Some have asked and named these times of the pandemic “a portal”. A threshold. An initiation. Except, unlike most initiations which are voluntary, where one is able to pick a setting and a timing, we weren’t really asked if we were willing. All our asses were hauled in, overnight. More than half the year has gone by. Gears are shifting. Fingers are crossed — hoping that we’ve already seen the worst and scraped the bottom, hoping that recovery is on the horizon.
Is the world stirring (awake) again? Or has the world, once again, gone back to sleep?
People are going back and forth
across the doorsill where the two worlds touch,
The door is round and open
Don't go back to sleep!- Jalaluddin Rumi
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Some time in March, I attended an online workshop on deep ecology, based on the Work That Reconnects.
One of our opening questions was “What will you protect?”
I don’t think I have ever been asked this question in my life. I contemplated and remember feeling a surge of emotions. Protection seems like a response to a primal urge. It is the feeling of wanting to mother, to nurse, to nurture, to care for. It immediately tells me all the things that I want to hold close, all the things that are precious…kinship.
I want to protect wonder, the capacity for awe and wonder, the ability to deeply listen, and see life.
I want to protect tenderness and intimacy in relationships — the ways in which we can be of company to one another, the hospitality we extend to ourselves in private.
I want to protect our reverence for life and its vitality.
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I often fish around for something that is uplifting and has resonance these days. On most days, time on the internet can feel extremely overwhelming, and the trawling futile. There is an immense erosion of the commons; many things have been privatized — private land, private lives behind closed doors. We have pulled the shutters on stories — our personal narratives tucked away, out of sight. The performative nature of so many things makes me sick and skeptical.
Where does that leave us? Where are the signals of life?
I want to reach out my feelers, and feel that there is a pulse. That there is breath.
This work is intergenerational.
Writing has been, for me, one of the most natural ways I can express myself. I hesitate to put this out. I’ve been holding this off, among many things, for a long time, for many reasons. I hesitate because I fear not being able to step into the space I constantly demand that I write from.
The irony, and the blessing, of course, is that in times like these, it becomes clearer than ever — every gesture matters. Every gesture, every movement — be it in the mind, the heart, or manifested in actions outwards —has an effect; nothing begins or ends with us. This work is intergenerational.
To ask “what is the point?” is to demand that the rewards and the fruits be revealed before any work is done. I’ve learnt that there are some places that you can only arrive at when you have chosen commitment; both feet in.
To compost, to sow seeds and let them lay fallow for awhile. Many of these will seem like disparate threads, at least for a start. These times are for weaving. For linking hands.
You have been telling people that this is the Eleventh Hour, now you must go back and tell the people that this is the Hour. And there are things to be considered…
Where are you living?
What are you doing?
What are your relationships?
Are you in right relation?
Where is your water?
Know your garden.
It is time to speak your truth.
Create your community.
Be good to each other.
And do not look outside yourself for your leader.Then he clasped his hands together, smiled, and said, “This could be a good time! There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are being torn apart and will suffer greatly. Know the river has its destination. The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above the water.
And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate. At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally, least of all ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey come to a halt.
The time of the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word ’struggle’ from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.
We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.
-A Hopi Elders prophecy
To withhold is to retract from life. And that’s not fun. Have you seen the way a flower reaches towards the sun? It knows no other way except to respond and turn towards what seeks its attention. To reach towards light, to blossom, is both listening and speaking, all at once.
You know, I want people to sit around the fire with. And with these people — with you, I do not want to have to pick a figment of myself to represent — I have considered this for a long time, there is a high price to pay for living a divided life. It is also draining. So here, you can expect to…not find curated content. These letters aren’t “themed” as a whole. I want to be honest, and I hope to call attention to all the life that speaks through me: perennial entanglements, quotidian musings, and traces of my affection for words. I am also learning to speak while in the midst of the mess — for me, this is practice.
I want people to sit around the fire with. I want to see your face across the song circle. I want to share moments of silence, resonance, collective reckoning. Sing hymns for the Mothering Earth. We will grieve and praise, laugh and cry. We will tend to our deep longings. Spirits coaxed by stories and myths. On shifting grounds, we dance.
Come.
Let the beauty we love be what we do. there are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground — Rumi
Thank you for reading this, it means alot for me to me to know that there is someone on the receiving end; as much as I write for myself, I also write for you. I hope this has enriched your life in one way or another. Feel free to reach out, drop a note, or something. I’m here, promise [:
If you know another kindred soul who may enjoy this, do spread the word. There is much weaving to be done.