If you have followed me for a while, you have met “The Sisters,” a circle of Big Leaf maples that I visit on my morning walks. A spiritual connection that has deepened since they reached out to me five years ago. They strengthen my rootedness to Earth, helped me prepare for my sojourn in 2019, are a source of wisdom that I share with you. Our relationship is reciprocal—my offering being love, respect, singing them songs, sharing poems and listening.
Lessons from the Pandemic: My Mentor Grief Shares the Gifts of Winter Darkness
There are stretches on my pre-dawn walk where I turn off my flashlight and stand still. Look up through a clearing. Allow the dark to cradle me. Ambient light on the far periphery (it is never totally at bay in the city.) I can pretend the trees along the path are more forest than park. As my eyes adjust, bare-limbed maples and needle-full Douglas firs texture the darkness. An owl’s call fills the air and I breathe that wondering “who who” question into my body. Even when rain is soaking Earth and the steady drops from merged clouds douse me, these winter walks are gift.
Lessons from the Pandemic: Lamenting & Gratitude Arise Out of the Same Heart
I love this time of year. The Winter Solstice arriving in less than a month in the Northern Hemisphere. Long nights sometimes crisp with stars and haloed moon. At other times heavy and dangerous in fog. Layers of clothing donned for outings…or even to work at home, cocoon me. Bare-limbed trees holding empty nests seem vulnerable. Low-sky sun barely warms Earth.
The other day when I began my pre-dawn ritual, readying for a walk, I checked in with my body, and it asked ever so sweetly if it could crawl back beneath the covers and rest. A mini-hibernation. My morning walks are part exercise and part meditation, so I am reluctant to miss them. The morning wasn’t rain-soaking or freezing or blustery—a ready excuse. Actually, it would have offered a seductive sunrise. I didn’t argue though. I listened, hibernated, drifting into my imaginal world if only for two extra hours.
Lessons from the Pandemic: Being with Stillness is Expansive
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.
