WALK SOFTLY UON THE EARTH

A Parting Blessing
Walk softly upon the earth.
May its beauty forever surround you,
Its wonders forever astound you,
May its wisdom delight you, its music invite you
To dance and to play and to sing.
May you love and be loved by all you meet.
May you know and practice compassion.
Rejoice in the earth and in all of creation.
Rejoice in life.

What a perfect blessing for springtime when the earth's beauty is newly fresh. I don't dance much but I do play and sing.  And the world has been calling for our compassion.  Well-honed by Covid, our empathy finds no lack of resting places, from Ukraine to the forest fires in New Mexico and beyond.  There's even the new concept of empathy fatigue, as if God would allow us that excuse. 

In 2008 composer and church musician Alfred V. Fedak (b. 1953) set this traditional text to music.  It is a widely-performed anthem.  I've seen the first line written as, "I walk softly upon the Earth" and previously thought about its many meanings and wondered what it might mean to each of us.  What a good discussion topic this might make.  

So how can we walk softly? Perhaps the meaning is ecological, like leaving no footprint from our hike or overnight camping.  Perhaps it's camping itself instead of flying. Not trying to visit every remote corner of the planet.  Or picking up neighborhood litter.  Becoming or being a plant person.  Not using pesticides, making our yards safe for bugs and birds and puppies.  

Surely, indisputably, it's peace instead of war, one of those things over which we have so little control, especially right now when we want (need) to help the Ukrainian people.  There's no idealism in a war zone.

But walking softly could also mean no tantrums when our way is thwarted, no snide remarks or pointless anger. Is Twitter anything else?  It could mean no self-absorption, no secondary gain from everything we do, congratulating others instead of ourselves, making a space for others' footprints instead of our own.  When we walk softly we make peace where we can, all those thousands of data points that don't include Vladimir Putin.  

Much easier for most of us, is walking softly by reusing and recycling, loving our vintage jackets and purses, the hand-me-down china, the cedar chest, the bulky furniture that is more memory than style.  Our grandson shops flea markets for cast-iron cooking skillets.  Our niece is into vinyl--the 33 1/3 RPM records some of us (me) used to have.  When you have as little as they, you tend to spend wisely. 

Walking softly could also mean caring for whatever is old, including people--listening to the stories of the old who, in fact, are interesting if only we let them be.  No one listened better to her grandmother than our daughter.  Even now she could educate us on her grandma's life.  Why is it that listening often skips a generation? 

Walking softly certainly means  being a good steward of our surroundings however large or small.  Of our friendships, our marriages, our family relationships, and ourselves.  Walking softly with those we love might mean not tallying, accepting apologies, even ones barely spoken.  After all, we know the signs of sorrow.  It might mean recognizing that anyone can change.  Or falling in love again with the same person.  Or admitting that the pandemic took a toll on our friendships and making extra effort.  

How do we take care of ourselves softly?  Maybe with love, nurture and tenderness.  Not self-criticism.  Change, certainly, but not scorn or disdain.  

The third-to-the-last line of the blessing is "May you know and practice compassion."  I'm suspecting that if we do this we will rejoice in life.  

In peace, Nina Naomi

"WHAT HAPPENS NOW IS HAPPENING TO US"

"We have arrived.  What happens now is happening to us."

Anna Seghers, born Anna (Netty) Reiling (1900-1983)

A German Jewish writer who escaped Nazi Germany wrote these words in 1939, eighty-one years ago.  In her historical novel The Seventh Cross she had reached the concentration camp, which she avoided but where other members of her family would perish.  In 1939 she could not know the outcome.  But she felt a moment of recognition, that moment when we see ourselves as historical subjects.  When from an imaginary future platform we look back to see the importance of our present lives. 

For weeks and months now this has been us.  The coronavirus has arrived.  So has the social reckoning about race.  What the virus is doing is being done to us.  Whether racism can be eradicated will be decided by us.  Wherever we live, on whatever continent in whatever country or state, what happens now is on our watch.  We are the ones making history, everyone alive today. 

Strange but I don't see these words as negative.  I like it that whatever happens, happens to us all. Most of us understand that we're in the present together and however the future unspools we'll be there together too. ("No Man Is an Island," 5/29/20)

I've touted www.Mindful.org before.  Today in my in-box were three questions:

1. How can I love myself today?
2. How can I love others today?
3. How can I love the world today?
   

When I was in the throes of parenthood I never thought about loving myself.  If I practiced compassion toward myself it went unnoticed by me.  Love and care for the children was automatic, but I didn't think much about the world either.  Nothing to brag about. 

But life is different now.  Everyday I'm loving the world, nurturing my own green spaces, keeping the butterfly bushes healthy, feeding the birds, contributing to the right causes.  Wearing face coverings and wishing everyone were.  Thinking about safety and friendships and vocations in new ways.  You are too, aren't you?  We are doing this.     

   

COMPASSION FOR YOU; COMPASSION FOR ME

I ran across a lovely way to practice compassion during this stressful time.  I'd like to share it.  

First, take a minute to think about someone with whom you might want a sympathetic relationship, perhaps a colleague or person who is in your circle.  Perhaps a friend, a neutral person, or even a difficult one.  Or think of a person you want to treat better, perhaps someone you snapped at or were about to.  This might be someone who serves you or works for you.  A brief encounter with one of the people whose feelings we're not always so careful about.  Or think of a stranger, the mail carrier, a road worker, our health care workers.  Someone whom you may want to understand better. Even someone with whom you're at odds or dislike.  Once you've read through this, a person is more likely to come to mind.  At least that's how it worked for me.  It may not be in any of the categories I mentioned.  You'll find the right fit.  

Then say these phrases: 

This person [or name them] has feelings, thoughts and emotions, just like me.

This person at some time has experienced physical and emotional pain and suffering, just like me.

This person has been sad, just like me.

This person has been disappointed, just like me. 

This person has sometimes been angry, just like me.

This person has felt inadequate, just like me.

This person worries, just like me.

This person is frightened sometimes, just like me.

This person will die, just like me. 

This person wants to be caring and kind to others, just like me.

This person wants to be content with what life has given, just like me.

This person wishes to be free from pain and suffering, just like me. 

This person wishes to be safe, strong and healthy, just like me.  

This person wishes to be loved, just like me.  

As I wrote these phrases and as you read them, I bet we both felt like we were admitting something important about ourselves:  that we are frightened sometimes, that we worry, that we wish to be content with our lives.  Even that we too will die.  I will and you will, not just others, not just those who are passing in this pandemic.  

So I think the first thing that this exercise does is create self compassion.  We see ourselves as vulnerable and needing tenderness and understanding.  As we realize that others are like us, we see more clearly what we ourselves are like:  persons wishing to be safe, free from suffering, healthy, loved.  Persons who have experienced every emotion, every feeling, and every thought one can imagination.  We begin to treat ourselves as tenderly as a friend would, or a mother. 

Next, send the person you've chosen thoughts of well-being:  

I wish you the ability to navigate the difficulties in your life.  (Or whatever words fit best for you, such as  "May God help you to navigate the difficulties in your life.")

I wish that you'll be peaceful and content.  (Or, "With God's help and guidance may you be peaceful and content.")

I wish that you are loved because you and I are fellow human beings together in this world.  (Or, ". . . because you and I are children of God.")

Whatever best fits us and the person with whom we sharing our compassion practice.  As we do this I feel like we can't help but also send compassion to ourselves.  Good to do in these days. 

"If you want others to be happy,

practice compassion.

If you want to be happy,

practice compassion."

-Dalai Lama

FEEDING THE GOOD WOLF

You know the story of the two wolves?  A Native American grandfather was talking to his grandson.  He said, 

"I feel as if I have two wolves fighting in my heart.  One wolf is vengeful, angry, lying, arrogant, greedy and mean.  The other wolf is loving, serene, truthful, compassionate, generous and kind." 

His grandson asked him, 

"Which wolf will win the fight in your heart?"  

The grandfather answered, 

"The one I feed." 

Given the way things are, I feel like I'm hearing this story for the first time.  A story that reminds us of the power we have over our experiences and emotions. 

It's easy to feel like a victim in challenging times.  I was talking with my cousin.  She reminded me of the generations that lived through the Great Depression and World War II.  Before that World War I and the 1918 Spanish Flu pandemic, an influenza that lasted 3 years and infected a quarter of the world's population.  Since then the Vietnam and Civil Rights generation.  We could add the Black Lives Matter the #MeToo generation and now COVID-19.  It's our turn.  That doesn't make us victims, it makes us human.  

My mother, the Nina Naomi to whom I dedicate this blog, was named after two beloved family members who both died in the 1918 pandemic, a mother and baby together.  Generations later my cousin was named after all three of them.  One year she and I put down the top on her convertible and visited all the family graves in St. Louis that we could find, including that mother and child. We had the best time!  We were feeding the good wolf.  When I reminded her of this the other day she said, "Wouldn't all those people have loved it that we were visiting them?" 

For the most part I think we are all feeding the good wolf.  We recognize that when we self-isolate we are saving more lives than our own.  We act out of self-interest, yes, but we know that our interest serves the greater good.  We are taking personal and communal responsibility.  

I'm reminded of the battle so many face against cancer.  I overheard a patient say, "I've got a year of fighting in my path.  I have to look at little things as big things and big things as little things."  We understand that.  We are doing that now everyday as we learn how the coronavirus takes no prisoners.  My husband washed the windows today; this became a big thing; I am so grateful.  We will be able to see the sun streaming into the bedroom in the morning without the haze of pollen.  The small becomes large.  

By choosing to spend our time and thoughts in ways that keep us healthy we feed our good wolf. The patient in cancer treatment mulled it over, "Yes, I've got a tough year ahead, but I plan to smile everyday because a positive attitude is sometimes the only thing I have."  How brave.  The good wolf is winning; I would like mine to win too.  
                                                                      Nina Naomi

 

TODAY IS DIFFERENT

In a conversation once I said complaining, "My life isn't what I expected it to be."  A fair statement given the deaths in our family that summer.  "Whose is?" was the reply.  

I think a lot of us are feeling that way.  At least right now our lives are not what we expected them to be.  I don't need to list all the ways.   

I know of no new sickness among our circle of family or friends. And the friend who was in intensive care is home.  We give thanks.  But this morning I stood in line behind a young man wearing a protective mask. I had seen him before the pharmacy opened, stretched out on an out-of-the-way bench for customers. He lay there alone, eyes closed keeping his distance.   Tall, thin and with a shaved head, now he was kneeling at the pharmacy counter.  Too weak to stand for long, he waited on his knees as his prescriptions were filled.  My first thought was, "Here is someone to pray for."  Then he rose and slowly left the store.  

Each of us in line--three women all standing 6 feet apart--looked at him and at each other with visible compassion.  It was hard seeing this man, this stranger with whom it was so easy to feel kinship.  I don't believe I'll ever forget the sight he made.  Him tall enough to easily reach the counter while on his knees and me immediately thinking of prayer.  In a safer world I could have knelt beside him, though he would have surely found that strange.  After all, we were in a pharmacy not church.  After he left the three of us spoke about him briefly from our distances.   

I had a tall thin sick boy of my own a few years back, that summer that I mentioned.  I've written of him before ("The Sundial," 7/23/19).  I came home and lit a fire to ward off the inner chill and saw this:

Life is messy and complicated and we are afraid.

But we show up anyway.

All the changes of this season are not this difficult.  But for this post, I'll leave it with the picture of the young man kneeling and how he woke compassion in the women in line behind him. 

LOVING-KINDNESS MEDITATION

When you meditate you can also notice the softer

more subtle thoughts that you usually race past.

 

This morning I had time for a guided loving-kindness meditation.  A chance to enrich my fledgling meditation practice.  I needed it.  I'm still home recovering from a major surgery. That's why I had the morning free. You can find free audio resources for mindfulness meditation at www.Mindful.org.  "Healthy Mind, Healthy Life," that's the motto of Mindful.  

Because I rely upon God for help and guidance, I try to integrate my faith into my meditation and mindfulness practice.  Although I'm a beginner, it's not too hard to do.  In fact, I feel like it comes naturally. When I am focusing on my breathing I remember that it is God who created me, who gives me breath, who I call upon when I am anxious, distressed or afraid.  When I move from my breath to a body scan, I thank God for each part of my aging body.  In fact, we can thank God for age itself, for not leaving this precious earth before our time. 

I've practiced Yoga for years, but taken only one 10 week MBSR (Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction) course at Duke Integrative Medicine, signed up for a full Day of Meditation, and later a 3-Day Urban Retreat.  So, yes, a beginner.  But perfect after any of our 'Big' birthdays, or during life transitions (empty nests, job changes. . .), or after traumas or griefs or betrayals or anything that needs healing.  I've learned that much already.   

Today's guided meditation began with a focus on ourselves and on someone who loves us.  My mother I thought, or my husband, but finally chose God.  That kind of unconditional love fit the meditation.  Having God say to me, "May you be happy, may you be safe, may you be protected.  May you be free from pain [yes! I need that!], may you have health and well-being as much as is possible. . . . "  I know God doesn't promise these, not health, not freedom from pain or suffering; rather God promises to share our afflictions.  But I do believe that God wants wellness for us, wants safety for us, wants health and happiness for us.   

I always add, "May you be kind."  I want that for myself as well.  All these loving-kind wishes, for me and then as the meditation goes on, from me to others, and out into the world.  So much wonderful hope in this meditation.  Feeling the love of someone else for you; or of God for you; or you for yourself; or yourself for others. . . .

I am working to find more time for this each day.  I have tomorrow's guided meditation picked out:  "A Loving-Kindness Meditation to Boost Compassion" created by Dr. Emma Seppala of Stanford University.  How can we lose, each of us, our compassion out-flowing into our families and communities and from there to who knows where?  I am going to try.  Nina Naomi