Beginning of David Whyte’s poem, Santiago: “The road seen, then not seen, the hillside/hiding then revealing the way you should take,/ the road dropping away from you as if leaving you/ to walk on thin air, then catching you, holding you up,/ when you thought you would fall,” Photo of the Lake District from my spring 2019 Coast-To-Coast walk across Northern England, where I sojourned with and became an apprentice to Grief. Photo by anne richardson.
My Dreams Are Maskless, Grief Reminds Me of Reality
In my dreams I don’t wear a mask. No one does. It is not a thing. There is no pandemic. My dreams are still full of disjointed images. Metaphorical and archetypal meaning. But NO MASKS. Even if the dream disturbs me, I don’t want to wake up.
And the other day when I arrived at the grocery store, I had a deep longing to enter without my mask. To have no one wearing a mask. To see smiles and frowns—full faces. To hear unmuffled voices. And that all was “normal.” No bottles of sanitizer at the entry point. No gatekeeper. This longing comes close to consuming me some days. From reading Facebook, Instagram and opinion pieces, I am not alone in my longing.
At the end of 2020, I thought I was coping well. Still taking my morning walks. Connecting with Nature, my primary spiritual Source. Reaching out to a couple of close friends to stay grounded. Engaging with the labyrinth and other activities that I find meaningful and centering. Writing. And on some level I was doing “well.” In preparing for this blog post I read through all my “pandemic posts.” They were all authentic reflections. And…
…going down deeper, the waters were more turgid. I wasn’t listening to my own quiet voice or my body. Didn’t notice Grief’s more subtle signs. I drew on some of my finely tuned masking techniques to avoid “getting closer” to myself. To be honest, it has been a painful week as I finally had to meet myself with the mask off.
My Body Reminds Me of Losses
Toward the start of the pandemic I wrote about “Lessons From My Mentor, Grief: Crossing Thresholds, Honoring the Pause.” How long would the pause be? Maybe a month or two, three at the most? Like most of us, I didn’t know, but for where I was in life “the pause” felt like a gift. A time to replenish my energy. To be. And I acknowledged this was from a position of privilege.
That post was over nine months…and what feels like an eternity…ago. Lap swimming has remained out of reach as one of my “go to” forms of self-care, both physical and spiritual. First a right shoulder injury returned (which I treated with physical therapy then a steroid shot,) followed by my left shoulder “acting up.” With PT not seeming to help, another “shot” is pending. The pain interrupting my sleep. Reminding me of what I have lost. A story wanting to be told by sinews and muscles and my silencing them. How often have I silenced other voices calling within my body? I am grateful that I can walk my neighborhood in the morning. I am connecting with the timing of birdsongs as they sync with sunrise and seasons. The flow of both the tamed gardens and natural aspects of my daily journey. AND my route takes me by the pool. I gaze through the window and fantasize about breaking in, having the water accept me as my stiff arms flail through the pool; so out of practice. I can almost smell the chlorine seeping through the glass into the chill winter air. I “understand” why the pool is closed, but the longing…I quicken my pace, rushing past. And that line…”having the water accept me.” Even as I write it I feel sadness stirring. A question rising…Where am I not accepting myself? When the routine distractions of my life have fallen away, it seems that all I am left with are questions.
Winter sunrise. One of the gifts of my early morning walks. Photo by anne richardson.
The lap pool, waiting for swimmers to return. I believe it longs for us as much as we long for it. Photo by anne richardson.
Pandemic Weariness Settles In Like an Unwelcome Guest
To pause means “to linger for a time.” This “pause,” this prolonged lingering, has become an unwelcome guest. Like the chronic pain in my shoulder, I have grown weary of it and want it to be over. To be in the phase of “past it.” To start the collective meaning-making. Sorting out our new way of being together where we have all “grown wiser” from this experience. (Cue uplifting music.)
Staying with the questions is difficult, especially in the midst of pandemic weariness and exhaustion. (Does that sound familiar?) So I fell back on diversion strategies, something I am adept at. And I have some “healthy” ways to divert. Education. Reading. Writing poetry. Hiking.
Contemplation, one of my “healthy” ways of coping, became elusive as I grew more and more weary. North Oregon Coast. Photo by David Bardes.
Inner Distortions Narrow Outer Perspectives
However, I fell into some unhealthy patterns as autumn and winter settled in. I spent too much time dwelling in the news cycle and on social media sites. I took in new teachings (including this intense course Principles of Collective Trauma Healing, which I am still in the midst of) with discernment but tended to keep them intellectually in my head without the balance of heart and listening to my body. This in part created the turgid inner water that I ignored.
However, chaotic energy cannot be ignored. It will come out somehow. Physically it has shown up in some stomach issues (imagine that!) More profoundly, the numbed emotions transformed themselves into spending time “thinking” (make that “overthinking”) without its associated filter, my “intuition.” And for me that results in focusing on other people and how they are responsible for what is not working for me. I distort information and my perspective narrows. In Twelve Step work it is called “taking another person’s inventory” because it is too painful to look at yourself.
Pandemic Weighs Heavy on Relationships
How have you dealt with the weight of the pandemic? I literally have brought some of it into my body with weight gain. I’ve had periods of sadness. Melancholy. Resolve. I’ve given myself “Pep Talks.” My favorite pep talk is: “We had generations that went through wars for years without seeing loved ones and, in your parents case, lived on rations even after the war. So you can’t sit in a coffee shop and draw on the energy of community. Stop your whining.” Then there is the numbing. The anger. Grief.
And I look at how it has impacted my relationships. Honestly, it has been hard on them. Yes, some have grown. But some weakened. Some have come close to buckling under the strain. These are the most difficult losses. A kind of death.
“Sometimes (excerpt)
...frightening requests,
conceived out of nowhere
but in this place
beginning to lead everywhere.
Requests to stop what
you are doing right now,
and
to stop what you
are becoming
while you do it,
questions
that can make
or unmake
a life,
questions
that have patiently
waited for you,
questions
that have no right
to go away.”
Glimpses of Beauty and Joy
I will say there have been joyful moments. The Beauty I have encountered in Nature continues to awe me. And self-discovery has unfolded. For that I am grateful. Online Zoom events stretch across the USA and Canada and even across oceans and with that I’ve made new connections.
I’ve taken part in six of poet David Whyte’s bi-monthly series. These have been nourishing, I might even say they have sustained me…and offered fodder for several blog posts (including this one on being Open to Stillness, Open to Being Brave.) The questions he raises have been dropped into my inner, roiling water, awaiting curious exploration.
And my Gratitude practice has expanded. Through everything, every day, I find time for Gratitude.
Uncomfortable Conversation Between Light and Dark
Still, the pandemic has revealed more of my fragilities. And unexplored generational traumas have emerged from the Collective Trauma intensive. As I write this, it does not surprise me that I was led to study trauma and expand my Reiki teaching at this time. Not because I “had time,” but because these two practices have revealed a place of deep tension and resistance within. “Triggers” for me. When I am told to “send ‘anything’ into the light” for healing and transformation. When I am told light is good and pure and dark is either not mentioned or is bad, I recoil. (I explored dark in my final post of 2020 was on the Gifts of Winter Darkness.) To me, I hear either/or language. Either you do it “this way” and if healing doesn’t happen you are failing. It is my perception, but the point is, I was flailing inside and instead of exploring that tension through the wise counsel I have available, I projected my discontent and yes, even a subtle rage (I rarely do “full on rage”) onto others. It has nothing to do with the quality of the teachings. It IS my response to them.
David Whyte has stated in several of his series to “stop the conversations you are having now” if they are essentially not working for you (my language.) That includes those internal conversations. This is a radical act! Instead he invites asking a “beautiful question.” The beautiful question eluded me until this week when it finally took form. As I felt this pull between light and dark within, the question fell into place: “How does the dark and light within me have a respectful and honest conversation?” I know from the Principles of Collective Trauma intensive that trauma is informing a long-standing argument between the two. That allowing the conversation to become one of beauty and curiosity will lead to my deeper healing. And I understand it will not be a comfortable conversation. For being in the dark too long can fossilize what is mired beneath the compact soil. And being in a brilliant, dazzling light can blind the eyes both physically and metaphorically. I've got “stuff” in both places.
Wise Mentor Trees
As I walked among the Trees the other morning, they reminded me of how gracefully they converse with dark and light, in each day, season, and throughout the span of their lives and even in death as they decay. As always, they are wise mentors and if I listen, they will teach me how to hold the conversation. How to listen to my intuition. Hear my Source speaking. For the conversations that David Whyte calls us to have are threshold conversations. They lead us down a pilgrim path.
“excerpt from a poem in process
When your heart
has gone
wild—
when wolf and deer,
hawk and vole
are
once again in conversation—
return.
Remove your shoes.
Set you tender feet
on
an unknown path
into
your wild heart.
Do not take a compass.
Do not draw a map.
Forget
all
you thought you knew.
Get lost
and discover
yourself
for the first time.”
These are some of the wise Trees that speak with me on my morning walks. Photo by anne richardson.
The Pandemic Has Reminded Me I Am An Apprentice
The pandemic has placed me firmly at a threshold. Placed us all at a threshold. I have discovered I am an apprentice to aspects of my life I thought I had a firm handle on. Sorrow…yup, an apprentice there. Loss. Check. Relationships-intimate, friendship, family. Yes, check off all those. I am, and perhaps this is the most intense one, an apprentice once again to who I am becoming. I have been humbled to discover so much that I through I knew about myself is now unfamiliar.
A poem tumbled out the other day. It asked me to stop the conversation with my heart where I keep planting the same crop over and over, for, like in farming, the soil has lost its ability to be bountiful. Instead the poem asked me to let my heart become wild again. And then return with bare feet. No compass. Start a new conversation. Be open to new questions. “Fiercer and more exquisitely pointed questions, questions that reshape our identities and our bodies and our relations to others” as David Whyte has stated.
Serving You With Renewed Humility
I opened 2021 by sending out a newsletter reintroducing myself and my services. Sharing my call and values with those on my mailing list. It took a couple of weeks to write and I wasn’t sure why it didn’t “flow.” Why it “dragged” down the page. Not my usual style. After sitting in silence the last couple of days and journaling, I can see why it was difficult for it to settle. So consider this blog the post script.
I continue to be an apprentice to not only Grief, but now it seems, in many areas of life. I serve with renewed humility. (If you would like a copy of my last newsletter, send an email request to anne@nurtureyourjourney.net.)
Crossing Another Personal Threshold
When I walked the labyrinth New Year’s Eve day and heard the message, “the work you do in the world is at the thresholds. Stay on your path,” I viewed that insight as relating to my “professional work.” Reflecting on the last four weeks, I see now I was being reminded I too was “thresholding” in my life. What better way to deeply listen to the stories of those I serve than to recognize, engage and embody my own threshold experiences. I admit I was slow to recognize the gift of the labyrinth’s message. And I have a lot to explore as I consider my “beautiful question” and the conversations that I will engage in.
The North Valley Friends outdoor labyrinth I walked New Years Day Eve that offered insights on thresholds. Photo by anne richardson.
Kind Reminders From My Mentor, Grief
This winter season is moving toward the half-way point the evening of Feb 1st or, if you prefer, you can consider it the beginning of spring as they do in Gaelic seasonal festival known as Imbolc. As the days grow lighter in the Northern Hemisphere with each passing day, I will look to deepen my relationship with light with the same tenderness as I have with the dark in winter, asking my beautiful question. I’ll allow myself the grace to be exhausted by the heaviness of the pandemic. I’ll grieve, for my mentor Grief reminded me that February 15th is the third death-iversary of my mother and January 24th was the 35th death-iversary of my father. I miss them both, though I continue to feel their presence in my life. And Gratitude, my North Star, is my lifeline. For even on the days I am most melancholic, I find Gratitude offers reasons to smile, to hope, to appreciate the breaths I inhale and exhale.
May your North Star buoy you as we continue on this pandemic journey, together. May you allow yourself grace to be kind to you this day and every day.
as always, in deep gratitude,
anne
For Your Reflection
How have you been coping with the heaviness of the pandemic now we are over 10 months in? What emotions and feelings are you noticing? Numbing is considered an emotion in the trauma work I am studying, so if you feel numb, note that. Try not to judge any emotion as “good” or “bad.” Do see if an emotion is connected to a feeling in your body and simply be curious. No need to “do” anything about it. As always, please be gentle and kind as you reflect.
What (or who) is the North Star in your life? How is that North Star keeping you buoyed?
What have you noticed in your dreams? Are folx wearing masks? What looks “normal?” What parts of your life are you “masking” to keep from “getting to close” to yourself and/or others?
What does threshold look like to you? Do you sense you are at a threshold? Is it related to your job? A relationship? Re-evaluating your life purpose? A specific loss that has upended your life? How has the pandemic shifted your perspective of the world?
If you were to sit in silence or engage in a discernment style that in meaningful for you, what “beautiful question” might rise to the surface? What conversation(s) do you want to stop having that are no longer serving you?
If you are in the Northern Hemisphere, what feelings are stirring with the return of spring? If you are in the Southern Hemisphere, how are you embracing light?
Let Me Join You On Your Journey
What questions are you ready to explore? Do you have a “beautiful question” stirring? A road rising up before you that is uncertain? Standing at a threshold? Need a deep listening companion? Contact me and let’s talk about how having a spiritual companion can be part of your journey. Further information about what a spiritual director/companion is on my webpage.
