Here I Am

Allow the ground of

your being to be the

ground you will

stand on going forward.

~ Inner Map, a poem by Noelle Rollins, from her book Ten Thousand Acorns

Here I am. Ecce adsum, as the Latins would say.

It feels right and good to have a quiet corner of the internet to call my home.

I haven’t been posting much online these days. There seemed no good reason to add to the cacophony of voices swirling around me since the election and inaguration. I needed some time to to reflect and craft a thoughtful response based on what I know about myself, my way of being in the world, and what is mine to do as I continue walking this path into what is largely unknown.

And I needed a quiet place in which to write it. Hence, my return to this space, to drawing a boundary around the place I write about who I am becoming in this new world we’re living in.

Clearly, the months and years ahead are going to be challenging and marked by change. In the weeks before and after the election, weary of all the feelings that assaulted me, I retreated into my home and repeated these words like a mantra:  Guard me and guide me; protect and defend me; grant me wisdom and courage for the living of these days.

 Now, warily emerging from my sanctuary, I wonder: Where will I find wisdom and courage? What will be my sword and shield as I set out on this path into the unknown? What tools will not only protect and defend me, but also empower me to do what is mine to do in a world that feels so precarious?

In these last few weeks I’ve found strength in stillness, smallness, and quiet where  I can compose my thoughts, connect with my inner wisdom, and hear the sound of my soul. It feels powerful to turn off all the TV and online news, to retreat from social media. Instead, I read poetry, nonfiction, or a mystery novel. I choose inspirational podcasts instead of political commentary. I write pages and pages in my Notebook, and wait for the right time and place to share my words.

I’ve been spending time (in real life and online) with a community of family, friends, and spiritual companions. There is wisdom there, and courage in the company of loved ones: In celebrating a birthday with a precious grandson and rejoicing in the goodness he brings to the world; in bringing the gift of music to a seriously ill friend; in weekly gatherings to check in with one another, to notice and name the goodness we see around us. I made a pilgrimage to the labyrinth, and put one foot in front of the other, simply trusting the path wherever it leads.

There is satisfaction in seeking solidarity with others: In taking groceries to the food bank in our community and committing to doing so on a regular basis; in shopping at local businesses instead of big box stores or online; in offering financial support to a local organization that provides free legal assistance to immigrants; in supporting a national group that protects women’s reproductive freedom.

This way of being feels deeply authentic – coming from the truest, realest me there is, showing up in the world as a small and gentle voice of love and care. That part of me I like to affectionately call, “my bright and shining self,” This is my orientation point, my solid ground. Like I’m right where I need to be, even in a world that feels wrong.

I wonder – what might that place look like for you? How might it feel? Every one of us is unique in our human being-ness and I believe there is great wisdom and strength in those differences. We all must find our own wisdom and courage for facing the reality of life.

Something I know for sure about myself is that I carry a strong need for action, especially when things go wrong. I think a lot about what is mine to do in the world. What can I do to fix things?

Lately, in the face of so much that’s broken, I wonder if a better question is this -

Who am I to be in this world?

Maybe if each one of us begins from the center point of our most fully human selves, if we allow the ground of our being/to be the ground we stand on, perhaps we can go forward together on paths of strength and love.

That feels like solid ground for the living of these days.

I am here. Standing on it.

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Letting Go With Love

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“The trees are about to show us how beautiful it is to let things go.” ~Unknown

The trees in our neighborhood are just beginning to show their fall colors and will soon release all this bright beauty to the earth below. Autumn IS all about letting things go, isn’t it? And the older I get, the more things I’ve learned to release.

Healing, Health, Hope: Power Down

When I decided to adopt the concept of healing as a focus for the year 2021, I realized it would mean adding some healthier practices to my life, practices like meditation, which you can read about in this post. I knew it would also mean eliminating others, changing long-standing habits that had become nothing more than ways of numbing myself to the realities of life I didn’t want to deal with.

One of those was my obsession with social media. Specifically, my obsession with Facebook.

Time for True Confessions, friends.

Healing, Health, Hope: Being Still

I used to think that being “successful” in meditation meant clearing the mind of every scrap of thought, sitting still and motionless, the mind as pristine and empty as a cloudless blue sky on a summer’s day.

“You’ll never be any good at that,” I told myself. As an over-thinking Enneagram 6, my mind revs as fast as the engine on my husband’s high-powered sports car. I feel like it’s perpetually “pedal to the metal” in there, even in the middle of the night.

And yet I kept feeling a deep hunger to quiet my mind, to shut down the engines of anxiety and worry, to silence the incessant odometer of things-I-need-to do that clicks off like the miles on a cross-country trip.


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The Never Ending Journey

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Just before my mother mother died five years ago today, she said, “Honey, don’t grieve for me too long.” Ever the obedient daughter, I wanted to honor her request, but simply could not.

The truth is, I will grieve for my mother until the day I take my last breath.

And that’s fine with me.

Before I reached a certain age and began experiencing a string of losses, I accepted the notion that grief was something you “got over.” You felt badly for a while, but eventually the memories would fade, you could put them away and get on with your life.

Nope. Grief is a lifelong experience. It’s a roller coaster ride, a gut punch when you least expect it and a fond remembrance when you most need it. Grief taunts you and tests you.

But is also teaches you.