Wednesday, October 17, 2018

What fills the cracks in your day?



I recently took Facebook off my phone—again—because I noticed it was functioning as caulk between the open, unscheduled spaces during my day.  Every spare moment was devoted to checking what was new, reading great articles on topics I hadn’t selected, and ping-ponging around the globe. It seems I don’t have much choice in the matter once I log in and start reading.

Don’t get me wrong. I still am on Facebook every single day, but only at a computer on a desk somewhere, and that has reduced my phone screen time by 59%. In the past week I’ve used spaces between appointments differently.

I’m listening to more music.  I’m looking outside regularly. I’m reading emails that accumulated because they seemed too long. Now, I’m more patient with a sustained argument or elaborate spiritual principle. And I’m reading more books on topics I’ve chosen.

I use the analogy of caulk because I believe we’re always caulking our moments with something. What is the thread that weaves together your days? What fills the spaces in your life?

 I’m eager to have prayer, meditation, my own thoughts, and the sheer enjoyment of mental spaciousness become more central, and for that, I have to make room.

Wednesday, October 3, 2018

Be a Sacred Container for Others' Grief


“If you cannot grieve, your creativity is locked up.” Matthew Fox

 I’ve been writing an essay on the impact of my father’s death when I was sixteen because I’ve been invited to read at a night of loss and remembrance in December.  His heart attack feels like the central feature in my emotional landscape, the river that runs through all other relationships. Although I’ve told this particular story of loss many times, I’ve come to new awareness as I attempt to be utterly true and faithful to the events of that week.

For instance, because I was told not to cry minutes after finding out he had died, I turned my attention to the many people at our home, most of them crying at his sudden, tragic death. How often today do I privilege another’s experience over my own reactions, sometimes to the point where I don’t even know what I’m feeling?

REFRAMING THE FAMILIAR
Back then, I focused on organizing the food that acquaintances brought by, and when a neighbor asked if we needed anything, I dead panned “yes, we’re running low on potato salad.”  Another woman looked at me sharply, as if to suggest this was no time to joke. 

For years I’ve interpreted that moment as my inept defense against sorrow.  But recently a new thought emerged—what if I was channeling my father’s dry humor? What if that sentence was a signal he was right here with me? What if I didn’t do it wrong?
No matter how many years later, we can reinterpret our actions through a lens of compassion, and thus heal from what might have been silent, secret, or even false.

RETELLING IMPORTANT STORIES
What are the major stories of your life? Have you shared them with someone recently? Even if you’ve told them to dear friends, siblings, or partners, tell them again, because you’ve never shared from today’s perspective, and something new could emerge. Our lives are not movies or news where we only share the latest with hungry consumers.

BE A SACRED CONTAINER FOR OTHERS’ GRIEF
Publicly we are in the midst of listening and telling our hardest tales. We are called to be sacred containers for the difficult stories of those we love and those we’ve never met.  Yet, I am able to hold another’s trauma without looking away, diminishing, or dismissing it only  if I’ve faced my own heartbreak. As Carl Jung noted, those who don’t face their own shadows project them into the world.

May these shadow stories seep into our hearts and soften our rough edges. 

And when the grieving is over, perhaps we can then create a new world where kindness prevails.