The expansive mirroring of mountains on Lake Crescent on a windless day. Olympic Peninsula, Washington, Sept. 2020. photo by anne richardson
Reunions in the Time of the Pandemic
I am meeting an old friend this week. It has been over seven months since we last connected. I can’t wait until we embrace. AND I am not going to wear a mask! Are you concerned I’ve lost my bearings eight months into the pandemic living in a country where COVID is on the rise?
The friend? The pool where I went lap swimming four, five days a week until mid-March when public facilities were closed. These places of gathering becoming a risk factor that could be controlled while information about the virus was gathered. The facility now allows 45-minute slots to swim, only two people allowed in our three-lane pool at a time—one empty lane between us. I was able to snag four rendezvous over the next two weeks. I am giddy with excitement.
Perspectives Expanding
Another reminder of how my perspectives continue to shift since the start of the pandemic: Small appreciations expanding my gratitude. How about you? Even as the pandemic may have contracted many aspects of your life, in what ways, perhaps, has life expanded?
I pass by my beloved pool on my now dark, morning walks. “Soon my friend” I’ve been whispering the last few days. photo by anne richardson
Pilgrimage with Stillness Continues
I continue on my pilgrimage with Stillness (see previous post: Lessons from the Pandemic: Open to Stillness, Open to Being Brave.) Autumn days with sun hanging low in the sky and nights deepening are natural escorts as I dwell in this space. I walk. I read. I listen. I meditate. I listen. I sit with rising questions comfortable with not having answers. I listen. Seek wise friends for discernment and conversation. I write. I listen to my Source. I listen deep. And deeper. And, yes, I get distracted.
I am not surprised, then, that the word “stillness” arises in my explorations as if it has been waiting for me to take notice. Its meaning is expanding beyond the dictionary definition, which speaks more of an absence than a presence.
Stillness is not Passive
Being in stillness is about allowing the space to unfold between your breaths. To allow the warmth of your tea to linger an extra length of time in the cavern of your mouth before sending it on its way as nourishment. Watching the now-turned-brown leaf sashay all the way to the ground, you witnessing its journey. How many times has the leaf witnessed your walking by since spring? Is it not the least you can do? Stillness is not about being passive. Stillness, I am discovering, is a wise companion to have on this pilgrimage.
“Stillness: noun
1. silence; quiet; hush.
2. the absence of motion.”
The Sister Trees are shedding their leaves. Soon they will be bare, ready for winter storms. photo by anne richardson
My glorious geranium. I am grateful for an abundance of kindness over two seasons. photo taken 10-28-20.
Stillness says watch for Abundance
Stillness suggests I don’t rush to clean out my flower pots as a chill has descended and plants wilt and deaden. The next day the wrens and nuthatches are gathering the last of the seeds. And a few remaining blooms still offer nectar for the hummingbirds. There is an abundance of life even as my tiny-deck garden puts itself to bed for winter. It is far from “still.” I watch the activity nestled against my companion, Stillness, and calm washes over me. Tears rise and the gratitude is profound.
And then there is my geranium—glorious. The one that wintered over. An unexpected gift. A reminder to wait before assuming dormant means dead. Perhaps it will be so kind again.
My Mentor Grief is a Weaver
Stillness reminds me to be comfortable without a final destination. This is not to say I am drifting passively through this season. Clarity is a soft current directing the raft toward a misted shoreline and I dip my oar in the water via my curiosity that is being awed by new learnings. The labyrinth, my passion, continues to stir my heart. Poetry and writing nourishes my creative expression. My deep love of the land and desire to understand what it means to belong grounds me. And Grief, my mentor, is inviting me to weave it all together as I answer my Soul’s Calling.
It is both exhilarating, and to be honest, at times scary. I shared with a wise friend I felt I was on the cusp…but of what? Perhaps that is why Stillness is an appropriate companion. To remind me to breathe into the empty spaces as I step out beyond myself.
Are you on the cusp?
Perhaps what I’m sharing resonates. That the pandemic has upended your life…and also invited you to re-envision how your life is woven together. Take a moment. You’ve heard over and over this year, these are unprecedented times…and they are. What is calling to you? What cusp might you be on?
“We are – each one of us – a necessary part of this world’s becoming; we were intended to be here, and now. But we’re not here to coast. We’re here to show up. It’s what, quite literally, we were born to do.”
Weaving Collective Trauma Healing into my Work
Over the next four months I will be participating in the Principles of Collective Trauma Healing course offered by Thomas Hübl. I felt drawn to this after the Collective Trauma Summit I attended online in September. It is an expansive way of looking at Trauma and Healing and, I would add, Grief. I envision weaving it into my labyrinth and spiritual direction work. Into workshop & retreats. The work I offer to professionals. And part of expanding my connection to a larger community as this is a collective experience.
Though we can’t physically join together on a labyrinth like this one at North Valley Friends Church in Newberg, Oregon, we can “walk” finger labyrinths together in my workshops. Do check this one out if you live locally though. It is lovely.
Laments Workshop?
And didn’t I say I wouldn’t offer any more workshops this year. Well, one idea that bubbled up in the pre-dawn hours was to offer an online workshop on laments (a wee bit of education to what they are, some examples, writing your own, finger labyrinth walk to wrap up our time together) to close out 2020. It would be two hours, and FREE. It is still in the pondering stage and no date(s) yet, but if you are interested, please let me know.
Trusting the Flow of the Journey
It feels as if this blog has been anything but “still.” Lots of thoughts flowing through the words. Reflects where I am as I spend most of my days in solitude with Stillness. Below are reflection questions for you to ponder. Please let me know how you are being.
A final note: My friend and I had our first rendezvous this morning. As my body slipped into the water, tears rose up. It was a sweet reunion.
in gratitude,
anne
Resources for the curious from what I’ve been pondering
Sharon Blackie: Her reflection on “Becoming Who We Are” resonated deeply and is quoted above.
On Being Poetry Unbound: “Your new ritual: Immerse yourself in a single poem, guided by Pádraig Ó Tuama. Short and unhurried; contemplative and energizing. Anchor your week by listening to the everyday poetry of your life, with new episodes on Monday and Friday during the season.” Even if you aren’t into poetry, I think you might enjoy listening to this.
Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer. I just finished this beautifully written book which expanded my way of engaging with the planet. Here is an interview with the author.
For Your Reflection
What are ways you might invite Stillness into your day? How would you define Stillness? Is there anything you find scary about being still? As we move toward the final two months of 2020 I invite you to consider what Stillness means to you, whether you are moving into a season of darkness up north or into light in the Southern Hemisphere.
Even as the pandemic may have contracted aspects of your life, in what ways, perhaps, has life expanded? How do you decide if something is a loss and if so, have you made room to grieve?
When you hear the word “calling” what comes up for you? Any feelings attached to the word? If so, do you judge them? Are you curious? Something else?
Say the word “pandemic” aloud. Let it linger in your mouth. Where do you feel it in your body? What feelings are stirred?
We’ve heard over and over this year, these are unprecedented times…and they are. What is calling to you? What cusp might you be on?
The standard question: What are old ways of coping that are still working for you? Try not to judge them as “good or bad.” Just notice how they help you through the day. What is no longer working? And, have you found any new ways of coping? As always, please be gentle and kind as you reflect.
