I love words. I love their nuances, their combinations, their rhythm. I love how they can convey emotions, tell stories, and express intentions. I love how they can build connections, nourish relationships, and open insights.
The past couple of weeks have been weighty. Weather disasters, politics, international conflicts, loved ones struggling … It’s hard being present to it all. Almost every day, there are words which surface in my email, my social media feed or my memory which help me remember what is true and courageous and beautiful … and sometimes bring me the gift of laughter.
“I believe you are being held with tenderness and delight.”
This was the opening sentence to a story about a father’s words of encouragement to his adult daughter who was experiencing overwhelming fear. She went on to write about how those simple words opened space in her for light and a shift toward hope.
“But I can’t live every day on high alert, and you can’t either. This is why the cocoon is necessary, why we have to have moments to go into the dark, safe places and let ourselves be nurtured.”
This is part of a longer, lovely piece by author Kailtin Curtice which reminded me that feeling tender and even overwhelmed is part of being a feeling, loving human. She reminded me that there can be comfort and care in the dark, and that it’s okay to shut out the chaos for awhile and give my own heart tender care. (You can find Kailtin Curtice on Substack as “The Liminality Journal”.)
“What if this is not the darkness of the tomb, but the darkness of the womb?”
These words by activist Valarie Kaur keep echoing through me, reminding me of the labour that is part and parcel of love, reminding me that hard times simply come with being alive, reminding me of a perspective that is much broader than this week, this month, or even this lifetime. (I highly recommend checking out Valarie’s website, valariekaur.com and her most recent book, Sage Warrior.)
“We were made for rough roads.”
I can’t remember who said this, but it has stuck with me. I was raised within a belief structure that taught that if I believed the “right” things, acted the “right” way, and made the “right” choices, I would be rewarded with an easy (although they called it “blessed”) life. The shadow side of those teachings is that if life is hard, it’s because I’ve somehow failed, didn’t have enough “character” or worst of all, that “God is testing me”, implying that even suffering is something I have to “get right”.
I’ve lived long enough to recognize the fallacy of those teachings. The truth is that choosing to be a person who cares, who pays attention to what is happening in the world, who is present to life and love and faith brings me the entire spectrum of feelings and experiences.
Looking back over history, I can see how every generation has faced hard times. Awful things happening are not the exception but rather the rule in the overall rhythm of life. In the words of one of my beloved mentors, “We were made for these times.” This is what soul work is about. As I stay present to what is unfolding in my own heart and in the world around me, I grow soul strength. I learn how to bear the burden of being alive, which also gives me greater capacity to experience the joys of my humanity.
As others put their experiences into words, and I am privileged to read those words, I feel reconnected with my own courage, my own hope, my own stamina. I feel as if I’m holding hands with people I’ve never met. I have a visceral sense of my connectedness to a vast community of humans working together to add to the light in our world.
In conclusion, I often also recall these words spoken at the end of every episode of a comedy show my husband and I used to watch together:
“On behalf of myself and Harold and the whole gang up here at Possum Lodge … keep your still on the ice, and remember, I’m pulling for ya. We’re all in this together.” Canadian comedian Red Green, The Red Green Show
PS/ May laughter surprise you today.
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