Weekend haiku post retreat

I was off the grid for the weekend, a planned retreat to my primitive place in the woods before we began experiencing as a collective the aftermath of George Floyd’s murder and the chaos that descended upon the Twin Cities.

Friday the following haiku tumbled forth:

Our hearts grieve deeply

Sorrow of generations

Collective trauma 

***

On Saturday, after reading old journals and during a re-read of Dani Shapiro’s memoir devotion, the following emerged:

Our paradoxes

Ideas contradicting

And nested within

***

Ferns at 1224 Cramer
A lovely stand of ferns captured while on a hike 5/30/2020.

A part of me felt anxiety while I was off the grid, missing the news, away from the internet. I was not even able to receive texts unless the wind was right and my cell intermittently had reception. Another part of me felt grateful for the retreat and the space away from knowing all of the heartbreaking external events of the world.

I used the weekend for reading past journals (I’m up to 2016 after about a year of reviewing my collection which goes back to 1992), reflection, writing and grieving. I went on walks and listened to what my inner voice seemed to request. I fasted for 20 hours on Saturday, allowing my body to be awake to any and all sensations.

Retreating requires enormous privilege, I realize. And it is something that feeds me psychologically and spiritually. Since I was very young I have always valued and treasured solitude and personal space. I wish it is something everyone could have when it is necessary.

After a retreat, there is the return. We live together in an interdependent web. We love each other. We hurt each other. We forgive each other. We acknowledge and apologize for past misdeeds. We resolve to treat each other with more respect. We understand that how we treat others is a reflection of our beliefs. We examine and unpack those beliefs, conditioned patterns we did not necessarily create consciously.

In the end, many of us realize that we are not separate from others. All living beings contain a divine spark, an unlikely miracle of energy and matter, defying the physical law of entropy.

How can we learn to value and love all humans, and all creatures of this earth? How can we remember our divine connection, our shared fate on this small planet? 

These are questions for which I have no answers. Yet I keep asking them and my soul keeps beckoning me to live these questions as I strive to serve.

***

cristy@meximinnesotana.com

 

 

 

No time like the present

There is no time like the present.

Actually that’s the only time there is, this present moment. The past exists in your mind as memory. The future only exists in your imagination.

Times like these make that all the more clear to me. The only actions we can take are in the present.

No Time Like the Present

True, we can plan for the future. But our ideas about the future are only a guess. In February, did anyone plan for not being able to get to the gym for a month starting March 17th?

I had to laugh at the U.S. President’s remarks on Wednesday. (Otherwise I would cry. Really.) He’s acting like we can and should “start-up” the economy again just like re-booting a computer. He actually thinks he is in control of the virus and the economy! Wow.

You and I know that is absurd and dangerous.  It becomes all the more clear that when the ego (i.e. left-brained “me-oriented” mental chatter) drives the world, disaster is the result.

Surrender to this moment. Do only the next relevant thing.

The next moment will take care of itself. And you will calm yourself by breathing, not trying to imagine EVERY possible scenario at once.

Think of Dorothy, who said “there’s no place like home.” And close your eyes, feel your feet on the floor, or your butt in a chair and say:

“There’s no time like the present.” Then live your life, one moment, and one breath at a time. Humanity is resilient. You are no exception.

Love you all,

cristy@meximinnesota.com