Sunday, March 29, 2020

Unfamiliar Terrain

I took a long walk through the trees in the middle of the night last night. My headlamp lit up the drizzly mist but I could only see three or four steps ahead. A part of me wanted to cast a wider awareness to get a better idea of where I needed to go, but I couldn't. And underfoot, now that the snow has melted, the terrain has become unfamiliar. 

Unfamiliar terrain. Unable to see where the path leads. Sound familiar? 

Maybe my best bet is just to watch where I'm putting my feet, backtrack without blame or shame when I discover I've gone the wrong way, and then move on ahead as best I can.

Tuesday, March 24, 2020

Pandemic Patience

What do you write about during a pandemic? 

With everyone piling on the internet, there's not much left to say about self-care, routines, being careful on Zoom, getting fresh air, or helping your neighbour. 

I have no specific advice. Except maybe trust your instincts and intuitions. 

If the day feels a bit "wonky" maybe it's not the right time to hit the grocery store. Try another day when it feels smoother. This thing is so big and so different and so scary it can be easy to let logic over-ride intuition. Last Tuesday was the sensible day to go for groceries. But it was mayhem. Yesterday went smoothly and safely. We let logic over-ride intuition when we strive for some kind of grip, or control. 

For me lately, all my daily readings have emphasized loosening my grip and having faith that all is as it should be. It's a hard sell. I'm wired to plan and look for patterns, yet it's only by loosening my grip that I can get access to enough calm to be open to intuition. 

So my intentions over the next while:
  • Keep my routine of walking in the woods and meditating.
  • Double down on my patience practice. I've always been a bit too quick to react. I don't need to add to the drama when everyone is stressed out.
  • Find other resources online that build joy. Symphonies are streaming free. The Archbishop of Canterbury streamed a Mothering service last Sunday. Beautiful. And the Barred Owls are nesting again in Indiana. (This is where I would normally complain about my slow and expensive rural internet, but I'm trying to double down on my patience.)
  • Stay home unless I need to make another supply run. And when I do, trust my instincts and intuitions.
May we be safe,
May we be well,
May we be at peace,
May we be happy.