, the description of the person most experienced in pain that teaches others also describes Harry Potter himself, who later begins to secretly tutor the other Hogwarts students when a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher refuses to let them do any magic.

There are more examples I could name; Gandalf and Galadriel from Lord of the Rings come to mind because LOTR is everywhere right now and one of my future blog posts, so stay tuned) and Arya and Brandon Stark from Game of Thrones (Arya was blind for a time, and Bran permanently lost the use of his legs).

There's a common link here, and it's way more intricate than losing a body part; it's pain and wisdom. They're inextricably bound together in so many stories. I used to think one achieved wisdom through time, hard work, and experience, but I was missing the path less traveled that led to this second sight that allows you to see more than others do: Pain and Sacrifice. They are two of the greatest and most powerful educators in life and literature.

But why is pain a necessary component of wisdom? Why can't you just read a lot and study and be really smart? I did read and study a lot. I was a smart kid. But the education I received at the hands of pain was beyond all imagining.

Unfortunately, there are some things you just can't understand until you've lived them, felt them poison and transform your insides simultaneously, and yet live to tell the tale. Pain has an immense power to push you past your breaking point, to force you beyond the body, the mind, and the being that you were, to shove you into a world where you know nothing but must adapt to survive. The more agony you experience, the more you think about it: what it means, how to handle it, compare it to what came before, to imagine what could come next. A neurologist would describe this as forging new neural pathways, which increases the workings in your brain, allowing you to continue to push further and further, creating new pathways. This is how your mind changes, how your wisdom expands. A divination professor at Hogwarts would say you're developing your Sight, your ability to see into the beyond and make predictions. This author might say, you're developing your own magical eye. Or, if you'd like the muggle definition, you're boosting your intuition.

Though concisely and eloquently written, the previous paragraph gives you the illusion that Sight inherently and easily comes with pain. I wish that were the case; at least you could have the promise of a reward for your suffering. But that is not the case. It can take years to hone your intuition skill, requiring a multitude of small realizations and reactions that shift your mindset like grains of sand falling in slow motion in an hourglass.

There were so many times I questioned why this happened to me. Why did all this start when I was so young? Couldn't it have waited until I was older, more mentally and emotionally equipped to handle such a thing? But even if all my questions were answered, it wouldn't bring the one thing that would have genuinely made a difference: a cure. I was chronically ill, and there was no getting out of it. So what now?

Initially, I just kept going. But once I adjusted to my new state of life, I began to notice- anything and everything. I started to wear lipstick daily and dressed to fit each occasion. I continued to participate in local theater shows, increasing my involvement from one a year to several at the same time! I compensated for my perceived lack of value with increased effort in outer appearance, productivity, and conventional achievements. When I was tired, it was more difficult to form sentences in my mind, let alone speak them out loud. I restricted my movements, walking slower, cutting out nodding or hand gestures and refraining from voicing thoughts. In essence, withholding any verbal or physical contribution to the situation in an attempt to conserve energy and strength. Countless little moments caught my attention for one reason or another and though for a while I wasn't aware I was gathering this intel and was certainly unware of what it all meant, it was still stored in my mind, ready for the opportunity to reveal itself.

In addition to being known as the boy who lived, Harry Potter also becomes infamous for his ability to cast a corporeal Patronus. This advanced protective spell takes the form of a being of light, which even some adult wizards cannot produce. It's the one spell even the most intelligent and talented witch in their class has trouble with. Harry performs this charm relatively easily in the latter books, calling his Patronus, a stag, to help him fend off the dementors that want to suck out his soul. But it didn't start that way.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, the third book in the installment, depicts Harry trying to learn the expecto patronum spell. Even with Harry's natural talent, the expert coaching of Professor Lupin, repeated practice, and a load of chocolate for cheering up, Harry is still unable to produce more than a few little wisps from the end of his wand. He spends a large portion of the book practicing the spell, only to master it in the final pages. The secret to his success? He wasn't thinking about it.

I'll give you a muggle example. My family has a genetic disposition for music on both sides, and it's always been an essential part of my life. My sister and I sang in our church choir and, at one point, were assigned a duet to sing together; my sister would sing the melody and I the harmony. The problem was, I couldn't locate the harmony. I played it on the piano, stressing the notes I was supposed to sing. I sang along with tapes my father had recorded of him singing the harmony but could never reproduce it on my own. It was infuriating to put in so much practice and not make any progress. The disappointment hung around me like my personal dementor, dousing me with shame and hopelessness every time I thought about it or had to practice the song. There was nothing else for it. When the time came to perform the song, my sister and I both sang the melody. And I had to let it go.

Then something changed. I began to hear shadows in songs on the radio, turning my focus quickly to see if it was real, but finding that nothing was there. Then the shadows solidified, forming silvery gaps amongst the notes. Something should be there. I could feel it in my body. So, I let out a tentative note, not more than a small blast. But that was it! It had been there all along; I just wasn't listening the right way. Initially, I had been doing what came naturally: thinking about it. I research and analyze and ponder and experiment and research some more. But now I believe harmonies aren't something you hear with your ears; you listen with your soul, with your whole body.

So it is with the Sight, with intuition. You'll notice things so small it can't possibly be significant. Then you'll see more, and so you'll look more closely. But when you focus too much, it goes away. Then one day, it all comes together. The swirling clouds come together to form shapes, and you can see a story unfold as if you were looking into a crystal ball.

I wish life gave you an actual crystal ball that allowed you to see the future or let us practice Occlumency so we could delve into the minds, memories, and emotions of those around us. But we aren't wizards. No one is going to hand us magical eyes. Instead, you must create your own inside your heart, mind, and body. You must tune in to what people say or don't say, how they move or don't move, their facial expressions, and the connotations of their word choices. It's all intel that informs your intuition and allows you to see the invisible storylines that follow us everywhere.

Now that you possess this rare magical power, what do you do with it? Once again, pain chose me as its mentee to show me the answer.

A few years after my first diagnosis, a friend's mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. My friend was young, and the thing I remember most was her telling me how alone she felt because her friends couldn't understand what was happening. There are no words that can be spoken like a magical spell that can truly heal such an illness, but because of what I had been through, I was able to offer my friend some solace. With me, she was not alone. She could talk about her thoughts and feelings and know I truly understood. With me, she could be who she was in the moment and have a friend to sit with her in that pain.

It's a strange strength to be able to sit with pain, yours or someone else's, to feel secure in uncomfortable moments, to be grounded when the world is in chaos. It takes immense strength, lots of arduous practice, and developing a sixth sense, a third eye. 

As I comforted my friend, I felt somewhat contented with my situation because it had given me the wisdom and understanding I needed to be there for her. My pain had given me a metaphorical third eye, a superpower no one else in my community had. I knew I would probably never find the answers to all my questions, but at least I had found a silver lining. If my pain could help others, then maybe I could bear it. If my suffering could help others feel less alone, then I could accept it.

I had learned I could use this new-found ability to help others, but in what ways, I wasn't sure. At first, it was small things, like comforting a friend or reacting to slow walkers on the sidewalk with grace, because maybe something else was going on in their lives that bore down on them so profoundly that it slowed their natural gait. Just because something is small doesn't mean it's not powerful. If you've ever had someone show you kindness after you've had a terrible day, that kind of thing sticks with you and can protect you from the edges of the darkness like the light that emits from a Patronus.

But my magical eye had bigger plans, literary plans. I started this blog because instead of reading between the lines in books, I was beginning to read between the lines of humanity. I could see similarities in the most diverse subjects. I could feel emotions and thoughts trickle from the ink on the page and wrap around me like the leafy tendrils of Devil's Snare. For years I had actively avoided sharing my story with others, inventing explanations for the symptoms that others saw but interpreted as my personality. As intimate as my relationship with words was, I was at a loss of which ones to say to describe what I was going through.

By the time I started the Gilmore Book Club Blog, enough time had passed in which I was able to practice sharing my story, figuring out how to share in a way that made me feel comfortable but was still true to my experience and described my illness in a way others could understand. And so I started this blog to share my entire reading journey with others, not just the stories about chronic illness because I knew that if these books had lessons and answers for me, they'd have the same for everyone else. Readers just needed a friendly nudge to find those lessons.

That's also why I host the Book Club for Chronicon, the online community for anyone with a chronic illness. I wish I could save those on Chronicon and everyone else the pain they've experienced, I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone, but I can help them find a deeper meaning in books, and it's an honor to be able to share all that I've learned and am still learning with them. It's an honor to share it with you, too.

I want to say this for anyone embarking on or pushing through this journey. What you're doing is not only incredibly painful and difficult; it can also be exceptionally valuable. But it does come at a cost. Sometimes, the price will only be hard work, and sometimes it will cost much more. But you can emerge with a superpower that few others in this world will have.

I do want to be clear. I do not say this to fix anything, push you onto the same path I took, or justify what's happened to you. Nothing can do that.

But I want you to know that you are not alone in this journey. I wish we could all be together like the students of Hogwarts to be that in-person support for each other while we learn, but that's not always the case. Every time you pick up a book, watch a movie, or read this blog, I hope you see traces of that magical community supporting you. I hope that you know that Professor Moody, Harry, and I are willing to sit with you in your pain because we see YOU, not who we think you are or want you to be, YOU.

I've talked about the hero's journey before, and learning from pain is part of that. But I wanted to allow you to see a few of the magical powers you can achieve in life, even if they're forced upon you.

In the Harry Potter books, Harry has some unusual abilities, some of which are the ability to talk to snakes and hear Horcruxes, a.k.a. parts of the Dark Lord's soul. While those powers are extraordinary and turn out to be very helpful in Harry's journey, they also came to him because of the trauma of seeing his parents murdered and surviving the killing curse. Does he wish those terrible events had never happened? Of course! He spends the better part of a month sitting in front of a magical mirror that shows him his parents because he wants things to be different. Does Harry wish that Lord Voldemort had chosen another boy to be his mortal enemy and terrorize his life? Duh!

But Harry would never wish his pain on someone else, and while Harry wishes all those things would have been different, they're also a part of what makes him, well, him. Without the pain and trauma, he would not be the Harry Potter we know. He would not have a story that's captured the hearts of many around the world. That Harry Potter would not exist in the same way that the me that I am now would not exist.

I wish my life had been different, that I'd never been ill; I think about it all the time. I could have had another life. I admit, there are times I'd be tempted if Lord Voldemort appeared before me with a potion that could take my pain and give it to someone else. But I know me, and in the end, I'd always choose to accept it, to continue on the path that was laid out for me and spare another life that excruciating pain.

I can't tell you whether to drink that potion or not. I can't guarantee that your experience will transform you into an intuition guru, but I can offer what Harry and I have learned. I can hand you the Marauder's Map and show you how it works, but only you can choose if, when, and how to use it.

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