How We Hold On In Discouraging Times

from the Smart Anglers Notebook by Carl Richardson, illustrated by Ted Walke

While stopped for a travel break at the Pennsylvania visitor’s center, we found a display about ice fishing, including a description of how to make and use your own ice awls. The helpful illustrations showed how, if you fell through the ice, you could use the awls by driving each spike into the ice, pulling yourself out of the water and onto the ice, and then rolling to safer ice. Though I will probably never do any ice fishing myself, I was so impressed by the clear instructions and practicality that I grabbed a flier on my way out.

Later on that evening, the family was talking about Habitat For Humanity’s first ever 3d printed house. We were charmed by the idea- how pretty the house had looked, how quickly it had been built. “Maybe this could make a real difference,” said someone hopefully. A young person in my family expressed a long-time frustration that no matter how many small improvements we make, great suffering continues. We offered examples of big changes in the world, like in the fight against Malaria and AIDS, but he countered with the big persistent problems of our time. He's right of course. There are many people suffering right at this moment. And some of that suffering could be relieved if we came together a did all we could, yet the great problems persist.

It's important to look critically and realistically at the problems of our world. But when we do, it is easy to sink into despair. “Despair” I offered “can be a slippery slope. We can always come up with more and more reasons to feed our despair, and once we begin, it has a kind of addictive quality and a limitless appetite. It sucks us in. In my experience, despair is not helpful.” I grasped around for a metaphor. “These little bits of good news, like the Habitat for Humanity houses, they are like the points in the ice awls. We grab on to them to pull ourselves out of despair, so that we can roll to safer ice.” Once we have pulled ourselves out of the suck of despair, then we can look for solutions, and do whatever things we can do to make life better for all we touch.

Our spiritual practices can be like those ice awls. When I feel the pull of despair, they anchor me in whatever solid ground I can find. One practice I use is looking for what my teacher Brook Thomas calls “basic goodness”- by which she means not necessarily something that feels good (it can be hard to find anything that makes us feel good when we are truly discouraged) but any ordinary sort of neutral feeling. If I am having one of those days when “everything hurts” I might notice that actually the tops of my feet feel neutral. If my worries are weighing me down, I notice those basic things I don’t often pay attention to; right now I am in a dry, warm room with working electricity that powers my computer and a nearby lamp. I have a full belly and am able to breathe without effort. I hear the sounds of my housemates and neighbors. All of those ordinary good things are like the solid ground on which we can anchor ourselves. Even if, say, your heating goes out, or you have a respiratory illness that makes breathing onerous, we can shift our anchor to some other basic goodness- the people who will answer if I reach out to them, the solidity of the comfy chair that holds me up, the warm blanket I wrap myself in.

I believe that there is a basic goodness that is deeper and larger than all the troubles of the world. One of the most important practices that sustain us in unstable times is to remember and connect to this deeper goodness. I encourage you to locate or build your own “Spiritual Awls,” and keep them handy whenever you notice yourself sinking towards despair. This is one of the reasons for spiritual practice, so that we can anchor ourselves in what is good, what is enduring, even in challenging times. Anchored in basic goodness we are able to see the beauty in even the coldest winter, and to help and support one another from that stable ground.

 

Where is Beauty Now?

I believe there is beauty to be found in every season, if we look deeply and patiently. I make a practice of looking for beauty and wonder wherever I find myself. Sometimes it is the dramatic colors of sunset, or a glowing moon rising behind the hills, but sometimes it is more subtle -- a bit of green lichen on a dead branch, the wildflowers poking up in a roadside ditch. When I get a chance for some time away on vacation or retreat, this practice brings me special joy as I learn the unique beauty of a new place, and let that beauty nourish my spirit.

One winter I was traveling in the grey and brown season of the year. I was dispirited by the grey skies, the dry brown leaf litter everywhere, the empty trees, the dirty remnants of old ice and snow. I gazed out, that first morning of my visit, over the parking lot at the grey and the mud and I was discouraged. Perhaps it was the fractal patterns of a thin layer of ice over a mud puddle that emerged overnight -- each puddle frosted with fragile geometric patterns -- that first gave my eyes something to enjoy. Perhaps when the weak winter sun finally emerged, so did the birds and chipmunks enjoying the feeder across the parking lot. The moss also responded to the melted snow and the sun’s rays by bursting to life and shining a bit of emerald green contrast to the relentless brown of the landscape. Perhaps it was all these together that helped me tune into the particular beauty of the season of brown and grey. I became curious about the different shapes of the bare branches against the sky- some smooth and round, others twisting in sharp complex angles. Both were beautiful in their own way; each told a different story of many seasons of growth and life. Even the relentlessly brown acorns and oak-leaves, pine-cones and seed pods caught my eye with their abundance and the patterns they made laying in drifts on the ground. It had taken several days of earnest looking for the beauty of that time and place for it to show itself, but in the end, I was moved by its beauty.

In another place and another season, as I walked across the sparkling shells in the tide-pools by the ocean, I knew objectively that what I was looking at could be called beautiful. I felt so unappreciative that I was not able to enjoy that beauty. But my heart was heavy and joy was not available that day. I could only be present with what was real for me. I learned that day that sometimes before I can see the beauty of the season where I am, sometimes I have to grieve the seasons that have passed. I walked, and pondered, and finally wept – the storm outside felt like the storm in my heart and spirit. When the storm passed it was like my eyes had been cleaned, and now I could take in the wonders that had been there all along.

I believe there is beauty everywhere, if we look deeply enough, but it is sometimes hard to see. Here where I live in the Northeast, the green of summer fills the sense. The tulips, crocuses and forsythia of spring offer hopeful bursts of color in the gradually renewing landscape. But winter, after the first frozen storms have made a brown mess and the skies are grey more often than not, can be an ugly season. Even so, there is beauty there if we look patiently and with a loving eye. If you find yourself in such a time, I invite this practice- it’s okay to grieve the loss of summer, to miss the bright colors of May, but have faith that wherever you are there is beauty which can nourish your soul, if only we have the patience to let it reveal itself to us.

Remembrance

Our beloved Trey

When I was little, the minister of my church used to remind us that those we have loved live on in our memories even after they die, and because they have touched our lives, they live on in us too. At his time of my life, I no longer take memory for granted- each year I remember less and less as the ordinary moments of years past begin to fade.

And so it is that the sharing of memories and stories of our beloved dead becomes a sacred act. It is a practice that reminds us that our connection to those who came before is not broken, even in death. When we share memories and stories it helps us strengthen those connections and keep these memories alive. Although our loved ones’ absence from our physical lives is real, so is the presence that remains in our hearts and minds.

I once read the story about the family dog who always slept on a certain part of the carpet. Even after their beloved dog died, the family noticed how they kept the habit of detouring around that spot. That empty place became a reminder to the family of their companion who still filled a space in their hearts. Though the physical presence was gone, that space they held for her had its own kind of presence that was tangible for them, a space that inspired memory.

In many cultures this autumn time midway between the fall equinox and the winter solstice is the season to remember loved ones who have died. Whatever your culture or faith tradition, I invite you to find time to call to mind those beloved dead you are feeling close to this year, whose memories, love and wisdom you most want in your life right now…

Those we loved and who loved us.
Those whose wise counsel we sought out.
Those who knew how to bring a smile to our face, who helped us think about things in a fresh way.
Those whose lives inspired us.

You might do that in a private way, or you might share these memories and stories with family and friends. Often sharing brings back things we might have forgotten, and also creates support for the process, creating a compassionate space to remember and cherish things that might bring up tender emotions.

This time of year, or whenever the spirit moves, I invite you to remember your beloved dead. May their memories support, comfort, challenge and inspire us though death has taken their physical presence from us.

Our Beloved Sandy, Napping

 

This Season, Like No Other

“Seasons come, as seasons do, old and known, but somehow new” – Max Coots

 

As the wheel of the year turns, some things are the same every year- the chill air at night as the days grow shorter, the changing colors of the leaves on the trees. In these things we are connected with all the beings in our ecosystem- with the squirrels now frantically burying nuts all over my yard, the geese honking in the air, plants coming to fruition each in their own time, all preparing for what we in this northeast bio-region know will be a cold winter ahead.

Other things we can count on are peculiarly human, and link us to our human community- the bustle of the school year underway, preparations for an election in November. Our holidays and traditions help us mark the turning of the seasons.

This autumn will be like no other. It will have some of the same things -- chill air, changing leaves, new semesters, elections -- but differences subtle and not so subtle mark this year in its uniqueness. Right now as farm stands near my home fill up with apples, pumpkins, and the last of the autumnal harvest, the stores are full of Halloween candy bringing memories of years past. When we first moved to the home where we now live, my son wanted to host a party for his new friends on Halloween, and so we gathered with cider and costumes, and progressed around the neighborhood together. It was a joyful success, and so it became a tradition in the years that followed. I have some wonderful memories of those parties; some years it was hot, other years bitter cold or raining. Over the years, friends changed and costumes changed, the kids got bigger, as did their bags of treats. 

Soon my son grew too old for trick or treat. Then a different neighborhood became the “it” place for trick or treating, and the kids would beg to go find their friends on the other side of town. Our annual gathering got smaller and smaller and finally came to an end. A friend who had joined us since that first year seemed amazed when I told her “no party this year.”

I feel some sadness about the end of that tradition, but the next year we went out with a small child who toddled door to door, amazed and bewildered as she learned the trick-or-treat ritual for the first time. We witnessed the joy of our young adult neighbors hosting their first ever trick-or-treaters, their delight at being the ones to welcome costumed children, to offer them treats, and watch the little one’s face light up as they praised her costume and filled her bag.

This is one of the ways seasonal traditions touch us. They help us mark not only the cycles of the seasons, but the longer circle of our lives. Like a string of memories, I can see Halloweens when I was a child, and a teen, and a parent. I now wonder “what is Halloween for me in this new season of my life?” Seasonal traditions show us how we are changing, how our community is changing, how our ecosystem is changing. They show us changes that might otherwise be too subtle or gradual to notice day to day.

We talk about observing seasonal traditions, and I like that way of putting it -- observing this season, exactly as it is. As the season unfolds, “old and known, but somehow new” I invite you to adopt a spiritual practice of noticing; get curious about what is the same and what is different. Notice what changes are happening within you, and what remains the same. Notice how this autumn is like no other. What are you noticing about this season? How does it remind you of other years? What is different and surprising? May this autumn be for you both familiar and new- a fruitful harvest of our growing season.

 

Noticing Grace

Each month I gather with other spiritual directors online for a time of silence, reflection and deep listening. One month a colleague entered the meeting a couple of minutes late, after we had already begun our silent mediation. When the silence had ended, she was flustered and asked our forgiveness for being late. One member of the group suggested that perhaps we should add to our group agreements that “one minute late is not late.” Another suggested we broaden it to “we will extend and receive grace.” The following month someone else had missed the time change of the meeting, and came in a whole hour late, thoroughly chagrined. I myself had done something similar at a meeting that week, and felt deep sympathy for her. We reminded each other of our agreement “we will extend and receive grace.”

Because this is a group that has been meeting for several years, we have a deep trust, respect and affection for one another. When someone arrives late we don’t take that as disrespectful, but rather the sign that they are having a complicated day that is probably not going according to plan. We value our time together and the quiet ,peaceful time we create. It is much more important to me that each of us is fed by that meeting than arriving right at the top of the hour.

One of the unexpected silver linings of having to do so many things in new ways since the Pandemic is that we see each another make mistakes all the time. If you attend meetings on Zoom, even if you have lots of practice, at some point you are going to forget to mute yourself, or unmute yourself. At least once a week someone asks forgiveness for missing a meeting they had every intention of attending because they just forgot, or overslept, or wrote down the wrong time. It’s easier to understand and forgive quickly when I, myself, have made that exact mistake quite recently. Our shared experience of the pandemic has also made us rethink the notion that if you are sick you should power through and show up anyway. We are coming to see that even though it is disappointing when our friend, family, co-worker can’t come because they are sick, humans get sick and need time to get better.

Sometimes it’s not easy to let go of these mistakes and disappointments. It’s maddening to attend an online event where for whatever reason the sound or video is not working. It’s frustrating when your food delivery is later than promised. It’s discouraging when the person you had an appointment with doesn’t show up. We don’t have to pretend to be happy about it, but we can extend each other a bit of grace. We know that all our lives are complicated and stressful, and we too have received grace when we were late, were absent, or couldn’t get our technology to work.

Grace is not always what is called for in the moment- sometimes things need to be interrupted, a hard truth to be told, a boundary set or kept available – sometimes we have no spare goodwill to extend. We don’t have to extend grace to one another, that’s part of what Grace is all about. Grace is freely given, not earned. My dictionary says that the grace we extend one another is “courteous goodwill” and when we speak of the divine, grace is “free and unmerited favor” or “bestowal of blessings.” We use the same word to refer to someone who is graceful, who moves with ease. This is how it feels to be with people who extend grace to one another- we make smooth and easy our time together with that goodwill we freely give. That same quality abides when we receive grace—when we accept with that same goodwill and ease the gifts others have given, to smooth our way when we are late, or unmuted, or our battery runs out in the middle of a call. Grace is not always available, and so is worth cherishing with gratitude as a freely-given gift.

Call to mind times when you have noticed grace in yourself or in the world around you. Where and how is grace extended and received? This month as a spiritual practice I invite you to notice grace, wherever you find it – in yourself or in the world around you. Grace is not always available, and so is worth cherishing with gratitude as a freely-given gift.

The Springtime Work of Transformation

I asked friends what signs of spring they were noticing. They mentioned birdsong and blossoms. They didn’t mention the bare branches of trees against the bleak grey sky, or the frost we had that morning. This week at my house was wind and rain and mud, the streets and grass in my neighborhood littered with branches swept out of the trees by the rough winds. Then when the sun finally appeared, the first yellow blooms of daffodils and forsythia answered. Spring is always a time of transition. It is unpredictable and quixotic. It can be parkas in the morning and shirtsleeves in the afternoon.

One grey spring morning the rain pouring down the windows mirrored the grief in my own heart and the tears rolling down my own cheeks, as the turn of season reminded me of past losses. I try to let grief do it’s cleansing work when it comes, to let the tears wash through whatever is ready to be remembered or released. Later, on a walk, I had a sense of feeling cleansed, lighter, for having allowed that grief to move through me. I was ready to receive the sunshine, the birdsong, the green shoots of new life. The old truism popped into my head “April showers bring May flowers.”

As spring unfolds around you I encourage you to notice and honor it all- the rain and the mud, rough winds and gentle breezes, and of course the buds and leaves appearing on trees and bushes, and the beautiful progression of flowers so precious and ephemeral. Allow yourself to weep with the showers when that is what your spirit needs, and allow the fresh pops of color in the landscape, the antics of birds and squirrels to nourish your spirit in those moments when the clouds part and there is room for delight. Welcome spring as it moves through your heart doing the hard work of transformation.

Between Inhale and Exhale

Bring your attention to your breath. Notice your inhale, notice your exhale. Without trying to change anything just notice how you are breathing right now. What happens at the top of your inhale? I notice that there is a slight pause, a millisecond of stillness before I exhale. At the bottom of the exhale, I notice the same stillness. (If breathing is not comfortable for you right now for whatever reason, you can just play with the ideas without the physical practice.)

If you want, play around with what happens at the top of your inhale- try to inhale again, and then inhale again. When I try that I notice there comes a point when I can no longer inhale, and moreover, I am REALLY longing to exhale. The same is true if I exhale, and then exhale again, and then exhale again. Soon there is nothing more to exhale, and I am really longing to inhale. What did you notice? I notice that after doing all that I feel a bit off balance, so I recommend taking a few conscious breaths - just a natural inhale followed by a natural exhale, until things feel balanced and easy.

Not long ago I was getting ready to go out of town with my family, so I worked extra hard to get everything wrapped up before I went away. Then during our trip, I tried to do and see all the things I had been missing while I was working. Eventually this was like trying to breathe in and then breathe in again- there was just no more capacity to take anything in. I was full. Another time this year I experienced grief and illness in the same month. I had to lay things down one after the other until I felt empty, and then noticed an urge to “breathe in” metaphorically speaking. I began to wonder what it would be like for my life to mimic the comforting rhythm of a smooth inhale and a smooth exhale.

A recent shopping trip also brought this metaphor to mind. We had done very little shopping over past year, so we had some catching up to do. It felt good to accomplish so many shopping goals, but when we got home, we had no time to begin putting our new things away and had no place to put them. I remembered the natural pattern of breath and thought “it is surely time to exhale- time to clear out some old things and give them away.” But right at that moment we were worn out from shopping. I remembered that little pause between the inhale and the exhale. It feels soothing and natural to me to pause between inhaling and exhaling.

I invite you to carry this image with you as you go about your daily life; notice which activities feel like breathing in, and which feel like breathing out. Notice if there are opportunities for a pause in between. Many aspects of our culture rush us from one thing to the next- like that video app that starts the next video automatically without a chance to pause and process what we have just experienced, like the coupon you get after your purchase redeemable on another purchase next week. We have all been though a lot, have experienced much change and loss, have had to learn new things, and respond to the demands of our time. Do you feel like you are inhaling or exhaling right now in your life? Are you feeling a longing to transition from one to the other? Or is it time for a brief pause? In this busy season I encourage you to play with finding a balance of inhale, exhale, and the spaces in between.