SQ - Spiritual Intelligence

It was the last night of my groups’ work hosting a weekly night at a rotating homeless shelter called the Robes Project. It was a night like any other and I was doing the usual overnight shift. I often arrive early and help work the dinner shift as well, cooking food, then eating and hanging out with the guests. There was the group of guests and volunteers who had finished eating and started playing Scrabble. Another volunteer was playing a guest in chess. There was the group of guests reading the newspaper. Some people were still eating dessert. Two guests were speaking in their native Sierra Leonean pigeon English. Music was playing in the background and laughter could be heard in the air as many of the books we brought for the donated library sat there, unread. Suddenly one guest, a very distinguished man with a nice black blazer, well-wrapped scarf, and reading glasses, stood up and declared, “Excuse me, excuse me, everyone. I have an announcement to make.”

He was a type of father figure in Robes. He could talk to and with anyone, and he could feel just as comfortable reading to himself in the middle of all our noise, like a father might feel at home in the evening in his favourite chair, drawing comfort from the fact that his children were happy, playful, and alive. This time he made a rare move and took centre stage before all the guests and volunteers.

“I’ve received permission from Olivia and Crispan to make this announcement. As you all know, tonight is the last night for the volunteers here. From now on our Friday nights will be spent at another hosting community. We have been so richly blessed by you and we want to say thank you. The food was amazing. The way you talked to us, laughed with us, played games with us, brought books for us—we were treated so well, and we want to say thank you. The conversation, the love, the joy—it was just amazing and overwhelming. Simply the best. Thank you so very much from the bottom of our hearts. Thank you. May the Good Lord, in all his wondrous workings, richly bless you this day for what you have done with us and for us. May you be richly blessed in all you do wherever you go in Jesus’s name.”

At that moment, the place erupted in applause. Applause is a weird thing to get used to. Some famous people do. I sometimes have to diffuse the energy, so I just jumped in and applauded as well, thanking the guests, too, and thanking the other volunteers who allowed me to participate in this work of learning to relate to the guests. It really was a beautiful moment.

Here is the strange thing: the guests were specifically calling attention to our work over and above the work of other church groups and community groups that host the shelter on other nights. This floored me and blew my mind. They were not saying “Thank you for caring for us when no one did.” No. They were saying “In caring for us, thank you for loving us over and above what was required.” They were saying, “we are cared for a lot by many others, but it is not like this. We are not always loved.” Do you see what I’m saying? I guess, I was surprised because most of the community groups hosting were church groups, and I stereotyped the churches and expected that they would all simply love all over the guests.

I was wrong. Apparently, we were the only people who created a library. However, instead of it being the kind where you return or swap the book, you could keep the book. We were the only ones who brought games. We were the only ones who actually called up the Robes administration (or other hosting groups) to find out what the guests ate throughout the week so that we could cook something original. When my group decided to do the Robes project this year, we decided one thing—we were going to cook the best food ever, food we would cook for ourselves, our families, and our friends. And it makes sense to me because the guests became our friends.

So every week, without a doubt or an aberration, multiple guests told me that we cook the best food.

“The food here is amazing.”

“This is just like home-cooked food. It’s so hearty.”

“We all look forward to coming here every week.”

“I’ve been waiting for Friday just for the meal. We always know it’s going to be good.”

“Uhhh, I’m so sick of pasta and apple crumble. I know I’m gonna get something good tonight! I can’t wait!”

Second helpings and plates were commonplace. I’ve even seen thirds and fourths. People really loved it, whether it was lamb stew, Moroccan chicken, vegetarian curry, or Belgian waffles. To them it was always good. Take it from me, it was goooood. The experience of doing that and the amazingly wonderful time the guests and volunteers had reminded me of why I like my group—they are spiritually intelligent. And just because you’re religious doesn’t mean you’re spiritually intelligent (this explains my surprise at finding out our night was seen as special among all nights of the week for the rotating shelter, even though they are hosted by churches). You can be non-religious and highly spiritually intelligent, and you can be very religious with little spiritual intelligence. This experience reminded me of that truth. This reminded me of that.

I should probably define or explain spiritual intelligence. But let me backtrack to emotional intelligence. We all remember or have heard of the traditional Western understanding of intelligence. I still see it in schools today. This person is smart. That person is dumb. For a long time rational or logical intelligence was the only recognized form of intelligence—IQ. Then Professor Howard Garner was the first person to explicitly articulate the still controversial idea of multiple intelligences in the 1983 book Frames of Mind: The Theory of Multiple Intelligences. Though some disagree, people began to realise you can be intelligent in many different ways such as kinesthetic intelligence, musical intelligence, social intelligence, linguistic intelligence, etc. Then another wave of ideas and books were birthed when Daniel Goleman’s 1995 book, Emotional Intelligence (the first use of the term is usually attributed to Wayne Payne’s doctoral thesis in 1985), argued that emotional intelligence (EQ) is at least as important as IQ. Emotional intelligence deals with being aware of people feelings as well as being self-aware of our own. It involves being able to “read” people and situations and enables empathy, compassion, and response to the pain or pleasure of others. You can cultivate and grow EQ throughout your life; it is not static.

However, few of my friends have ever talked to me about spiritual intelligence. The idea started popping up around the late 90’s and one 2001 book, SQ: Connecting with Our Spiritual Intelligence by Danah Zohar and Dr. Ian Marshall, considers spiritual intelligence the most important intelligence. While IQ and EQ mallow you to play within the boundaries, SQ allows you to play with the boundaries and question and criticise the status quo, why things are the way the are, or the meaning of our ways. It allows you to imagine new creative possibilities—the way real faith should be. Spiritual intelligence looks at the big questions and asks them. Why am I here? What is it all for? What should I do with my life? What purpose can I serve? It asks the tough questions about values, existence, meaning, and purpose, allowing you to transcend, at least in thought, the physical and material. Spiritual intelligence deals with the sanctifying of every day experience and the inner life of the mind and spirit and its relation to the world. It’s really just the adaptive mental capacity to deal with nonmaterial things like purpose and meaning, reflect on it, and integrate it into your life such that it affects your understanding of meaning, your awareness of things (whether causes or purposes) bigger than yourself, and peace.

Did you catch the recurring theme in there? It’s the use of reflection and questioning. Unfortunately many religious groups or institutions stifle this type of questioning, criticism, or imagination allowing for little spiritually intelligent growth. Because of the importance for reflection and questioning of the status quo, you can be an atheist with a very high SQ; on the other hand, you can be a staunch religious person and have a very low SQ.

What I love about my group that works to host a night at the rotating shelter is that they are so spiritually intelligent. Though it’s rare that they reference God or Jesus in a meeting, every thing we do—whether a type of service, a pub get-together, or a meal—is pushing us to develop our spiritual intelligence. It’s one of the few experiences I’ve had of being in a group in which people are not encouraged to believe the same things. And for all the critics who say this is untenable or impossible, let me tell you—it works. The only foundation we share in common is love. And love is not a belief.

I have some amazingly spiritually intelligent friends who are not religious, and I’m thankful for them. They care for the sick, host weekly community dinners, give money they don’t have, live in uncomfortable places and spaces for the sake of someone besides themselves. They serve in the military, they teach, they clean buildings, they quench fires, they do a myriad of tasks, and their lives (not just their jobs) are infused with spiritually intelligent actions.

Spiritual intelligence is living and thinking with your soul. Everyone can do that regardless of having a religion. But what does that mean? Dave Tomlinson talks about spiritual intelligence in his book How to be aBad Christian. Some of the qualities he lists are below:

Self-awareness

Principle

Spontaneity

Empathy

Humility

Curiosity

Flexibility

Resilience

Being centred or grounded

Receptivity

Dave lists three ways of cultivating spiritual intelligence. First just make a commitment to go on this inward-outward journey (he calls it an inward journey). I always remind my friends that spiritual intelligence is an outward intelligence as well. The journey starts with questions and reflections but it doesn’t end there. First, you have to commit to start.

The second important thing is to participate in spiritual practices.

To yourself – what are you feeling but ignoring, what thoughts are you pushing to the back of your mind

To other people – friends and family whose concerns or needs you tend to bypass or overlook, strangers who pass by unseen by you

To situations – circumstances in your life that may be saying important things to you or about you

To the world – big things, little things, things of beauty, things you may not have noticed, details that pass you by, unawares

To God – who is present in all these other ways seeking to enrich you and guide you

Last is a hugely important step without which the first two steps don’t mean anything: you have to find a community to go on this journey with you. I know people for whom leaving their church was a spiritually healthy move. I have a friend for whom leaving her church did her faith well because she was in a place that was toxic for her faith. I wish all religious places were about the business of growing spiritually healthy and intelligent people, but we are not. Still, I never want to make the mistake of thinking that it’s a journey that can be done alone. If you venture out from a tough community, find another one that you can work with, one that welcomes and accepts you in love, one that honours and respects you, and one that is concerned about you and your spiritual growth. You have to travel with people that will affirm you and encourage you and also speak truthfully to you, empowering you and enabling you to grow.

No church or religious group or institution is perfect. And there are some amazing examples of church groups that do help to cultivate your spiritual intelligence. I travel around and go between religious groups, but I can tell you that Borough Common, my group that hosts the rotating homeless shelter is a wonderful community of people. They let you ask any question you want, critical or unchallenging. They let you probe who we are as a people, where we are going, and what we are doing. Most importantly, they let you believe what you would like and in the process they love you unconditionally. They are not perfect in any way and you’ll see that when you visit. But I love that I, first, belong. First and foremost, I belong.

FRIENDS

My good friend called me over and told me that his ex-wife was in town. The next time I saw him, he told me that he done things he should not have done with his ex-wife but he said it in a joking manner and made light of it. I gave the wrong response . . . I laughed. The very next time I saw Paul was when I was visiting him while he was sick. What’s the first thing Paul does? He yells at me.

“I’m mad at you.”

“Mad at me? Why?”

“You’re supposed to be my friend.”

“I am your friend. We’re still good friends. Everything’s ok, right?”

“Well you’re supposed to be my friend but you don’t look out for me. You let me mess up with my ex-wife.”

“Well . . .”

“You don’t hold me accountable. I mean you’re the one who is supposed to jump out there and slap me when I’m going to make a mistake. You’re supposed to rebuke me when I do wrong.”

I wanted to argue with him. I felt an indignant response rising within me. I didn’t even know he was going to meet his ex-wife. I didn’t know the details. I didn’t get enough info. I didn’t know what to say though, so I did what I usually do when I don’t fully understand but hope to understand in the future.

“I’m sorry.”

We went on to talk about other things, but I always remember that day because it was my second lesson in friendship (my first was when I was a kid but that’s another story). You see, I can call some of my extended family crazy if I want. I can say that they impose their ideas and thoughts on me, but one thing is for sure. They will do anything to stop me from hurting myself. But where are your friends like that? Where are my friends like that? Where were they when people around me were making really bad decisions? Why couldn’t someone slap some of my friends and say “you will regret this—wake up—this is not you doing this!”

So that’s what I do. I fight. I slap my friends. I yell at them. I do. Because I’ve seen friends who regret decisions they made in their life and none of their close friends said anything to them. They all just said “Well, if that’s what you think is best,” or “I understand,” or “I’ll pray for you,” or similar responses. I don’t want friends like that. Or at the very least, in addition to those friends, I need other people who will throw cold water in my face and say “I know you. I know your thoughts and fears, hopes and dreams. And if any of that which you’ve shared with me is true, you are going to regret this.” I need the group of friends who surprise me when I come home one day and they’re all standing waiting for me near the door with a sign that says “This is an Intervention.” Then we all laugh and I say “Guys, there is nothing wrong with the fact that all the socks I wear have holes.” We all laugh. Then suddenly I’m the only one laughing, and they say “Yes, there is . . . sit down.” Even though I think my holy (wholly) socks are fine, it’s nice to know that when people think I’m crazy they will say something.

That’s what Paul taught me.

So I say things.

In the past week, I’ve had one good friend tell me she barely knows me. Another friend said she gets so overwhelmed with all that happens, not knowing where to start, so she decides to share nothing. A third friend said I choose other people over her. Some days I don’t get life.

The first friend who said she barely knows me said this in response to a question she didn’t want to answer but dealt with her situation. Why did I ask the question, even though it’s personal? Paul taught me to get in my friend’s face. When I asked she got upset and said she wouldn’t share things with someone she barely knows. I was shocked to hear we barely know each other. We have hung out a lot including salsa dancing and classes. I have helped her so much. However, I found out how she really thinks of me. I found out I was only there for convenience when she needed something—advice, proofreading, guidance, dance partner, etc. Well, there is no need for me to keep that relationship going. I’m always still there for her, but that’s all I’m good for.

My second friend is still a good friend but I realized, most probably, I’m also not considered to be a close friend by her. Even when I’m overwhelmed by all the happenings in my own life, I still tell my close friends. That’s when I would run to my best friends the most. So I’m not one of those people for her, though I thought I was. So I try not to initiate contact as much and let her contact me when she wants if she wants. It’s been a dry spell.

I’ve lost so many friends due to splits. Ask anyone whose ever had a divorce: one of the toughest parts of a divorce is the friends. Very few friends have an ability to remain friends with both people. Usually friends chose or are forced to chose. So sometimes, even when you’re quite amiable with an ex-spouse, you find out that a particular friend who you thought was a friend to both of you, was just a friend to the former spouse, not you. And that is hard to deal with especially when you try to contact them and they don’t want to talk (social cues and EQ are important here).

One friend has made me feel guilty for the past two and a half years. The funny thing is I’m not sure I did anything wrong, but I still carry this guilt and I want to offload it somehow. So in trying to grow in spiritual health and intelligence, I’ve realized I carry it, which is the first step. Now I must deal with it and drop it off somewhere because I don’t want it. But guilt reminds me of one thing that is true and cherished in my life—regret.

I’ve talked about regret many times before, and you know I have regrets. Yet there are many people that say they have no regrets. I’ve thought about this and realized, in a majority of cases, people say this because of the learning process. If someone makes a good decision, she is happy with a good outcome and learns from that. If someone makes a bad decision, she is not happy with the bad outcome. But she is happy with what she learned from the bad outcome and through the bad situation and possible pain. She will therefore make a better decision next time. This silver lining of learning causes people to say “no regrets” in most of the situations around me. The funny thing for me is that by basing regret on what you get out of it, you normalise and neutralise all situations because you always get something good out of it – whether it’s the good outcome or the good learning from a bad outcome. So people are not really differentiating or distinguishing between situations so every situation involves no regret. Rather, for me, I have a limited time on this earth. I don’t need or want to make every mistake that I made. I would rather learn as much as possible from the mistakes of others around me so that I can get ahead, start further along the track, go further and farther and make more advanced mistakes, mistakes and subsequent learnings. In other words, you had better believe, if I could go back in time, I would do things differently. Yes.

In fact, my guess is that people who have no regrets actually have done many things to regret. They just aren’t aware of it, perhaps. My second problem with regrets is the subjectivity of them. Sometimes you have a person who regrets something and then he changes his mind later. For example, I have never dated a single person—not one—who regrets the decision to break up. Not one. They all fit into two groups. One group is a happy group because the decision to break up with me was a good decision for each of them, and that group has never looked back. Good riddance (to me). The other group is more complex. People from this group will say, “I regret breaking up,” and they mean it . . . that is until they find someone else and get married. At this point, there response changes because the end always justifies itself. It’s like that wonderful Garth Brooks song “Unanswered Prayer” from his album No Fences, arguably one of his best albums. In the song, he thanks God that his prayer to be with a particular past woman didn’t come true because he ended up with his current wife. The end justifies itself. So every person that has ever said “I regret the breakup,” changes the thought when she meets someone else and gets married. Why? It’s really hard for people to truly be thankful and cherish who they have in the present while regretting something in the past. They see them as contradictory.

For me, though, it’s separate. I can have a wonderfully happy daughter, and still regret the irresponsible actions that led to her birth. That doesn’t mean she is bad or wrong or negated in anyway. She is a wondrous joy (hopefully) that came from a bad situation. It simply means that if I had to do it over again, I would have had her at a later period or after marriage or when I was able to take care of her. Yes, it’s true she might have been a different gender or she might have come out with a different personality but I would have loved that child as well. One doesn’t negate or diminish the other. In the same way, I can marry someone and have a wonderfully happy life and still be fully aware that if I were back in time I would make different decisions that would help and encourage and bless the people I dated in such a way that relationships would last, instead of hurting people or leaving people unsupported so that relationships crumble. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that and it in no way negates the wonderfully amazing person that I find in the aftermath of past relationships.

I guess the biggest reason regret is important to me is that you can’t have character without it. In the movie, Big Kahuna, Larry and Phil (played by Kevin Spacey and Danny DeVito) are marketing representatives of an industrial lubricant company. Bob (played by Peter Facinelli), a research and development person in the company, accompanies Larry and Phil to a trade show where the entire film centres on their hopes of landing a big account with a rich businessman, called the Big Kahuna by Larry. The trade show is almost over, and they are unable to get a meeting with him when the Big Kahuna invites Bob to an exclusive party. Phil and Larry wait in the hotel room, anticipating Bob’s return to hear how he hopefully convinced the Big Kahuna to open an account and partner with their industrial lubricant company.

Bob finally returns and gives the jaw-dropping announcement that instead of talking to the Big Kahuna about their product, Bob instead talks to the rich man about God and religion (Bob is a devout Christian). Larry, exasperated leaves the hotel room, and Phil and Bob are left alone. This clip is the conversation occurs between Phil and Bob about character, and one of Danny Devito’s finest performances. It happens just after Larry leaves the room. Take a listen when you’ve time. I guess the biggest reason that regret is good is because it’s honest. And I value honesty.

FEEL-GOOD ART

If I could receive a living stipend to go around town and create interactive projects that make people feel better, if even just that, I would do it. Here is the latest project I’ve seen from SoulPancake. It’s called Take a Seat– Make a Friend? Enjoy it!

If you get a chance, check out a movie called The People and the Olive.

This is not really feel-good art, but I was intrigued by the story. It's a nice, online, animated short film called OmbreMorte – Beneath the Shadow.


OMBRE MORTE - Beneath the Shadow from Nicolas Bonnell on Vimeo.