On Rage, Grief, Biden, and what's next

 

I’ve been writing a spiritual memoir, which is mostly a record of my life's moments of failure and loss because sadness and grief have shaped my personality and orientation to the world.

Just as they have for Joe Biden. Snarky people tweet that Biden has capitalized on his grief for decades and it’s time to get over it. But it is his story. Losing a wife and child when he was 30, losing a son just recently to cancer--these difficult events have formed who he is, for every loss creates a place of choice:

Do I want to proceed with an open heart, aware that there is surely more grief to come if I do? or Do I want to close up and get smaller to protect my heart from experiencing this kind of pain again?

I grew up with a mother who made the latter choice. When my dad died suddenly, at age 42, a part of her seemed to die too, and she walled herself off from future pain. She never again lit up when my sister or I walked into the house. She never remarried, didn’t even date, and her pleasures were few—a bridge game, a service sorority meeting, an occasional trip to Minneapolis. Mostly she retreated behind a wall of cigarette smoke and noise from the television, piling newspapers and magazines on the couch and other chair in her den so that it took effort to be her companion.

Joe Biden, apparently, chose differently.  He stayed connected to his remaining children, he fell in love again, and he offers himself to strangers. He has used his sorrow as a bridge to connect with others rather than a wall to protect himself from future pain. That may be why he’s malleable on the issues—he’s open to listening, experiencing others’ stories, and adjusting his viewpoints accordingly.

Where have I closed my heart to the pain of the world because it’s so overwhelming? Where do I need to step out and lovingly demand changes in a system that continues to shoot Black people for NO reason at all?

Kenosha Wisconsin is not some big bad city.  White supremacy infiltrates every single institution in America, like carbon monoxide—odorless and deadly.  We have detectors for this poison—the actual deaths, the videos of the shootings, the glaring injustices.

It is past time to remediate and remove this deadly force. Diverting funds from a militarized police is akin to choosing not to build another bomber because we’re the most armed country on the planet.

We’ve over-protected ourselves, America, perhaps because we haven’t ever faced the grief of our origins of indigenous genocide and slavery. In our armoring, we’ve stunted real human connection and growth. We're a country stuck in adolescence. What would an old soul country do?

Wise countries might take 52% of the budget that is devoted to military and enact wages that afford people to have housing when they’re working. A mature country would invest in wellness to prevent our deadliest diseases that occur because of the choices we make. A sane country prioritizes the well-being of its children--with beautiful opportunities to learn, play, and develop occur in safe, healthy environments. 

Despite the appearance of rage, I believe America is grieving, and the choice is clear—we can harden our hearts in hope that we won’t feel more pain or we can remain tender to what’s happening and walk on a bridge of love to what can be if we only remain open.

On Being Brave and Truly Patriotic

When my sister arrived from Indiana for our annual Fourth of July connection at our cabin, she suggested that this year for the boat parade, we decorate the pontoon with a banner Black Lives Matter and put names of Black people killed by the police. Given that I live in Minneapolis, the site of George Floyd’s recent murder, this made so much sense.

And yet I was nervous because I know there are people up here who support our President.  There is one house on the road with a Black Lives Matter sign, stalwart progressives who have not lost their roots that had them meet during service in VISTA decades ago.  Others fly a Trump 2020 flag. Did I really want their ire? I told my sister I was open.

The next morning in meditation an image came for an additional banner—this one had a peace symbol, a heart, and the scales of justice. I took that as a confirming sign, and we launched our project, driving into the small town to find supplies.  At the dollar store we found white plastic tablecloths, markers and a stencil set.  Lori is quite crafty and artistic and can make anything look good, so I followed her lead as we measured, held the tablecloths to the boat, measured again and cut.

An earlier thought was to fly the America flag upside down, a universal symbol of distress. But both of our husbands cautioned against inflaming observers. Better to reclaim the flag for this anti-racist message.  We festooned the boat with plenty of red white and blue decorations and mini flags from previous years, demonstrating that the very definition of patriotism is the freedom to state your beliefs.  

A couple nights before we started on the banners, I put both leaves in the table so we had adequate workspace, Lori created a stencil for the heart, free-handed the peace sign and justice scales, and I shaded rainbow icolors n the heart at three inch intervals.

After stenciling BLACK LIVES MATTER, we each took a column of names of those killed and highlighted the local names, George Floyd, Philando Castile, and Jamar Clark, making them larger and then added dozens more.  Printing the names was sobering: Lori said she thought of the mothers who named these babies, and then lost them so tragically.

On Saturday the Fourth, we timed the decorations for a big reveal. The next door neighbor said we were “clever,” and another neighbor with a Black son in law up for the weekend came over to introduce herself and thank us.

We headed over to the parade end of the lake, and Lori drove us slowly by the observers. Most of them were ready with water balloons and hoses, as this parade becomes a big water fight typically, despite pleas for the well-being of the fish and birds.  We always skirt their firing range and this time drove slowly and waved flags.

I wasn’t sure how we would be received, and when we got the first applause and thumbs up, my eyes filled with tears.

Some people waved politely, some turned their backs, but one gave a peace sign, another a raised fist in solidarity, and most cheered. What really touched us were the kids who looked and then leaned in to read, mostly pre-teens perhaps on the cusp of becoming aware of the wider world.

Only one woman in a passing boat was close enough for me to hear her say, “oh my God,” and I’m not going to even interpret that.

Takeaways from the experience:

I underestimated my neighbors. I let a few vocal extremists seem more numerous than they actually are.

Taking this action was a little scary. I’m a people-pleaser who avoids conflict. If I’m worried about jeers, how much more do BIPOC feel every time they leave the house? And Breonna Taylor’s murder shows she wasn’t safe IN her home.

There is no passive anti-racist stance, as Ibram X Kendi teaches, where I read important books and think good thoughts. I have to be active in my white privileged world with an anti-racist message that Black lives do, indeed, matter, that police killing Black people, mistreating a race, has to stop. Right. Now.

Being brave is easier if someone else is along.  My sister was the instigator, the courageous one, and I’m forever grateful to her.

Bravery begets more bravery. I actually swam later that day in the lake, something I've avoided for decades because I fear fish, weeds, turtles, and leeches.

I’d like to think we will never need to list the names of Blacks killed by the police again, but I think we are in this for a long, sustained advance. Count me in.

Despair, Distract, Distance, Deepen, Deliverance

I apparently have a new cycle during COVID19 that I’m working through, despite my desire to be calm and accepting of all that occurs.

Despair wakes me up at 4 am thinking of a new password and counting its characters with my fingers, as if I were practicing scales without a keyboard.

Despair keeps me scrolling through my phone during a zoom meeting, favoring a stranger's meme over the nuggets or nuances from someone’s sharing.

Despair gets me out the door, fitbit rebooted, obsessively meeting a 10,000 Step goal.

Distract becomes my new coping mechanism. See above during online meetings for an example.

Distract helps me read a novel every couple days, watch a new series, and perhaps motivates my new napping habit. (See the 4 am waking reference.)

Distance keeps conversation superficial, tears private and quickly squelched, hands busy tidying up.

Distance occurs on every vector: with myself, with others, and with my higher power.

Deepen is my new desire, but too often distraction inhibits the meditation practice that forms a bridge or perhaps acts as shovel.

In order to deepen, I need to journal beyond the tally of tasks accomplished, into the murky, shadowy landscape of today’s setting of pandemic.

Deepening inevitably means letting something go, sharing something raw, trusting someone, almost anyone, with my current state of being even before I can articulate it.

To deepen is to acknowledge this world—green, anxious, hopeful, corrupt.

To deepen is to settle into this body—fit, healthy, sober, achey.

To deepen is to accept this mind—busy, sharp, creative, restless.

To deepen is to welcome this spirit—expansive, settled, awake, curious.

And if I can acknowledge, settle, accept, and welcome, then I am delivered into what’s next. The ultimate unknown.

Which may well lead to despair, and the cycle begins anew.

The Great Pause

The United States has had a Great Depression, a Great Recession, and now we’re in The Great Pause. A friend of mine named it yesterday, and I’ve been thinking about the power of pausing. The suspension of normality is an invitation to notice at least two areas of life:

What did I take for granted that I no longer will?

What has been removed that I won’t pick up again?

Taking Things for Granted

I’m learning how much I value the in-person meetings I attend 3-4 times a week. While we meet online now, and it’s wonderful to see familiar faces and hear about their experiences, this virtual community cannot replicate the random connections I made when I sat down next to someone different in the room and chatted before we began. 

When/if we no longer need to physically distance ourselves, I intend to arrive earlier than I used to, hug more people, and linger afterwards to soak up the warmth of this community. Now that I’ve lost it, I know this particular community fills me like no other.

What Will I let Go?

Conversely, as I shelter in place and no longer run errands daily, I see how I used grocery stores to give me the dopamine hit shopping provides.  While I’ve always been aware I buy too many clothes, etc., I now see that I justified spending money if it was for food. Money is a drug like any other, and I could rationalize a little spree because I was out of jicama, for example.  Today when I notice a specific veggie’s gone, I remind myself that celery and radishes will do.

I’m not striving to be an ascetic, but I do want to occupy an inner landscape of enough rather than always wanting more. I’d like to use my creative energies to produce something useful rather than fine-tune what brings me comfort.  

How is the Great Pause helping you notice what you want to savor and what you want to release?

Are You Resisting, Complying, Accepting, or Embracing COVID19?

In the midst of the coronavirus calamity, chaos, and crisis, I read a post by someone I respect who said that those of us writing about silver linings, blessings, or lessons were gaslighting those experiencing anxiety, fear, and depression. She pleaded for us to let people be exactly where they are.

I agree that it’s important not to spiritually bypass the challenges inherent in this situation.  My perspective has roots in the privilege of a home, an income, more than enough food and exquisitely good health. Yet might it not be useful to imagine what could shift if we embraced the situation?

Because I’m a big fan of embracing, I’ve thought a lot about how we get there. Because it doesn’t happen with a decision or even a desire. I offer my thoughts on these stages and invite you to notice where you might be.

Ignore: There are video clips of elected officials in this stage.  We may all have ignored the first murmurs about this virus, and if you’re ignoring it today you’re not likely reading this.  Ignorance requires distraction, diffusion, and an insularity that most of us can’t maintain for long.

Resist: Once information, facts , and testimonials about the situation seep in, there is often resistance, active acting against. You might reject information, question sources, or imagine evil motives for any messenger of scary news.  Much of the energy required to live in resistance is spent arguing.

Comply: At this time in the USA, most recommendations for self-quarantine are not mandated or enforced by martial law. Those complying may look for a loophole, a way to game the system, or  follow the rules without being too invested.  “Another trip to the store for crackers” may justify being out and about as usual. Restlessness often accompanies compliance.

Accept: Acceptance comes from a deeper place than compliance, but not as soulful as surrender. When I accept what is happening and what my role in containing the pandemic is, I make necessary preparations for being in place and begin to settle into the possibilities available. Curiosity may accompany acceptance and you might find yourself reading everything that crosses your screen to stay informed. Panic and anxiety diminish with acceptance.

Surrender: With surrender comes an inner tranquility that can’t be manufactured.  The anger of resistance, restlessness of compliance, and ennui of acceptance dissipate. Clarity emerges as you glimpse benefits or lessons for the world and especially growing edges for yourself.   There may be a sense of being “idle and blessed” as the poet Mary Oliver puts it.

Embrace: This full-hearted approach to the situation can be hard-earned.  What seemed to be boundaries, restrictions, or deprivations are perceived with a sense of adventure and even play.  What gets embraced is not just knowledge and information, not just material circumstances, but a deep awareness of the interconnectedness of all beings. When you embrace this situation, the days are meaningful, conversations feel timely and grace-filled, observations are keener, creativity flows and epiphanies flood awareness. 

Embracing brings us into Kairos, the Greek concept of sacred timing, in which we tap into the powers that create worlds.

Wherever you are in your journey through these challenging, awakening times, please be gentle with yourself and others, for we are all being invited to notice, adjust, and grow.

Getting into the Vortex

This week, I drove from Scottsdale to Sedona to experience the energy vortices those red rocks are known for. I left in the dark and had an easy drive in countryside very different from Minnesota in February. 

I found a parking spot at the first available trailhead, laced up my boots and started out on a dusty, wide trail.  I wound around Bell Rock and up an incline until I was away from other hikers, took off my backpack,  sat down on the warm rocks, and spent a few minutes soaking up the beauty, creating memories for the cold, grey days ahead.

When I was ready to leave, I did. And on my way, I called to two people I know; one of my dearest friends from Minneapolis whom I don’t see often enough and her husband were walking the trail.  She was astonished, I not so much. She had crossed my mind on the drive up. She was in my vortex.

The parking lot attendant at the next trail told me to pay attention to the energy, for this too was a vortex. I gathered my walking sticks, which haven’t been used since Spain, and took off eager for a magical encounter. 

I did not experience any surges of energy, had no animal messengers appear, and at one point realized that on every long hike, there’s a moment I wish it were over but I have to keep going to get home. Hiking shows me I can do hard things.

I’m not an energy worker, healer, or shaman. I may never “feel” a vortex or be sensitive to other planes of consciousness, and yet, from time to time, when I heed my body’s need for rest or movement, when I listen to someone tell me which trail they enjoyed and I take it because it’s right here, then I experience the synchronicity that suggests there’s nothing random going on.

I have a teacher who says get into the vortex and then act. I make time each day for stillness and beauty, I pause and ask “what next?”, without knowing who or what may answer, and sometimes I allow for emptiness rather than shop, eat, distract, or worry.  

Call that what you will, a vortex, home base, serenity or love. From that place I can be useful, seek the best in others, smile at strangers, and stay open to surprise.

Moving Too Fast for My Soul

I’m in an intense season at work. The course I coach runs for 66 days, and with over 2500 participants, the online activity, coaching calls, and individual connections never let up.  I love the work, the participants, the team on staff, yet I haven’t let go of any previous responsibilities. 

Last week I forgot an appointment. That same day my phone slipped out of my bag into a parking lot, and I didn’t discover that until several hours later when Brian and I came hunting and found it covered in a half inch of new snow, miraculously untouched by tire tracks. (Despite two nights in a bowl of rice, it’s not back to peak performance, however.)

Two taps from the universe in one day alert me that it’s time to make an adjustment. My  pace has crept up and I see I’ve been moving too fast, packing too much in, for weeks.  (I've even found myself postponing using the bathroom until I absolutely had to, though I work at home.) 

Nothing is crazily out of whack, but when I move too quickly, life isn’t as fun as it could be. 

What happens when I push too hard was reflected in a swinging door we have in our 1928 house. This beautiful wooden door hangs between the kitchen and dining room, propped open for the last four years because it catches on the kitchen tile floor. I closed it this week in a fit of pique and cracked the top so the pin wouldn’t hold. It was broken. 

The same day I missed an appointment and dropped my phone,  I ran into a carpenter friend and asked if he could repair it. Within hours I had men at my house figuring out this old puzzle.

The bottom needed to be planed, the upper cracks in the wood glued and held in vises overnight, and the bottom piece of wood shimmed up so there wasn’t pressure on that top pin.  

Each of these adjustments was minor, but together they restored the door and it now swings and catches because of the hinge, as it should.

But I’m an addict and an intensity junkie, so when I have a snafu my first response is to find a drastic solution—cancel all appointments this month, take a retreat in the woods, swear off all electronics --and caffeine while I’m at it!

My life adjustments can be smaller, strategic, and daily so that my life moves smoothly: add an evening meditation, call a buddy every morning, schedule one day a week without appointments.

 I receive a steady stream of information about the pace of my life when I notice my interest and pleasure in each interaction, time of rest, or item I read.  I can return to Christina Baldwin’s advice to “move at the pace of guidance.” 

The small lessons can be the most do-able.