My wife and I have been spending a lot of time lately with Elders and older friends; visiting, taking care of them, participating in ceremonies with them.
And one of the things that’s pretty obvious is that people are starting to get older – ourselves included. We’re starting to move a bit slower; starting to do a little bit less.
But things are getting deeper. Conversations are getting deeper. Ceremonies are getting sweeter. And the prayers are getting more honest…
There’s a certain sense of familiarity that comes with covering the same ground again and again. You learn how to read the terrain – how to navigate by familiar stars, even when you can’t see them.
It’s comfortable, even though it can be excruciatingly difficult.
But those of us who’ve learned to step off the path for a bit, to rest a while on softer ground, to feel comfortable for a moment under the light of unfamiliar stars,
we’ve learned a few things…
I’m also reminded, in these things, of this path of emotional recovery – of how difficult it can often be.
And then, how some mornings, you can wake up, and you can feel that something’s changed.
You feel different.
You feel rested.
You feel strong.
You learn, as you go along, to really take comfort in these strong times — in these times where you feel healthy — because you know that there’s always more work to do. You know that you’re being prepared to go a little deeper, to walk a little further, to carry something that’s a little bit heavier…
Today is actually one of my favorite days of the year. It’s the day I get to plant my vegetables. I don’t grow from seeds because I don’t have the room, so, I’m going to make the rounds later and pick up some plants.
I’ll get those in the ground. I’ll get my berries into the raised beds that I set up. I’ll uncover the fig tree…
And I’ll have a hell of a good time doing it.
Does all this change the way things are in the world?
Absolutely not.
Does it change the way things are in me?
Hell, yeah.
There’s just something that feels really good about being out here getting my hands dirty.
And since I garden barefoot, getting my feet dirty, too…
I’ve been talking with several people lately about the way things are in the world, and there seems to be this general consensus that even though the external world – the social world – seems pretty chaotic right now, there’s this feeling that the ground we’re standing on spiritually, even emotionally, is pretty solid.
It’s as if we’re being asked to bear more weight, so we’re given a solid foundation to stand on while we do it…
What’s your alone time feel like?
Does it feel like Isolation?
Like you’re cutoff from everything and everybody.
Does it feel like something you’re sentenced to?
Like you have to stuff every minute of it with something to do, otherwise you’ll go crazy in the silence; just staring at the walls, living inside your own head.
Or does it feel like solitude?
Does it feel open, spacious…quiet, in a gentle kind of way?
Does it feel like it heals you?
Like it refreshes you; gives you time to be with the things that you’ve lived through on the other side of it…
One of the things I really love about these transitional seasons — like fall and spring — where things are busy dying and being born, is that it’s very easy to become aware of the fact that down deep, below all of it, there’s something larger, something much more powerful at work, pushing itself out into the world.
And so, on one level, we see the returning of the plants. We see the first flashes of greens and yellows and pinks and purples. We hear the birdsongs. We see the blossoms, like those in the ornamental Pear trees across the street, and that’s all just really spectacular.
But below that, way down deep, we’re also aware that that’s life… that untamable force pushing itself out into the world as these things, after all the stillness and death of winter…
Well, seemingly in spite of some of our best efforts, Spring actually came.
The daffodils are starting to open. The hyacinths are pushing their way up through the dirt. The walking onions and strawberry plants in the backyard are really starting to take off.
And the best part is, none of this required a damn bit of effort on my part. It all just kind of happened on its own – the same way it always does…
We’re currently in the aftermath of a pretty heavy snowstorm. We ended up with about 12 or 14 inches, and so, I spent most of yesterday outside shoveling us out.
Currently, the temperatures are rising, the sun is out, and the roads and the sidewalks are clean. In fact, they’re almost bone dry. But it’s still going to take a long time for what’s left behind to melt. It’s going to be a good while before we see any green poking up in the backyard.
Looking out at that unbroken field of snow, especially when it’s this deep and heavy, it’s very easy to feel the oppressiveness and the inevitability of it all.
Winter’s a time of dying off – a time of silence, of solitude. And that can be a little hard to navigate for some of us. It’s obvious that we live in a time that’s pretty oppressive. Things are coming at us left and right. They seem to pile up. The world can feel cold and heavy. We can feel alone and isolated.
But there’s another aspect to winter that’s important to keep in mind.
Yes, there is a dying off now, but it’s a necessary dying off. It’s the removal of the old things, the removal of the things that no longer serve. And as those things fall away, they open up space for new growth.
Yes, it’s a time of quiet, a time of slowing down, but it’s also a time of contemplation – of taking stock – of allowing the blessings that we’ve received throughout the year to settle into our bones…
We didn’t really get the crippling snow that a lot of people had this year. We had about eight or ten inches, but it had a crust of ice over the top of it, and because of the low temperatures and the high winds, it took quite a while to melt.
During the heart of it, it kept us homebound for a while, giving us time for quiet reflection, some deep spiritual work, and taking care of some things around here.
It’s good when those moments of solitude open up, especially when you make up your mind to use them. Those of us who learn to feel deeply when we grow up really need those times to charge our batteries, to rest up, to take care of ourselves, and to deal with a lot of things we couldn’t deal with when we’re in the midst of everything else that’s going on…
Bonja the Bodger 