Emerging

Every spring I watch the first flowers out my window. My early irises and the crocuses who bravely came up first are done with blooming already. The daffodils take longer, because they have longer to grow, and don’t do a well with the unexpected spring snows. So goes the progression of spring flowers, through the tulips and bleeding hearts and other flowers who love the extra sun before the trees leaf out, and count on the lack of competition from the summer flowers who don’t have their built in antifreeze. My Morning Glories won’t even sprout until late June, and it isn’t until the full sun of July that it is their turn to grow inches a day, and cover my trellises with heart shaped green leaves and purple flowers.

Every spring as the days grow longer and the spring flowers push up through the soil, I realize “I haven’t seen my friends in forever- do I still have friends?” And as the days warm it becomes a worry, “why don’t I get out more? What have I been doing all winter?” And every spring I remember, eventually, that in this part of the world it’s normal for humans to do a bit of hibernating in the winter, and that spring lures us back out into the sunshine in our own good time, and back to one another.

This year, the spring drama is overlayed with the ongoing covid pandemic. We have been more cloistered than usual this winter, especially those of us who work or study from home or are retired. In the same way that I feel out of shape the first creaky time I get back on my bike each spring, I feel like I am currently out of shape for being with other humans. I’ve heard many people talking about an increased social anxiety- our social muscles have atrophied a bit, and we are worried we won’t remember how to do it, when we finally get together. “I’ve gone feral” one friend told me- and I realized I felt the same way. I’ve put most of my energy into my inner life, feelings, hopes, worries, and very little attention to my outer life, although I do try to straighten my backdrop and check my hair before I join a Zoom gathering.

As difficult as this time has been, there are things we may miss, or worry about losing from our long year of covid. I know that although I miss my friends and family terribly, I have settled into a comfortable routine with my husband and our dog. In fact, a silver lining of working at home is that my older dog has some medical problems, and because I am working from home, I am always close by to make sure he is cared for. I even have house plants that need water every day- no big deal when working from home, the plants have been a great joy and distraction during this time, and it’s easy to notice when they need water and make sure they have it. A couple retired friends who live alone tell me they have settled into the quiet of their covid household and are surprised to find they will miss it.

Though I sigh with relief and joy every year to see the first crocus blooms, I worry with them through the inevitable snow falls of early spring- a snow at the wrong time can ruin the blooms, and no bee will come out to pollinate flowers in a snowstorm. So even though we humans have been waiting to return to “normal” for over 2 years, it’s healthy to have worries and reservations about the coming transition. It might help to remember that really there is no rush. The spring flowers know this. If you watch the tulips, you will see that though they seem to grow inches in a single sunny day, when the late snow and frost comes they will stop their growth just as quickly, and can hover at that same height until the warm sunny days return. The return to normal won’t happen overnight, it will grow in fits and starts like the spring foliage. And like a spring garden, each year is like no other. This very strange spring be easy with yourself. It’s okay to open slowly to the returning sun. Trust your own inner wisdom, bloom at your own pace.

Prioritizing Presence

For several years I’ve been part of a reflection group with other spiritual directors. At our first gathering we talked about what we wanted out of our time together and someone suggested we “prioritize quality of presence” when we were together. Everyone agreed- our priority was not getting a lot done, or even learning new things, but being fully present with one another so that we would feel supported and heard. Each month as we begin our gathering the quality feels a bit different: some months we are tired and energy is low, some months we are all busy and overwhelmed. Then we remember what we want our time together to feel like- loving, contemplative, caring. No matter how we feel as the gathering begins, by the end of our time we have found that quality together. I would even say that the quality of presence we hold for one another feels sacred. That is why we come back, month after month, year after year.

Imagine you have built a guest room in your house. It has a comfy bed, a sunny window with a lovely view. You make up the bed and even put a chocolate on the pillow, but chances are if you don’t invite our family and friends, it will most likely remain empty. If we want companionship, we have to invite that into our lives. Moreover, we can all probably remember an unpleasant visit to a place that was orderly and clean. Yes, a lovely guest room will definitely encourage guests to return, and increase their comfort while they visit, but that warm feeling of “home” comes not from a good floor-plan, but from those subtle qualities we feel while we are in it- safety, love, connection. If we don’t fill our homes with love and connection and caring, there is no premium bedding that can create those feelings for us.

When I was a new minister, I worked hard on creating well thought out well written sermons, and did lots of research, but sometimes my best planned services would fall flat. I would say now that they were hollow, like a beautiful house that no one lives in. The sermons felt flat because I didn’t put myself into them, my heart, my spirit. A teacher once told me “if you want the spirit in your life, you have to invite the spirit into your life.” If I want to feel compassion and support, the best thing I can do is invite the qualities of compassion and support into this moment.

Now when I am at a gathering of any kind that doesn’t feel right, I ask myself -- what is my quality of presence? Am I distracted and scattered, or am I cultivating a quality of presence that feels good? Instead of bustling about the proverbial kitchen stressed about making a perfect feast, anxious that each dish be perfect, and assuming that once the feast is on the table I will feel peaceful and content because my work is done, I imagine what it feels to be truly welcomed as a guest, the kind of hospitality that makes you feel safe and welcome and cared for, and cultivate that quality with the same priority as the main course. Because in fact that quality of hospitality is the main course.

“If you want the spirit in your life, you have to invite the spirit.” We are used to thinking that happiness or peace or enlightenment will come when we have made conditions right, when our life is orderly and successful. As if the spirit wouldn’t be with us if we were sad, or discouraged, or confused. If feeling supported and inspired is what I need, I let go of everything my scattered attention has caught, and just be present -- be the thing I am hungry for.

If there is some quality you are craving in your life, I encourage you to invite it into your life right now, without waiting to achieve your goals, or creating the perfect space. Prioritize that quality of presence, invite that quality you most need into your life. Not every guest comes when we invite them, but a gracious invitation is always a good place to begin.

A Simple Cup of Tea

During a difficult time in my life, I asked my Spiritual Director for a practice that might help. She recommended “a simple cup of tea.” I was, at the time, scattered and overwhelmed, so I could see why she thought sitting quietly and doing something simple might help. But it wasn’t until I was on retreat sometime later that I began to understand the gifts of the practice.

I had made a habit of sitting by the window in the morning- looking out at the birds while I ate my breakfast and drank my tea. I would often bring my journal and write a bit as well. As the mornings passed, and I became more centered and focused, I noticed that while I was watching the birds, I wasn’t truly paying attention to my tea- I would make it, and let it cool, and sometimes even drink it, but I wasn’t really paying attention to and enjoying my tea. One morning while I was gazing at the birds my tea had gotten cold, and I had missed the whole thing!

I decided to start over and put all my attention into drinking a cup of tea. What had seemed like a pretty simple combination- drinking tea, noticing the birds, and jotting in my journal, began to seem like too much multi-tasking. To truly “drink a cup of tea” I needed to pay attention- first, I wanted to catch the moment when the tea had gone from boiling hot to “just right.” I realized the best way to do that was to hold it in my hands and realized that having a cup of tea in one’s hands on a cold day is its own joy. I prefer my tea when it’s still too hot to chug -- just cool enough not to burn myself, but still warming. Drinking a cup of tea at just the right temperature requires attention and patience.

To really savor the tea also requires attention, or the whole cup will be gone before we’ve ever really tasted a single mouthful. It can be a lovely practice to enjoy the warmth and flavor of each sip, and notice the warming feeling that spreads to the body until the last sip is gone.

I’ll be honest, when I’m not on retreat, my attention doesn’t last through the whole process, but I am glad whenever I remember to savor the feeling of the warm mug in my cold hands, whenever I remember to stop whatever else I am doing and really enjoy a sip or two when the tea is just the right temperature.

I invite you to try this practice during the remaining
cold days of winter. Find a favorite mug, one that feels good in your hands. Find a comfy place to sit, and something quiet to gaze at, like birds at the feeder, or trees rustling in the breeze (for me a video or a book is too distracting to really enjoy my tea, but see what works for you). See what you notice from the moment you pour the water over your tea bag, (coffee drinks work too- choose your favorite!) until the mug is empty. Enjoy the warmth of the mug as you wait for it to be just right and once it is, savor as you drink each sip. Spiritual practices don’t have to be complicated to be rewarding. Let me suggest a simple cup of tea.

At Our Own Pace

The Labyrinth journey is an ancient spiritual practice which has touched many people in recent years. You find labyrinths in churches, like the famous one in the Chartres Cathedral, but also in backyards and public parks. One moves through the simple, winding path as a form of moving meditation or prayer. The first time I ever walked a labyrinth our leader was a religious educator- responsible for the children’s program at a local church. She mentioned that when children entered the labyrinth they always ran. I had only ever seen people walking a labyrinth slowly and quietly and I assumed this was the proper way to do it. But as someone who tended the spiritual lives of children, she wisely understood that it’s not always effective for kids to emulate adults in their spiritual practices, but to follow the path that is natural to them. That was almost 20 years ago, and the idea has grown in me; that we all walk the labyrinth at our own pace.

Many spiritual traditions extol the benefits of being still and quiet. At this time in my life, I find 20 minutes on a meditation cushion to be a refreshing break from my busy work life. But it certainly wasn’t always so. When I was younger I dreaded sitting in quiet meditation. Then I stumbled across a vigorous yoga style called Ashtanga, where the teacher mentioned the goal of this practice was preparation for meditation. It worked for me- I found there was nothing like 90 minutes of vigorous, mindful activity to prepare myself to sit quietly.

If you are someone who can’t get comfortable with spiritual practices that are quiet and still, don’t despair- it may be that you are just suited to a different kind of practice. As we enter the New Year, I encourage you to explore something new. I feel confident there is a practice out there that suits your unique rhythms. If you don’t like to sit, walk. If you can’t walk, run. What matters is your intention. Whenever you begin your practice, dedicate that time to listening for the spirit, to opening your heart to the divine. Let your practice be child-like; run or dance or play as the spirit moves.

Rest and Digest

If you’ve ever taken a yoga class, you have probably experienced “savasana”- which just means laying on your back for a few minutes. My old yoga teacher used to say that it was “the most important and the most challenging yoga pose for Americans.” And indeed, when I first started practicing yoga, I felt restless, and had trouble relaxing when we practiced that pose. It also felt like a waste of time. Gradually it dawned on me, that taking a few moments to just be still, to relax my muscles, was something that benefited from practice. We spent so much time in yoga strengthening muscles, engaging muscles, why not practice relaxing them? Why not practice that often challenging transition from work to rest? And indeed the longer I practiced, the more possible it became, not only during savasana, but even falling asleep at night.

Another yoga teacher called this time to “rest and digest” – both literally and metaphorically. On a biological level, the body can’t really digest food when we are rushing around, when we are stressed. When we slow down, the parasympathetic nervous system can do its work, eating and digesting, reproducing, relaxing, repairing and restoring balance. Our bodies need time in this state to stay healthy. Our hearts and spirits need the same -- time to rest and integrate all that has happened to us. I was surprised to find that our tear ducts are part of this system too, but it makes perfect sense. It wouldn’t be helpful to tear up while battling a saber tooth tiger. But scientific research has shown that our tears help release stress hormones and have other restorative properties. How often have we been rushing around, and when we finally slow down our emotions rise to the service, and we may find tears in our eyes. We literally cannot have that much needed cry when we are geared up for “fight or flight”

This has been an overwhelming time for just about everyone. Folks of all walks of life describe their stress, fatigue, exhaustion. We are being asked to deal with situations we’ve never experienced, and we are missing some of the people and places that we’ve often counted on for support and reassurance. During one such difficult week, I finished my work and went to sit with my husband in front of the television. The news was so stressful, not only couldn’t I watch it, I couldn’t even be in the same room with it. I thought I would take my book into a quiet room and read, but I found myself gazing, unfocused, at an empty white wall. My body, mind and spirit had just taken in more than my capacity to hold. I spent maybe an hour just processing and releasing all that I had experienced. Although I looked like I was doing nothing, my tear ducts, my spirit, my heart were all hard at work. It was a prayerful time, but without words- just letting go of all I was holding, inviting spirit to be present with me.

Over the coming weeks, I invite you to take some time every day to rest and digest. There is so much for us to integrate right now. You can do this any way that feels right to you. You might lay flat on your back allowing your arms and legs to rest on the ground, as in the traditional Savasana pose. Or just take a few moments to turn off all your screens and sit quietly in a comfy chair, perhaps gazing out the window, or at something not too interesting in your room. Let your conscious mind rest, with only the intention to let go, as you would relax a fist that has been clenched. Let the flurry of thoughts and feelings settle, like particles in a pond after a storm. Give your body, mind and spirit time to integrate, restore and rebalance, even though it feels like “doing nothing.” It might be our most challenging and most important practice.

Surprises

 I wrote this back in December of 2019, and since then the world has surprised us with many challenges. I wanted to share it with you now as an invitation to be open for hopeful surprises too.

“I can see where this is going” I said to a wise friend. The story that was unfolding in my life followed a well-established pattern, and the ending seemed inevitable. Like in a television show where the most famous guest star always turns out to be the villain, or the romantic comedy where the stars always end up together, some things in life just seem inevitable.

Usually, this is a good thing. The sun rises and sets like clockwork. Our part of the world is cold in the winter and warm in the summer. If you put a little bit in savings each week it eventually adds up in a predictable and reassuring way.

But in this case I could see things were headed in the wrong direction, and I didn’t know how to help turn them around. I was resigning myself to a long slow slog through dreary territory, but my friend challenged me “How do you know that’s where it’s going? How can you be sure you are right?” I’ve been right about this in the past, and this had all the signs, I told her. I didn’t want to be right, but I couldn’t imagine any other outcome. “Are you making room for the God of surprises?” she asked.

This reminder opened the door and let in fresh air, because surprises do happen. Remember the joy of a surprising snow day when you were a child? Or maybe you’ve had an unexpected tax refund or a loved one whose spontaneous remission bewildered doctors. Who could have predicted even 20 years ago we’d all be carrying the whole internet in our pockets?

Many religious traditions have some sort of “trickster” character who helps us out of our ruts and habits. Of course the tricksters rarely do just what we expect- that wouldn’t be in their nature. We may wish for one thing and get something else altogether. Our expectations are often disappointed, and we rarely think “there’s that trickster again, always shaking things up.” But when we are stuck we need that trickster to open surprising new directions.

Mostly we like it when the divine is consistent and reliable. We need to be able to count on the pillars and building blocks of our life. But sometimes when we are discouraged, when we can’t see a way forward, it is good to remember that life is not really like the movies; it defies the clichéd and expected patterns and leads us places we’d never imagine.

So the next time you feel stuck and can’t imagine a hopeful path forward, remember the spirit of surprise. If you have a prayer practice, you can even bring this into prayer: “Spirit of Life, I see the direction we are going, and I am afraid we are stuck. Please surprise me. Please open a new door I have not yet seen.” And then we open ourselves to receive whatever the surprises the future may bring.

 

When Your Happy Place is Not

 

We decided, like a record number of families this summer, to escape the drama of the past year, to break out of sheltering at home, and to try to have a bit of adventure, a bit of fun. We chose a spot on Lake Ontario because it was not far from our home, and because it was remote and wouldn’t be crowded. We were happy to have something to look forward to in these difficult and confusing times.
We’d never been to visit this part of the world before and were struck by the beauty of the lake. We sat and stared at it for hours. 

 

But the shoreline near our cabin didn’t look anything like the photos on the rental website; all along its slim length were trees laying on their side at regular intervals. Apparently, this area had lived through 2 major flood seasons, and the forces of wind, water and erosion were too much for these trees. As we walked along the beach we had to duck under or climb over the downed trees- they were unavoidable. As we walked, I noticed myself trying not to be disappointed that our vacation which was supposed to give us a break from worry and sadness instead surrounded us with signs of trauma to the land. I counseled myself that of course there is no place on earth that has not known trauma, has not known loss. This year has been marked by disappointed expectations, rapidly changing plans, uncertainty, improbably weather and resurgence of the pandemic. I began to feel a sense of compassion, a sense of connectedness to the people and the ecosystem of this lakeside community. I let my own disappointment increase my sense of connection - surely the people who lived here were broken hearted about the damage to their beautiful home. Undoubtedly, they faced financial hardships because of the floods and the pandemic as well. Compassion opened my heart.

As we walked, I began to see the beauty of these trees, the beauty of the branches washed by waves as they lay in the water, taking on the lovely texture and shape of driftwood even while still part of the tree, of the exposed root ball partly rooted in the sand. And rising into the air, above the reach of waves, the life affirming beauty of branches with fresh green leaves. Even though my vacation was not the getaway from trouble we had imagined, there was life here, there was beauty here, even a sense of adventure as we clambered over the trunks.

If you are not having the summer you expected, know that you are not alone. Folks all over the country, all over the world, are having similar experiences as memories of fun summers past come up against the often-challenging realities of this moment. I think especially of friends stuck at home due to illness or financial hardship, of folks watching the summer through the window of a medical facility. If that is happening for you, know that it is okay to be disappointed, okay to be frustrated or sad. Know that you are not alone. I encourage you to let your heart remember all those who are struggling in this very moment. Perhaps you can notice your connectedness to the people and living beings where you are right now through the sometimes-challenging experiences you are sharing. Perhaps you might notice life’s persistence and abundance in the face of such challenges. Maybe you will catch a glimpse of the beauty found not only in the verdant greenery of new life, but in turmoil and loss as well- the beautiful texture of driftwood, of seashells tossed on the shore, the voice of a loved one. May compassion open your heart to the vibrancy, power, beauty and life of this present moment wherever you find yourself.