I’m so sensitive, as I imagine you are, to this profound time of collective stopping. What a remarkable pausing in multi-layered uncertainty.
How is it for you, I wonder? It’s been a confrontational time for me, personally. An edgy and earthy time. I feel somewhat stilled inside this chrysalis. Projects that were on the brink of launching before this began have been replaced by a quiet listening.
What’s really true to say now, to sell now, to share, to give away and to contribute towards this wild, rapidly evolving mix?
The agitated collective discussion around what’s real, what true, what’s the cause, and what will be the outcome—as natural and perhaps necessary as this is—captivates me far less than the vast, annihilating invitation of simply not knowing.
I feel humbled and grounded by the necessary simplification of my daily life. Parenting and schooling and cooking and cleaning consume much of each day.
There’s an immense and sobering beauty to all this, a sacred surrendering to what’s here. Heightened presence and prayer and weeping at the altar are common responses of my heart.
And there are moments when it all feels a bit disorienting and disconcerting. When my mind collides with various vulnerable unknowns and the knees of my heart buckle.
There are moments when I’m certain I’m losing it; certain we’ve lost our way. Moments of feeling old troubles resurface and new troubles sprout. Moments of feeling frustratingly unproductive.
Every day I’m literally stunned by the beauty of the earth. Every day I’m puzzled by the mess of the world. I’m relieved by the smallest assurances of human sanity and kindness and I’m always delighted to remember stillness.
Both of my kids have taken to falling asleep in my arms again, after a long stretch of choosing not to. They’re each saying now they just sleep better if they can drift off inside my holding. What a simple wonder this is—to hold and to be held. (I send my love out to all who are needing touch and holding at this time. And also love to all the holders!)
As I lie there in the dark of their rooms listening to their breath deepen, I notice how big and heavy they’ve each become beneath my wing. They used to tuck in so small. So much has changed since they were my nurslings, sweetly tangled in the fleshy, milky fold of my loving. But their unwavering trust, and my unwavering devotion carries the exact same scent.
I notice I sleep better when I can drift off inside my own tender embrace. Both hands firmly upon my heart, tucked beneath some grand wing of faith, bowing towards some tremendous willingness. With unwavering trust. Unwavering devotion.
In my dreams I’m traveling through worlds, weaving and unweaving webs, tending to codes. I always seem to know my place and my task and my team. Then I rise and wake with my people, and tend to the webs and tasks of this place and this team. What a sacred task indeed: to be wholly present for this transformational moment of our living.
To listen to what’s being asked of our global heart, our collective heart, our familial heart, our personal heart. What do we really want? What’s up for revision? What’s here simply to be felt? What’s wise to question? What needs to be surrendered? What yearns to be embraced?
To listen, respond and attend to each moment as it arises. So often I find the best and most honest response I can choose is to open wider, to burn cleanly, to breathe, to grieve, to allow, to let go, to praise, and to love.
Certainly this can be an extraordinary time of deepening, of evolution and revolution, on all levels of life. May it be so! It starts right here, in this moment, in this heart of our hearts, in my heart and in your heart.
What else can I say? Every step and every breath I take is in this love—with you and for you.
Continued prayers of wellness, peace and protection for us all. And true freedom for all beings, everywhere.