THE TENDERNESS OF LISTENING

  

Are you sometimes doing too many things you don't want to do?  Too much time with the news, managing the household, doing errands, sitting in traffic?  Today I spent an hour sorting through a financial issue and I'm lucky it didn't take longer.  We've never been masters of our time.  And that doesn't even count work.  Or, to whine a bit more, it doesn't count the state of American politics or, even bigger, the health of our family and friends.  I wonder if you need help as often as I do.   

One way to face hard times is to rely on our faith.  I mention that first because sometimes we may only remember to let God enfold us when all else has failed.  We forget that faith is not just for when one of us is at the hospice door.  I usually remember to give my fears to God somewhere later along the worry continuum than first.  To ask God to help, save, comfort and defend whoever I am worried about, including me. 

 I also have a book that teaches mindfulness-based compassionate living.  Its called A Book That Takes Its Time, An Unhurried Adventure in Creative Mindfulness (flowmagazine.com; Workman.com), but there are many.  Mine is the kind of mindfulness workbook you can dip into and it seems to respond to whatever mood you bring to it.  If you happen to be sad, as I have been from time to time lately, it tends to help.  Knowing why you're sad or anxious or whatever emotion needs your attention, can mitigate those feelings, let them pass as feelings always do.  

The last chapter in this thoughtful book is called "Time to be Kind."  Most of my marginalia is in this chapter, jottings and underlines.  Who can't learn more about when and how to be kinder?  One person who needs kindness is ourself.  Experts say that more compassion, both for self and others, makes us worry less and makes us happier.  Compassion isn't judgment; maybe it's the opposite.  But for sure it's listening.  If we're not sleeping well or can't concentrate, we might need an emotional rebalance.  We might need to make our world smaller (stay home, garden and cook, be tender . . . ) or larger (spend more time with others who also need help, tell a friend how we're feeling, be tender . . . ).  Only listening to our bodies will let us know which.  Most of us are strong enough not only to listen to ourselves, but also give this gift to someone else.

We know that life is a balance of highs and lows, joys and griefs.  We have ourselves and each-other.  We  have today.  We have a body to temporarily house our soul which is ever-lasting. We have God and our faith.  This isn't scarcity, this is abundance. 

There's a mantra that to me goes well with my faith (or yours or none).  I don't know if I read it or thought of it myself, but it seems to complement our quest to live with kindness and compassion.   Just words to bring us back from the anxiety that floats in, under and around us these days.  The mantra is Seek, Believe, Trust, Hope.  It's a reminder to do just that:  seek (breathe), believe (breathe), trust(breathe), hope (breathe). 

Thank you for listening.  

Nina Naomi 

 

 

 

 

WE DON'T LIVE TO OURSELVES OR DIE TO OURSELVES

We can be an adventurer at heart and also love to be home.  As we move from summer to Fall and then into winter, we remember that everyone and everything needs some quiet time. We might see the leaves and think the beauty lies there, then see them fall and think the beauty lies on the ground in the piles of yellow, red and brown.  Then look up into the bone structure of the landscape.  

I love bare branches, the Halloween of it all, the way they reach and bend, clutching the air.  There is promise in a bare branch.  A Fall Day is a multiple cups of tea kind of day where you realize that life is too short to leave the key anywhere but in your own pocket. In Fall we realize that happiness is everyday joys lined up in a row.  

Fresh air, clean water, food, companionship and warmth.  Not everyone has these simple needs met.  If ours are, we must acknowledge the good in our life. If these needs are met, each stage of life is abundant:  childhood, adulthood, parenthood, grandparenthood and old age. Or being a friend, auntie or mentor. If these needs are met, we can sit by the window when it rains and contemplate, listening to our bodies and souls, or take a walk outside, or spend time with loved ones.  If these needs are met, we must see that others have the same chances, give, help, pray but don't stop there.

Life isn't perfect, but it does have perfect moments.  There are times we reemerge, refresh, even thrive. We live in our perfect imperfect homes, consoling ourselves and others when we need it. We pray, cry and hold each other.  We realize that being alive, just that, is so wonderful that we never need say we're bored, or too tired to help, or not interested.  We liberate ourselves by doing good things for others.  

As well, we enjoy our quiet moments. We look at our lives and hold on to some things and let others go. We remember what Ghandi said, "There is more to life than increasing its speed."  We make time for walks and thank God to be alive in our broken world.  We seriously try to fix it.  We aren't apathetic--we don't live that quietly. And we don't wait for extraordinary opportunities.  We seize common occasions and do our best. 

We learn what we have to get used to.  Aging.  Less relevance.  Even death.  We learn to trust life, which is the same as trusting God.  We find out that we are happier than we ever knew with the simpler things in life.  It surprises us.  We discover that we are OK where we are.  That being somewhere is more important than getting somewhere, a saying we now know is true. 

We have a few good people in our lives.  We love life even more than when it was new to us.  We live simply and well.  Or well because simply.  We don't live to ourselves or die to ourselves; we are the Lord's.  (Romans 14:7-8)

In peace, Nina Naomi

FACING GREAT LOSS

 

Have you noticed that abundance and lack are the same?  The same circumstances that could feel mean at one moment, overflow with richness at others.  Even, strangely, the greatest of losses can feed abundance.  Losing a son--born January 28 many years ago-- to cancer, I was desolate.  All who lose a child are.  Once when driving to the hospital, I saw a young man jog in front of my slowed car.  "Why is he healthy and my son not?" my tortured mind asked.    

But when I stood at the gurney after breath had ceased, I felt how blessed it was to have had this wonderful boy for 33 years.  From the moment of his diagnosis, the blessing of his life outweighed the loss of his life.  Never would I have traded having him to avoid the pain of losing him.   

And don't you feel the same about your great losses?  Not that heartbreak doesn't overwhelm. There's no healthy way to skip grief.  The stronger the love, the greater the suffering.  We don't want to forget.  But love is stronger than death.  That we know.  It is also, if not as often said, stronger than grief.  So that we, mostly and in good time, feel the abundant blessing rather than the stabbing loss.  

I wonder how it's possible to feel rich when we look at life's ledger.  Not to minimize our hardships, but we often do.  Even after losing someone, we can feel rich that they were in our life.  It would be a strange thankyou to let a death turn us bitter and resentful.  Like turning up our nose at growing older, failing to appreciate the gift of years as they accumulate.   

It seems like gratitude unlocks life's fulness.  It can turn any meal into a feast.  Gratitude turns what we have into enough.  Confusion becomes clarity.   We accept the reality of human limitations, and the reality of death.  And then, miracle of all, we accept the reality of resurrection.    

Thank you, Lord, for the gift of your Son, who after 33 years of life endured death and after 3 days was resurrected.   And in that way, we know that you understand our grief and grant us reprieve.   AMEN 

  

"PUT YOUR EAR DOWN TO YOUR SOUL AND LISTEN HARD"

I know you've noticed.  The ebb and flow of the tides, the appearance and disappearance of the sun, the rising and waning of the moon . . . the cycle of the seasons, our menstrual cycle, the nine months of gestation, the movement from infancy to adulthood, from adulthood to old age . . . the change from health to sickness (and sometimes sickness to health).  All of life is rhythm.  

Like overlapping stories, there is rising action, a climax, falling action and dénouement happening in different spheres all the day long.  

We sleep and wake, we walk and settle, we race into space and hunker under the stairs.  We find comfort in repetition.  In our bed, we sleep like spoons every night; turn to the left, turn to the right until daylight parts darkness and enters the room.  

I know you've noticed.  The more we listen, the more we create.   We hear bird song and hum a tune.  We hear leaves rustle and with acorns and foliage make a tablescape.   We see, hear and feel the whole color spectrum and we mix, swirl, dab and drip paint.  We hear a story and retell it to everyone's delight.  Or create a ballet or an opera.  We listen to strangers arguing and it becomes a play; or to family dynamics and out comes a novel; or to our own inner dialogue and we write a memoir.  We listen to our hearts and journal.  We hear the rain and cry.  The poet Anne Sexton (1928-1974) says, "Put your ear down to your soul and listen hard."

I know you've noticed.  Abundance and lack are parallel realities.  Every day we make a choice which one to inhabit.  When we treat the present moment sacramentally, we live abundantly.  If we accept God as our silent companion, we live abundantly.  As we learn to pause and live in the adagio, we live abundantly.  

I'm sure you've noticed.  God owns the heavens, but He gives us the earth.  If the only prayer we say in our lifetime is "Thank you," that would be enough.  "Gratitude," says a French proverb, "is the heart's memory." No matter how deep our misery, we love the earth, and it loves us back.  Nothing is more abundant:  over and over 365 new mornings and starlit evenings; 52 promising weeks; 12 months of possibilities; and 4 resplendent seasons.  A tapestry.  

Soon outside winter's darkness will spread and we must search for the light inside.  Let us find it in daily rhythm, in listening and in our beloved earth, for which we give naught but thanks.  

                                                In peace, Nina Naomi