Cross-sharing this post from my deep dive in response to our times and personal practice in this moment…
Photo by Marco Ceschi on Unsplash
While we have been watching the coronavirus creep ever-closer to Maine in the last few weeks, it wasn’t until this weekend that it really landed for me. The reality of our moment is so surreal that it was hard to wrap my head around it until my school closed for two weeks, daycare closed, a curfew was issued in my town, and the number of local confirmed cases started skyrocketing by the day. My family is in self quarantine after a case was confirmed in the school where I have been working, and many of my closest friends have likewise opted to hunker down in their homes (a privilege not all are afforded).
My mind has met this moment with waves of panic, denial, uncertainty, acceptance, horror, and macabre humor, sometimes one after the next. I have met with this experience by pushing it away with Netflix and dark chocolate peanut butter cups, embracing it fully in moments of compassionate awareness, and everywhere in between. While mindfulness invites us to turn towards the experience, as one of my favorite teachers reminded us at our virtual community sit last night, it is perfectly fine to take a break and turn away. To distract and distance. Sometimes we can use our mindfulness to see that we need a break from our mindfulness.
And when we are ready to turn towards, can we do so with a softened gaze?
There has been an incredible outpouring of resource sharing from free and reduced cost online yoga and mindfulness streaming. I am grateful that my inbox is overflowing with posts, recommendations, and invitations. AND, suddenly being thrust into the role of Stay-At-Home mom has been a difficult transition, and made it hard for me to engage in these offerings.
And yet, the practice remains…
I gently name the pain: “I am suffering” as the anxiety/panic/fear arises. No explanation, no trying to figure it out or rationalize it away, I just name that reality.
I clarify for myself, again and again, what is in and out of my control. I take charge of that which is within, and cede that which is outside.
I take note of the birds in flight, and the wind blowing against my face, and the light greenery that is reemerging as my toddler and I walk around the block.
I snuggle her extra close throughout the day, grateful for this connection and her health.
We practice Cosmic Kids Yoga videos together (Smiling Mind and Stop, Breathe, & Think are great options to practice with your older kiddos at home).
I use guided resources on Insight Timer when I wake up in the middle of the night.
I use my spotty internet connection to join in Zoom-facilitated community (temporarily free for educators) with my local sitting group and the wider Mindful Schools community.
I feel a deep awareness of our interconnected reality. I send love out to all of those who suffer.
I feel grateful that we have resources within our family and local community to withstand this challenge, and I am actively looking for ways to continue to offer concrete support.
I read and reread Lynn Ungar’s poem:
Pandemic
What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.
And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.
Promise this world your love–
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.