Emotional Weight Lifting

Whether in actual physical proximity to people I care deeply about, or through a virtual connection that is the lifeline of relationship during this time of shared crisis, I feel untethered from my ability to connect with people. Some of the most basic navigational tools I’ve come to rely on are not available at present. No longer able to share a hug, I’m left to rely on my words. Unable to reach out and touch a shoulder, the tone of my voice must convey nuance. Facial expressions are stand-ins for the holding tight of hands, eye contact takes the place of a kiss, and tears that flow more freely than usual have to suffice for the comfort of a long embrace.

Strangely, the ways in which we have become accustomed to connecting to one another now put us all at risk. If we truly want to care for one another, we are being challenged to find new ways of being in relationship with one another. It often feels like trying to complete an intricate task with one hand tied behind my back, or navigate through the house blindfolded. I know what I’m trying to accomplish and where I want to go, but with only half of my relationship wheelhouse available.

It makes me wonder.

How often do we substitute easy contact for real communication and familiar gestures for genuine connection? Perhaps this time of separation, isolation, and physical distancing is a call to forge even deeper connections, hold each other close even when we are alone, and practice going it together even as we stand apart.

Learning to be in relationship without all of our usual resources is really hard work. It is tiring to the point of exhaustion. In many ways it’s like weight-lifting. The only way to get stronger is through repetition, increased effort, pushing past previous limits, and giving ourselves time to rest and recover.

And then going at it again.

Photo: Leon Martinez on pexels.com

The Sound Of Silence

Silence.

It has been one of the most profound markers of this global pandemic. Not simply the lack of surface noise, but the presence of a deep quiet. It is, as many have noted, as if the Earth is catching her breath. Not gasping for air, but quietly inhaling and exhaling in the way one does when in a deep and restful sleep.

It is as if silence is the container in which creation is meant to reside, and it must have been here all along, as in forever. But it took the absence of manmade sound for it to quietly slip into my awareness. In just 6 short weeks I have come to depend upon the presence of this ancient silence. It has permeated my interior landscape and quieted my inner thoughts, and I never want to lose it again.

This morning, for the first time in many weeks, that deep silence was broken. Shortly after sunrise the sounds of big equipment rang across the valley. Someone, somewhere nearby, was dropping trees and moving dirt, the sound of human voices raised above the mechanical din, and try as I might, I could no longer locate the silence. It has been punctured by the sounds of people engaged in work that must have felt important to them, and yet in that moment I was filled with the kind of sadness that accompanies the loss of someone or something precious.

It was grief, pure and simple. The silence was gone.

It was tempting to place blame on those doing the work, or find fault with the people pushing to lift the restrictions meant to safeguard us too quickly. Doing so would have felt far better than sitting with the sadness. However, as the equipment continued to do what it was doing, I tried to let that sadness do what it was doing. As painful as it is, our sadness always points us toward something we hold dear.

Even as I understand that we must carefully begin to emerge from this time of quarantine and sheltering-in-place, I am deeply afraid of losing what has been gained during this time of mutual sacrifice for the common good. Of forgetting what has been remembered, and of discarding what has been discovered. Silence is one such thing.

Whatever work was being done just beyond the trees surrounding our property came to an end. The sound of heavy equipment and the people operating it stopped, and there it was. The deep silence, that container within which we all reside, was still there. And it always will be. If I lose touch with it again, there is no one to blame but me.

A Molten Moment

Nobody is going to make this easy for us once on the other side of this life-altering time when things will supposedly return to normal. Except they won’t, or at least they don’t have to. Not if normal means how things were before, not the possibility of what they can be in the future

Living under conditions that separate us from one another, we remember that we are all connected, and that our individual survival is hardwired with that of the collective.

As the price of oil plummets, we can almost hear the sound of Earth catching her breath. The absence of noise reminds us to listen the deep quiet beneath it all.

Living as we are, under our own microscopes, everything about us is magnified. On any given day, the best of us might make her presence know, or be completely overshadowed by the worst, Most days it is a dance between the two, and the invitation at our feet is to learn to let the better angels of our nature take the lead.

We are discovering just how little we really need, and how much we don’t.

We are remembering what it means to be neighbors again. As we care for one another the world becomes a safer place, and while tribalism might have kept us alive in the past, it will do nothing but insure our demise in the future.

The powers that be are going to work mightily to persuade us to forget the hard-earned wisdom that we belong to one another and are indeed one another’s keepers including the care for this fragile planet we all call home.

This is a molten moment.

We have the chance to be changed for the greater good, and our calling is to remember what we are learning in the here and now once we step back out into our shared world of the there and then.

No matter what anyone tells us, and I mean anyone, things will not return to normal. At least that is my deepest hope and my most fervent prayer.

Photo: USGS

Come To The #wakeupappreciaterepeat Party.

This is a repeat of an earlier post. Given the ongoing COVID-19 crisis, I’m sharing it again in the hope of transforming this post into a shared practice.

If you want to join the #wakeupappreciaterepeat party, you are invited to post your three appreciations for the day on Instagram along with the hashtag, and invite any and everyone to join in.

Gratitude and appreciation matter more than ever.

Let’s get this party started!

---

How we start any given day sets in motion our eventual arrival at the end.

I’ve done this particular practice on a hit or miss basis in the past. Not any longer. All hit, no miss.

It’s a simple practice and one that didn’t originate with me.

The very first thing, or no later than my first cup of coffee, I identify three things that I appreciate. To be honest, some days it is harder than others to come up with one, much less three. Thankfully, Sleepy Monk Coffee is an automatic go-to, because no matter how bleak or bright the day, I am always grateful for that first sip, which means I’m already a third of the way to my goal. One down, two to go.

To stay on track, I text my three things to the daughter who shared this practice with me in the first place, and she texts her three back, along with the practice hashtag.

Sleepy Monk Coffee

My husband Tom

Connection - Virtual or otherwise

#wakeupappreciaterepeat

Not a bad way to start the day.

(With gratitude to Lo for sharing this life-giving practice.)

#wakeupappreciaterepeat

How we start any given day sets in motion our eventual arrival at the end.

I’ve done this particular practice on a hit or miss basis in the past. Not any longer. All hit, no miss.

It’s a simple practice and one that didn’t originate with me.

The very first thing, or no later than my first cup of coffee, I identify three things that I appreciate. To be honest, some days it is harder than others to come up with one, much less three. Thankfully, Sleepy Monk Coffee is an automatic go-to, because no matter how bleak or bright the day, I am always grateful for that first sip, which means I’m already a third of the way to my goal. One down, two to go.

To stay on track, I text my three things to the daughter who shared this practice with me in the first place, and she texts her three back, along with the practice hashtag.

Sleepy Monk Coffee

My husband Tom

Connection - Virtual or otherwise

#wakeupappreciaterepeat

Not a bad way to start the day.

(With gratitude to Lo for sharing this life-giving practice.)

With gratitude to Lauren for this life-giving practice

Shelter-In-Place

There is no doubt that we will get through this.

We will.

We offer encouragement to one a another by reminding ourselves that we will make it to the other side of this, and encouragement is always a good thing. But it can be tempting to see that the goal is to endure the experience rather than embrace it. To simply tolerate the hardship rather than allow ourselves to be transformed by it.

Transformation doesn’t happen once we make it through this. It happens in the midst of it. It happens when we live here rather than long for there, when we embrace now rather than endure until then, and when we welcome this rather than wait for that.

Rather than camp on the hope of making it through, let’s pitch our tents right in the middle of it.

In This Together

Everyone, including me, is recognizing that we are all on this covid-19 ship together. We are talking about it, writing about it, and reminding one another about it. Almost every email, virtual meetup, phone conversation, and blog post begins or ends with this same shared sentiment.

We are all in this together.

I couldn’t agree more.

The thing I keep pondering is, what, exactly, does that mean?

It means things like the fact that we are all susceptible to this very contagious virus. We all have a part to play in slowing the spread. We are all impacted by the downward financial spiral. We are collectively learning new practices reflecting new phrases: Sheltering-in-place. Social distancing. Self-quarantine. When we hoard for ourselves, we cause others to go without. When we buy only a little more than what we need, others can stock their shelves too. When we choose courage over fear, others find strength to do the same. When we spiral out in panic, those around us get swept up in our tornado. Like I said. We are all in this together.

Which means we all arrived here together, and all have a responsibility to take ownership for our part in getting here.

Every. Single. One. Of. Us.

Because at a deep level, far beneath the ever-widening political divide, I believe this is a time of great reckoning for us all. Or at least it can be if we choose to be brave enough to show up and fearlessly face ourselves, our beliefs, our politics, our choices, our biases, and our judgements of others.

Are we willing to hear why others see the world differently than we do?

Are we willing to learn about their fears and understand their concerns?

Are we willing to hear their stories and find even a small part of ourselves in their narrative?

Are we willing to learn about our blind spots that keep us from seeing others?

Are we willing to participate in the healing of wounds and the righting of wrongs, even when it is costly?

Are we willing to love our neighbor as ourself, even when we don’t agree with them?

Are we willing to step up and be part of the solutions needed to help our shared world?

Are we willing to speak up and take part in creating a new story that makes room for us all?

Are we willing to show up and bring the best of ourselves to the world around us?

The choices we make in answering those questions will have ripple effects the size of tidal waves. We can either be part of righting our ship, or steering it toward disaster.

We are all in this together.

For The Moment

The Road Not Taken

By Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Our world has suddenly gotten smaller. For the moment.

For the moment, the connections that bind us together are impossible to ignore.

For the moment, there is a shared sense that we are all in this together.

For the moment, we remember that it is our collective responsibility to care for ourselves and one another as best we can.

For the moment, compassion and generosity are rising up.

For the moment, we have time to consider what we can learn, what we can let go of, and how we might come out on the other side more healed and whole.

For the moment, we greet friends and strangers alike, hopefully from no less than 6’ apart.

For the moment, we remember that we are all connected.

Collective suffering and fear have a way of bringing us together.

For the moment.

Sadly, as a species, we have very short memories. Once out of the covid-19 woods, how much of what we have been forced to remember will remain with us? There will come a time, sooner than we think, when we will have to make a choice.

Will we choose the familiar, well-trodden road that led us here in the first place?

Or.

Will we choose the one less traveled?

Our choice will make all the difference.

Tryon Creek State Park

The Invitation

Dear Ones,

I continue to lean on the wisdom of Richard Rohr in these current days, and his reminder that transformation has but one path...

Order

Disorder

Reorder

We are squarely in the midst of disorder right now, and my prayer is that along with being mindful and wise about how we are caring for ourselves and one another, and taking precautions to protect ourselves and those around us, that we can also sense the invitation to Order. How after this pandemic crisis, we might put ourselves, our hearts and minds, and our world together differently. How we might help transform the world within our reach for the good of all. How we might transform our own hearts to be more in line with the God who loves us all regardless of who we are, where we are from, who we love, and where we find ourselves on our spiritual journey. And, how we might live into the truth that we are all connected. 

Courage.

Molly

Photo: Pixabay on Pexels.com

Sabbath

When we consecrate a time to listen to the still, small voices, we remember the root of inner wisdom that makes work fruitful. We remember from where we are most deeply nourished, and see more clearly the shape and texture of the people and things before us.” 

~ Wayne Muller, Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in our Busy Lives

For the last 575 days I have written something to share here with my readers. Most of those days the daily practice of writing has been life giving, and, on the ones when it wasn’t, it still fed me in meaningful and fruitful ways.

Today, I find myself in need of rest. A kind of sabbath of sorts from the sifting and sorting through the questions that intrigue me, the ideas that captivate me, and putting those thoughts into words that I hope will resonate with others. I will never stop sifting and sorting and working to put those thoughts into the world. That, it seems, is part of what I am here to do.

For now, however, I will share my thoughts here as I feel inspired, but I am also consecrating a time to listen, and to find nourishment that will bear fruit in my life, the world around me, and on the page.

Thank you for every step you’ve walked with me till now. I can’t wait to meet again further down the trail.

Photo: Tom Pierson