Pace Shifting in a Pandemic

I rise these days with the sun. The alarm has been set aside. I walk instead of swim. I’ve become reacquainted with my neighborhood. The pulse of spring rife with birdsong flows around me like the water of the pool used to. Daffodils are leaving the main stage and tulips have made their entrance. Two weeks ago, an apple tree with furled cocoon-like leaves and tight, cream colored buds is now a riotous white and green harbinger of late summer delight. Last week I walked to the highest point in our neighborhood to see the pink moon grazing tree tops. No sense of hurry—the moon or I.

Seeking Gratitude Amid Covid-19

And, as I seek gratitude in the midst of all the novel coronavirus has offered in the way of disruption in my life, I have reconnected to my Sister trees, the circle of trees that hold a sacred place in my heart. These “Sisters,” as they allow me to call them, are nine trees that “fan” off of one Mother base. The center, an altar where dogs sometimes leave offerings of chewed tennis balls and where I stand and gaze upward in wonder. They called to me two, three years ago. Called me into their midst, and have held me close ever since. If you are someone who “hears” voices in the natural world, this will make sense to you. If not, you might think me a bit daft. But I would invite you, next time you are out, now the world has been forced into quietness, and even if you live in a concrete-lined world, to find something of nature and listen. Wait. And maybe, over time, you’ll hear a whisper. An unexpected Otherworldness. A connection beyond what you can see and touch.

A “Being” Practice

Most mornings after my walks I dial in to a call hosted by a kind and generous writer, poet, and friend, Kate Gray. Gifted in calling us together across mountains, rivers, cityscapes, and oceans she invites us to breathe into our bodies and out into the world something beyond the chaos. Then she breathes a prompt through our phones. We write magic. I can’t imagine it is anything but magic even though we don’t share our writings. Some days there are 60, 90 people on the call. Twenty minutes, alone-together, our scratched-out words evaporating into the ether, healing something beyond what we can know. Then a poem shared in her voice that elicits a calmness that all will be well. And finally, we are unmuted and a cascade of “thank you,” “goodbye,” “be well,” “love you,” flow through the portal of our phones. At the end of the call, I linger on my couch. This gathering has become part of my heartbeat. Reminds me how we can still gather in meaning-filled ways during this time.

The rest of my days I hold loosely. This is as much routine as I want right now. Yes, I do scheduled Zoom sessions with clients and other “to do’s” come up, but I am keeping planning to a minimum. Not filling space with webinars and other “productive” items. It isn’t that these wouldn’t be worthwhile. But my inner voice, my Wise Mentor, Grief, and my other wise guides are asking me to sit, be present, and pay attention. I also know I am in a place in my life where I am blessed to be able to do this “being” practice and for that I am grateful. Always, always grateful.

Thresholds, Disorientation, and Ambiguous Loss

In paying attention, what came up for me is “thresholds.” Thresholds. Those places of crossing over that I willing said “yes” to this time last year. Chosen. Thresholds. Not always chosen. Like the collective one we have all been set on. Thresholds. A place I dwell in often with others in my work as well as my own life. I hope the gift of my being able to listen, pay attention, and reflect offers you a nugget of something you can take into your journey, as we all journey through the covid-19 threshold together.

The threshold I crossed last year? Saying “yes” to meeting my ancestral land. To listening to rocks and oceans and wind. I embodied the land. I came to understand that Grief was my mentor and I was an apprentice. I “Sojourned with Grief.” This I wrote about in my posts dated March-August, 2019. It was, I am now coming to understand, only phase one of my apprenticeship.

My disorientation was fierce when I came home. Lost on this land after returning from that land. It took me months to regain a sense of balance. In a recent but pre-covid-19 post, Grief’s Dance Card, Loss Reminders, and Compass Points, I shared about ambiguous loss. And a sense that I was gestating something within. As winter made way for spring after that post, I felt things opening up…until our current situation literally shut things down. As I reread my post I thought how parts of it feel appropriate for these times we live in: “One of the losses I am facing is what I call “The Loss of Orientation” or “Loss of my Map.” My usual compass points have fallen off the map. Actually, the whole map has disappeared from beneath me.” Does that resonate with anyone? Does feeling disoriented feel more the norm for you these days?

Grief’s Apprentice

I intentionally crossed that threshold in my life last year. My world shifted. I apprenticed alongside Grief and took the lessons offered into my body, heart, and soul. And finally, like that apple tree blossoming on my walks, I could see harbingers of fruit. Except, in my world like our whole world, a new threshold, a new portal has opened up and we have all been unceremoniously set upon the precipice.

The thing with thresholds, once crossed, you can’t go back. And some you don’t have a choice about crossing. This pandemic is that kind of threshold. I haven’t encountered anyone whose life hasn’t been changed by the virus…though the degree has varied. What we do on the other side, though, is our choice. And, of course, because you know who my mentor is, I’ll offer that acknowledging the loss and finding a way to grieve that honors your journey will be, will part of your journey. (Actually, I have a workshop called “Recognizing and Honoring Life Transitions” that I postponed until September due to the virus. I’m thinking of ways I can re-purpose part of it and offer it virtually. Let me know if you would be interested.) But it is early days and even grasping the enormity of what has been lost will take time. Time. Something else that feels ambiguous at the moment.

Pausing Before Moving On

It is common to hear “You’ve got this!” and other words of affirmation. Perhaps you do. Or maybe you are struggling. Old ways of coping are working…or not. Or it varies day-to-day. Hour-by hour. People ask “How are you?” and what do you say? You look back at the door you were just shoved through. The one that slammed shut. You know your old life is gone and what is ahead is uncertain. This is liminal space. Where time feels like it is both solid stone and mist evaporating, all at once. Can you give yourself permission to lean against the coolness of that door? Be in that liminal space as long as needed to breathe in what has been lost. It isn’t about denial. It isn’t about not caring for your immediate needs or those you care for. It is about pausing. I honor pausing. May you gift yourself time to pause in the midst of this unfolding pandemic.

And, how can we simultaneously acknowledge the losses we are experiencing individually, communally, and globally while trying to tend to our day-to-day needs? (Those needs being much more urgent for some than others.) When does making meaning start and simply surviving end? When will we be done with the initiation phase (to coin a phrase I learned from both Francis Weller and my wise friend and writer Jen Violi (I encourage you to read her post, This is Initiation) of this transition? And, then grieving. How do our old rituals around grieving transform to meet this new world? So many questions. And, no, I don’t have answers, though I’m sure I’ll be exploring the questions as they rattle around inside me.

Wandering Thoughts. Hard Conversations about Dying. Resources.

I feel I have so much more to say, but in a recent walk I realized that maybe shorter posts with smaller thoughts might be the way to go. There’s a myth I want to share. And a few words from poems I’m hearing. Words from a wise elder from a book I’m reading. My new awakening that I am also an apprentice “land listener” (a true beginner.) But honestly, I don’t know which path to wander down (being scattered, I read, is also common during this time…see disoriented.)

Plus from my background in hospice, I have thoughts on end-of-life care and am pleading with you, if you don’t already, to have advance directives and the conversations around death and dying with your loved ones if you have been putting this off. At the end of this post I will offer are a few resources that I hope you will check out to get conversations going about end of life planning. Conversations that hopefully start long before illness arrives and ambulances are called. And I’ve included a resource for funeral and memorials in this time of covid-19 that is making arrangements for ritual mourning more difficult.

Yes, this is hard stuff. Hard. Stuff. And I’m not going to say “You’ve got this,” because really, no one does. We are all in the initiation phase.

Please reach out if you need to talk. I am offering Zoom Spiritual Direction sessions on a sliding scale to meet your financial situation.

may you be well and find harbors of peace through your days,

as always, in gratitude,
anne

For Your Reflection

• 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.

• I invite you to say out loud all that you have lost since the pandemic has entered your life. Give it voice. One that touches my heart is not being able to visit Mother Ocean. Some days I feel like my soul is becoming dehydrated I miss her so much.

• Where are your safe harbors, your quiet spaces? What helps you steady yourself when you feel disoriented and out of balance?

• What is something you are doing to help others? Service includes small acts of kindness. Smiling at your neighbors while out for a walk counts in my book!

• What is something that has shifted in your life that you see as beneficial since the start of the pandemic? For me, I appreciate a slower rhythm to my days.

Resources

• The Conversation Project: This website has been updated with great articles that are covid-19 specific including how to talk to your children and tips for dementia caregivers.

• Oregon Funeral Resources and Education: How to care for the dying, the deceased, and the bereaved during a pandemic, providing emotional support for grief and trauma, FAQs about home care and covid-19, and a lot more. Even if you don’t live in Oregon, you’ll find something of value.

• For Oregon residents, link to Oregon’s Advance Directive form.

• My friend, Holly Pruett, is a life cycle celebrant and has questions that can help inform a eulogy, plus other helpful information on her website.

• The Death Deck is a card game that is a creative, and yes a fun, way to get those difficult conversations started. For example one question: My perfect last day on earth would be spent doing ___ with___.

• The movie Griefwalker, is a documentary film about Stephen Jenkinson, founder of Orphan Wisdom. You can rent it on Amazon Prime (free if you get the older version.)

• Since covid-19 leads some folks down the path to intubation (having to use a ventilator,) this article from the New York Times, What You Should Know Before You Need a Ventilator, is a worthwhile read in understanding with happens when someone is put “on a vent.” Information is important.

• If you are interested in joining the morning mediation/writing with Kate Gray (9:00 PST,) call 503-300-2534. In Kate’s words: “Dial in for a free guided meditation and writing…No matter where you are, who you are, how much or little you’ve written, you can join. I’ll offer a meditation to ground you, then offer a prompt. You’ll write for 20 minutes After 20 minutes I’ll read a poem…something soothing and inspiring. Simple.”

• Francis Weller’s collection of essays, In The Absence of The Ordinary, in PDF format, is available for a donation of $0-$20. Weller’s book, The Wild Edge of Sorrow, revolutionized my approach to grief.