I tend to write a lot about listening. It’s a passion of mine. I believe a well-developed ability to sincerely listen to whomever (or whatever) we’re in relationship with is a profound display of respect and caring. And listening is most definitely fundamentally different than just ‘hearing.’ In a similar vein, I feel there’s a fundamental difference between looking and seeing. Sometimes it serves us to stop and ask ourselves, “What are we seeing?”
There’s a lot going on in the world right now. Especially here in the United States, situations are presenting themselves that I honestly believe very few people would ever have believed even one year ago, much less four years ago. These situations, while unfolding here in the U.S., are most definitely going to impact the entire world – just like they did four years ago.
It seems to me that we would all be wise to not only brush up on our listening skills, but right now take a good look at what’s taking place right before our very eyes.
What are we seeing? What is being said? What does it all mean?
Ask Yourself
We owe it to ourselves to ask ourselves and each other these questions before it’s too late. It seems to me that if we’d been truly listening to what was being said by the most powerful people in this country, we would not be in the position we’re in at the moment. Intentions have been stated quite clearly. But a desire to just ‘hear’ and a refusal to truly listen may have sealed a fate for us to experience – at least in the next several weeks and months – that no one wants.
And the same can be said for how things look like they’re going to play out.
What are we seeing? Is it a gorgeous sunset? Or the Eye of Sauron? When we look, what – or who – do we see staring back at us?
The weather is turning as foul as predicted. Wind is whipping fat globs of rain and slush through the air like paintball pellets. Hearing the splatter on the windows as I sat down to write, I just realized I forgot to bring in my plants, the ones I’d recently allowed to spend some time outside, ‘on their own,’ encouraging them to reconnect with their feral roots.
OK, phew! I brought everything in. Wow, it’s nasty out there.
This Week
I’d like to welcome all of you to the weekend. It may not feel all that different from the days of the week that you just endured, but I think we all know, for most of us at least, there still remains a psychological difference. Old habits die hard.
And as I write, thunder rumbles.
Even though I love thunder and lightning, thunder can feel ominous – or perfectly in keeping with the milieu of the times. I must admit that’s how it feels at the moment: a perfect, ominous warning.
If anyone felt this week was particularly stressful, I want you to hear me: YOU ARE NOT ALONE! I don’t know if it was the full moon or the culmination of being on lockdown for almost two months, the relentless information, misinformation, lying, and scare tactics we’re bombarded with, or what it is. But this has been a week.
I’ve had a number of people tell me that they’re having trouble sleeping. Even if they succeed in falling asleep, they often find themselves dreaming copiously and restlessly, and often the dreams turn to nightmares.
Early Stretch
It sounds like a good portion of these dreams and nightmares are taking apocalyptic turns. Everything feels momentous these days. We really don’t know what’s coming at us from one day to the next, so it only stands to reason that we play out possible scenarios in our dreams.
Seriously: the mere word pandemic sounds like something that belongs in a Hollywood movie, not the past two months of our lives. And now, with this bizarre push to get the country back up and ‘running’ no matter the cost in human lives, we’re entering a new phase of a national nightmare.
We’ve only just begun learning how to deal with all of this. And yet, we’re almost getting whiplash, trying to keep track of whether ‘the worst is over’ or – more likely – the ‘worst’ has moved to other parts of the country where it appears honesty about testing and infection rates and deaths may not be the highest priority of those calling the shots.
False Sense of Security
My sense is that people all across the country have watched the way New York has handled the initial crush of cases, including the way Governor Cuomo has addressed his constituents (and the rest of the nation) each and every day with facts and emotional fortitude. On some level, even though many find it easy to judge the hell out of them, deep down, we all believe we’re New Yorkers. We felt that on 9/11 and we feel it now. We resonate with the attitude of “New York Tough.”
But I fear the success New York is having in meeting this challenge head-on is creating a false sense of security for the rest of the nation.
The push to get back to an illusory normal is almost certainly ill-advised, especially since the rest of the country (outside of maybe New York and New Jersey) have yet to reach their peak. I have a feeling many of us know that to be true on a visceral level. Much more loss is about to take place, and it’s the stuff of nightmares.
Honesty? Transparency?
And while we hope the governors of the states where numbers are starting to soar (when they deign to reveal those numbers – another tip off that ‘this is not New York’) will put their people first and give them every fact and number and piece of information that will help them make informed decisions for their health and that of their families, if we’re honest, we can see the writing on the wall.
The requisite honesty and transparency are profoundly and horrifyingly lacking.
Perhaps we need to give expression to the terror that courses through our body when we consider how fast and far the Coronavirus is spreading across the country, especially in our nursing and extended care facilities, prisons, and certain factory settings (such as meat packing plants), and other places of congregate living or working. We need to express it so we can release it.
And isn’t that really what this full moon is all about? Letting the light of the full moon shine upon our fears so we can identify them and let them go?
The first responsibility is to be honest with ourselves. Then we can wake from our nightmares and prevail. Together.
I’ll come clean with all of you, since we’re all about intimacy, right? I feel intimate with you, anyway. I know there are a number of you who are keeping me company and making sure I do indeed keep my commitment to Karl’s memory. (I can’t thank you often or sincerely enough for that camaraderie, by the way. And my most heartfelt means of expressing that gratitude is to be radically honest with you. Intimate, in other words. Letting you see and hear my inner me, warts and all.)
My confession is this: I was honestly excited last night when I wrote about getting myself much further along in Instagram World than I’d ever managed before. I knew I’d successfully posted (what, a post? Do you post a post on Instagram? God, how can I do it if I don’t even know what to call it?); anyway, I knew I’d successfully put something on my IG ‘feed’ yesterday afternoon because people had reacted to it by later in the evening.
Even better, I thought, I’d figured out how to get links inside my post to actually get opened without some rigamarole that I didn’t even understand. It sounded like a good thing to do and I thought I’d figured it out. The app I was using to accomplish this task is called Link In Profile. Technically, I’m still using it, I guess, as of tonight anyway. Luckily, they give you a month’s free trial first.
It seems pretty neat. At least, yesterday afternoon, as I said, I managed to post my initial Instagram and, in it, include a link to my Devotion blog post, which explains the inception of the whole 1111 Devotion commitment I made in November. And I thought it meant that people could click on the link inside the post and go directly to the webpage it referenced, instead of people having to go to my Instagram bio to click on it.
Yeah, this is making my eyes glaze over, too.
But I think it did the job. I don’t actually know enough yet to even be able to tell.
First Opportunity to Show My Stuff: Brain Fart
Problem is? By the time I published my blog post late last night and shared it on FB in the couple or three places I usually do, I totally forgot how to actually, literally, POST on Instagram! Yeah, I’m saying I forgothow to do the single most basic function on (and the whole point of) the entire stupid platform.
So I’m sitting on my couch last night, eager to put my blog post ‘out there’ on Instagram, too – especially since I’d just written about it to all of you! – and I’m clicking on every damn icon I can see on the Instagram app on my phone. None of them take me where I want to go or let me do what I want to do. Mostly I’m just reminded that I need to complete my stupid bio.
Oh my Goddess. I wanted to scream.
And then, once I accidentally discovered the ‘entry’ screen (and I still don’t know what I tapped to get there), I couldn’t even figure out if it would somehow access the photo that I’d included in the blog and publish that as the ‘accompanying’ photo (like FB does) – or if I had to publish a photo independently, from my phone’s photo archive, and then include the link to my blog post in the comment area.
My head was swimming by this time.
Hence the random photo of our Boston Terrier, Sheila, pretending to be Princess Leia (even though she actually bears a much more uncanny resemblance to Yoda).
Moving Forward, Figuring It Out
The bottom line, therefore, is that I’m still figuring this out. I know some of you are clearly adept at IG and others of you, while you may be trying to make me feel good (and it worked, thanks) by telling me so, admitted to being in the same boat as I am. You know who you are: the ‘I have a name on Instagram too, but haven’t used it yet’ gang.
My pledge to you: I will be your guinea owl! We can figure this out – together. And I will report back on how much fun and success I’m having as an Instagrammer.
In the meantime, here’s both a photo of a rock formation on the Siberian steppe south of Lake Baikal (above). And another photo of Sheila, her son Spartacus, and Cletus. Our Black and White Triumvirate enjoying a bit of warmth and respite in front of the hearth fire .
I had quite an unexpected and emotionally fraught ‘moment’ in a grocery store parking lot today. Nothing like celebrating the Winter Solstice with intensity, I say.
I was checking my text messages and emails before running in for a few items, when all of a sudden a grocery cart rammed into my car door. The loud whomp, which physically jarred me and felt like it surely had dented the entire side of my car, scared the heck out of me. Then, in an eye-blink, that fear turned to rage.
I jumped out of my car (there were two empty handicapped spaces to my left, and beyond those, the driving lanes and then the market itself) furiously looking for the culprit who’d carelessly sent the cart careening into my vehicle. Let me note here: I’m expressing how I felt, which might generously be called…hyperbolic?
Anyway, as I say, I jumped out of my car looking for my transgressor. The only person I saw anywhere near me was an older man who had parked his car facing mine, but one space to my left. His car was pulled up to a handicapped-only parking sign which was affixed to a substantial metal pole about 4” in diameter and 4’ high. I glimpsed him as he was folding himself into his driver’s seat.
Assessment of the Situation Made
I immediately surmised that he’d shoved his cart into the space in front of his car (and beside mine), perhaps thinking it might get hung up or wedged in place by the parking sign pole, obviously not thinking twice about the consequences. I assumed the worst.
I knew he’d heard the cart smack into my door. It created a very loud bang. And the way he was getting into his car, he just looked guilty to me. Like he was avoiding making eye contact.
With barely a thought, other than a consuming wave of indignation and the sense that I was not going to just pretend it hadn’t happened, I grabbed the cart and looking directly at that man, who by this time was sitting in the driver’s seat and looking at me through his windshield, shouted how ignorant that was. “What the hell? What is wrong with you that you think it’s OK to do that?” I yelled, not really looking for an answer. I slammed the cart into the parking sign post in front of him. While I was tempted in my fury to smack it into his car, I didn’t. Obviously.
I could see him yelling – or at least mouthing – something back at me, but his angry face made me not want to get into this any further. So I sat back in my car and tried to decide whether I just wanted to leave or whether I would fulfill my marketing mission. I decided to go in.
Moving On
Watching him out of the corner of my eye, I deliberately took the cart from where it still stood ‘parked’ against the post and walked across the lanes of the parking lot and into the store. I noticed he was still sitting in his car, looking down, perhaps texting someone himself? I didn’t trust him…
Entering the store, I snagged my hot peppers (which in retrospect I probably didn’t need!) and onions and returned to my car. A quick trip.
Nevertheless, I thought it odd that he was still in the parking lot. Was he going to confront me? Ugh.
I left the offending cart up with the other carts beside the entrance to the market and returned to my car. Feeling a little stalked, I glanced toward the man with a dirty look, warding off any bullshit. No luck. He opened his door and started yelling at me.
Confrontation
I’d already started getting into my car when he started yelling, so I tossed my veggies into the passenger seat and stood up, turning toward him. All I heard was, “…your fucking car…”
“Excuse me?” I said, dripping snark and attitude, but trying to be the calm one (now).
“Did you think I pushed that cart into your car?” he demanded.
I turned to look at him square in the eyes and said quietly, “Well, yes, I did.”
He looked a little surprised, perhaps that I answered quietly? I don’t know. But he responded, still defensively and a bit aggressively himself, “Well, I didn’t. I heard it hit your door and – ”
“I am really sorry,” I said, interrupting him. There was something about the way he said what he said or the look on his face or something, but I immediately believed him. And I immediately and unequivocally felt ashamed. I felt awful.
A Total Shift in Energy and Attitude
Absolutely everything about this man’s energy shifted right before my eyes. I could tell he believed me, too, and trusted my sincerity.
“Yes,” I continued, “I assumed you’d done it because you were the only person anywhere around when I jumped out to grab the cart.”
By this time, I’d walked over to his car, where he had the door slightly open and his window down, his left hand resting on the bottom of the window frame.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I returned my little cart over there,” gesturing to the cart return coral in the row across from and behind his car, “and was just getting into my car when I heard that one slam into your door.”
“I am so terribly sorry,” I repeated, touching his hand. “I was a jerk. I really was. I think the bang of it startled me so much that I over-reacted, and then I just assumed you hadn’t cared because my car is old…”
“No, I didn’t do it,” he repeated, probably just confirming out loud one more time what he’d been saying to himself the whole time I was in the market. “But thank you for speaking to me.”
“Thank you, too,” I said. “Again, I’m really sorry.” I looked him in the eyes and smiled. “I hope you have a really nice holiday and I’m glad we cleared this up.”
“Me too,” he said, smiling back.
Reflection – and Gratitude
As I drove away from that incident I contemplated how the entire situation had completely transformed in a way I never would have expected.
I’m so grateful it did. I have no idea what that man was thinking or experiencing. Perhaps he is lonely, or grieving. Perhaps he is facing a dire diagnosis – or someone he loves was just taken from him.
I thought about the compassion of yesterday and how quick I was to anger today. (Which, I have to say, was really weird in and of itself. I am not one to usually react like that.) It made me realize just how little we know about how anyone, at any given moment, is perceiving something that we, too, are experiencing. And how easily it is to misunderstand – or be misunderstood.
I’m so grateful this gentleman and I were able to transmute that moment of darkness and turn it into light.
An intense solstice experience indeed – probably exacerbated by the full moon!
Once again, if you’d asked me this morning what tonight’s post would be about, ‘magic’ would not have occurred to me, just as ‘trust’ wasn’t on my radar yesterday.
In case you didn’t notice, I was feeling a bit…passionate when I wrote last night’s post. Hard as it may be to believe, I’d actually brought it down a couple notches by the time I wrote the post. (You can imagine what it was like earlier that evening; it wasn’t pretty.) Indeed, I actually think I’ve been suffering from an adrenaline hangover all day today. My body aches and I’ve felt exhausted. Like a wet dishrag, actually. Just wrung the heck out.
Anyway, although Raven (which is associated with ‘Magic’ in the Medicine Cards), was not what I picked on my day this morning, it did end up being chosen by me in another context. And as the day unfolded, I honestly could feel Raven exercising its influence, even after the primary purpose for choosing it had passed. Indeed, I felt it working with the situation about which I was so upset yesterday.
While there are a couple of particularly salient paragraphs I could quote, I’m going to settle for just a few portions:
“If you have chosen Raven, magic is in the air. Do not try to figure it out; you cannot. It is the power of the unknown at work, and something special is about to happen. (…)
It may be time to call Raven as a courier to carry an intention, some healing energy, a thought, or a message. Raven is the patron of smoke signals or spirit messages represented by smoke. (…)
Remember, this magic moment came from the void of darkness, and the challenge is to bring it to light. In doing so you will have honored the magician within.”
Hurt Feelings Abounded
As it turns out, hurt feelings abounded last night, and not just on my end. Out of the darkness of that sense that I had unwittingly uncovered a betrayal from a completely unexpected source, the two of us were able to bring light to the situation.
Reflecting on the heartfelt emails that went back and forth between us today, I can only say that I know for certain both of us encountered magic. The volcanic eruption that occurred yesterday took us both completely by surprise. And yet, because we do have the level of trust that I described as only one tier below that of my inner circle of closest family, we each cared enough to express ourselves with utter vulnerability and honesty.
Need I say how startlingly rare that is in the world?
In the end, I am called upon to trust. I do not need the documentary proof that may or may not exist. I choose to rely on my instincts, and trust. I choose to listen to Raven, and embrace the magic.
Oh – one last thing? Moose was underneath that Raven. Wow.
I imagine it’s not easy being married to me. (When Karl reads this tomorrow morning, he’ll probably choke on his coffee.)
Instead of making you guess what I’m talking about, I will cut straight to it.
Every day, over our morning coffee and card picks, I have added a new facet to our morning: I ask him to weigh in on my blog. Poor guy. Every damn day. (Actually, that’s not true. It was true for maybe the first week; but since then, he has come to realize that he, too, is ‘in this for the long haul,’ and thus is going to need to provide me with some feedback every day. So now he tends to volunteer it.)
He has surprised me on a few – liking a couple that I thought were sort of lame, mostly. And yesterday’s post was not stellar. I knew it when I wrote it. But I thought it might have earned points for being written in a slightly different style – with more dialogue, specifically.
— Just tryin’ to change things up, folks! —
But he kind of grimaced after letting me know he’d read the post and I knew his expression spoke the truth.
Looking for Honesty – Gentle, but True
And believe me, as much as I want him to love every pearl that flows from my fingertips, more than any kudos he could possibly heap upon me I want him to be honest. Gently honest, perhaps; but absolutely, unequivocally, truthful. I do not ever want to think or feel the slightest suspicion that he is blowing smoke in my direction and telling me what I want to hear as opposed to what he really thinks.
So I took his grimace in stride, and we agreed that I’d known going into this devotional practice that some days I would struggle to have anything to say. Indeed, as I’m pretty sure I’ve said before – I cannot allow myself to fully contemplate how many days I’ve committed to saying something – ha ha, even though it’s right up there in the heading each and every day.
Imagine my surprise, then, when I had an email conversation about half an hour later with a dear friend in which she specifically pointed out what she’d enjoyed about the post! The little things that had made her smile, including the fact that my missive was an appreciation of the technician who’d come out to fix my laptop – a welcome deviation from the usual tendency to bitch-post about service in our society.
It’s Not for Me to Judge
Janet’s email to me was a timely and very welcome reminder about perspective. It is easy to get caught up in musing about topics we consider deep, important, profound, or moving. It’s easy to feel like those are the things we ‘should’ be thinking or caring about on a regular basis. Otherwise, it’s a waste of time, right?
Maybe not.
The last thing I want anyone reading my 1111 Devotion posts to feel is that they’re a waste of time. But I’m hearing (if I listen to the message I feel Karl and Janet were both giving me today) that it’s not for me to judge.
Looking into the future, I know that, really and truly, if I am going to write a post every single day for the next 1094 days, I am going to be called upon to trust my muse. Be it Spirit, my allies, my intuition, whatever… I will need to trust that whatever flows through my fingertips is meant for someone, even if it’s ‘only’ me. Even if it’s just the satisfaction of fulfilling my commitment.
But deep down, I hope there will be at least one other person ‘out there’ whose perspective will allow them to feel a kinship with me that day. Who will smile, or think about something a little differently, because we had a chance to connect.
