Category Archives: self-isolating

Isolation Journal: Week Eleven – Grief

As long as we are on earth, the love that unites us will bring us suffering by our very contact with one another, because this love is the resetting of a Body of broken bones.
Even saints cannot live with saints on this earth without some anguish, without some pain at the difference that comes between them.
There are two things which [human beings] can do
about the pain of disunion with other [humans]. They can love or they can hate.

Hatred recoils from the sacrifice and the sorrow that are the price
of this resetting of bones. It refuses the pain of reunion.

But love, by its acceptance of the pain of reunion, begins to heal all wounds.
– Thomas Merton, “A Body of Broken Bones,” New Seeds of Contemplation

While people are dying in unimaginably large numbers, we are trying to go back to “normal” because it is our right and because we can’t afford to do otherwise. The racism in our country has jumped out at us while we are at our worst. Tragedy upon tragedy. Violence erupting. I don’t have many words today. Just feeling for the world’s pain.

A poem for the day:

06829de08fa5d9ce005e35242be8860fGrief
is the stuff
which drives us
to poetry
and short sentences.
Sorrow
for the world’s woes….
We barely find the will to speak.
O dear planet –
sisters,
brothers –
how we wish to hold you,
how we long
to cradle and rock
’til you are soothed.
“Love,” we sing.
We cast our life-preserving, life-restoring prayers.
O dear planet –
sisters, brothers –
words will not suffice.
Even prayers don’t do it –
only acts of love have the power of transformation.
Songs sung in unity come close.

How do I open my solitary, fearful heart
to your rage, your pain and despair?
How may I not drown in its torrents?
Grandmothers,
we call on your powerful love.
Great-grandmothers,
we call on your strength.
Ancestors,
we need your perspective and hard-won wisdom.

Holy One,
only you know how
to hold the cries
of rage, of anger,
hatred and retaliation.
100802115_1219493608412007_1974709581971980288_nOnly you
know how to
sing to us,
how to stitch us up
after we are torn to pieces.
Dear One,
the tearing is awful and ugly,
revealing all that we’d rather hide.
Teach us
how to see the wounds
and not cover them.
Teach us
how to heal the deep injuries,
without hiding our brokenness.
Vulnerable now,
don’t let us tidy up the mess.
Let it be seen
and felt.
Time to weep.
Time for honesty.
Only love –
the kind that knows and sees woundedness with honest eyes –
will do.
Then,
may the sacred thread of Spirit
begin the long process of
stitching up
our tattered souls.

Love, Reality, and Vulnerability,
Karen

Favorite thoughts of the week:

Pentecost, Prejudice, and Pandemic by Diana Butler Bass

If We Had a Real Leader by David Brooks

From Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.:

“…it is not enough for me to stand before you tonight and condemn riots. It would be morally irresponsible for me to do that without, at the same time, condemning the contingent, intolerable conditions that exist in our society. These conditions are the things that cause individuals to feel that they have no other alternative than to engage in violent rebellions to get attention. And I must say tonight that a riot is the language of the unheard. And what is it America has failed to hear?…It has failed to hear that the promises of freedom and justice have not been met. And it has failed to hear that large segments of white society are more concerned about tranquility and the status quo than about justice and humanity.”

From Nina Jonson, Robbinsdale, MN (Facebook post):

“My heart is as heavy as the air this morning, as heavy as the clouds of smoke.

It is not enough, but here is a prayer I shared with the children, youth and families from our church yesterday.

Everything right now takes away breath. Fear sucks it from our lungs. Viruses drag it out of our reach. Smoke wraps around it poisonously. People forcefully eject it from our throats. I have no answers today, but for those who can breathe, let every breath be a prayer.
Breathe support to the family of George Floyd.
Breathe love into our community.
Breathe justice into our streets.
Breathe peace into our country.
Breathe calm into our children.
Breathe safety into our black, brown and indigenous siblings.
Breathe joy into the space around you.
Breathe strength into our elders.
Breathe patience into yourself.
Breathe compassion into each other.
Breathe dreams for a better future into reality.
May it be so.”

 

Isolation Journal: Week 10 – Miracles in our midst

Every visible thing in this world is put in the charge of an angel.
– Augustine of Hippo, Eight Questions

Do not believe me simply because I have seen Heaven and Hell,
have discoursed with angels…. Believe me because
I tell you what your consciousness and intuitions will tell you
if you listen closely to their voice.
– Emanuel Swedenborg, Concerning Divine Love & Wisdom

IMG-0807In recent years, I have been thinking of writing down my life story – just for my kids, for posterity. This is something of a joke in my family because my mother’s “autobiography” upset all of her relatives (including her children). It definitely had something in it to upset everyone. I guess she just needed to get her perspective out there for all to hear. Oh well. But the story I’m thinking of putting down on paper isn’t from that perspective at all – a listing of all the hurts, upsets, and disappointments of life. I realized one day, just a few years back, that my life story is a series of miracles – one right after the other. Plenty of ups and downs, but whenever I was in desperate need of help, it always, always arrived.

I’ve told stories to my spiritual community about people on my journey who have, unbidden, entered my life and brought with them a message, a relief, or some comfort that I needed. This past week I’ve been reading an interesting book about angels and spirit guides which really – if I get critical thinking and analysis out of the way – would explain a lot of events in my life. (Yes, this is pretty “out there” and may be too woo-woo for you. That’s okay. I’m sharing this for others who may have inklings of what I’m talking about, but don’t like to say it out loud.)

IMG-0791It is my dear friend, Robin’s, birthday today. She wrote, this morning on Facebook, “This morning while I was having my coffee on my patio a white feather floated by me and there were no birds around. So, I googled it: ‘This is the most common angel feather and is thought to be a sign of faith and protection. A white feather can also be your Angel telling you that any loved ones in heaven are safe and well.’” She concluded by saying, “Thank you Heidi and Gammy, the best birthday present ever.” What a beautiful story, symbol and message. And to think that Google was the intermediary! But, knowing Robin, she already knew what this meant. She just wanted written confirmation. 🙂

I’ve had angels watching over me since early childhood. And I have needed their help because I’ve gotten myself into many predicaments. The earliest one that I’ve been told about is when I very quietly fell into a pool as a toddler while my mom was deep in conversation with her friend, Shirley. Mother said that I went in head first and was sinking straight to the bottom without making a sound or a motion when she noticed, jumped up, and caught me by the ankle, pulling me out to safety. She was always mystified by how calm I was, how like a lead weight I was, and how she happened to look up at precisely the right moment. Swimming lessons began almost the moment we got home.

IMG-0799The other story my mother found even more traumatic and that she never could quite explain was when our family went to see the Chinese New Year parade in China Town (in San Francisco) when I was around three years old. The crowd that gathers for this event is huge and tightly packed on the streets. I was old enough to not want to be held or carried, and heavy enough for my mom to agree to just hold my hand. Because of the crowd, she and I got separated from my dad and sisters. As she told the story, we were packed so tight as the dragon began to go by and the crowd celebrated, that she couldn’t move. But when the main attraction passed, the crowd began to move like an excited river, with a lot of force and momentum completely heedless of anything in its path. She tried to pick me up but was unable to reach me. She said, “Out of nowhere a very big man appeared and could see the panic on my face. He looked down and saw you there and, without a word, he just planted himself there like a brick wall between you and the crowd. I started crying. When at last I was able to bend down and pick you up, I looked up to thank him and he was nowhere to be seen. He was just gone.” These are stories I’ve been told most of my life – but I don’t remember either of them. I am claustrophobic, though, and I get panicked in crowded rooms. My mom thought there was a connection.

And then there is my first conscious childhood memory of a miracle. I’ve told the story to my spiritual community and I count it as the moment I really had a visceral connection to the Divine. I’ll share it with you here. Picture a tired and stressed mother taking me, her daughter of age seven or eight, to the beach. She needed peace and quiet and time to write in her journal. It was too cold and foggy to be in the water so I was told in no uncertain terms to stay out of the water and to stay where she could see me. She said, “If you can see me, I can see you.” Contrary to what my husband says when he imagines what I was like as a kid, I must have been somewhat well-behaved at times, because she was so confident that I’d do what she said that she never looked around to find me again. I played in the sand for awhile, then I turned around and started to explore the sandy, brush-covered hillside. I climbed up on little animal paths through the brambles. I was a very confident climber since I climbed fences and trees all day at home. But I didn’t have much experience with hills. Somehow or another, I got myself up on a sort of cliff or overhang and scurried up on the dusty, dry hill and got to where I couldn’t move forward or backward. There was nothing to hang onto – no brush or bramble. And looking behind me, it was steep, dusty, and would mean a long fall if I slipped. I tried every available stick of grass, handhold or foothold and there was nothing strong enough to move me up or hold me as I tried to go back. I yelled for help, first timidly, then as loud as I could. No response. The crashing waves below, must have muted my cries. I could still see my mom in the distance, but she didn’t look up. I started to cry. Then I asked God to please help me (something I don’t remember ever doing before). At that moment or very shortly after, something shifted. I felt calmer. I looked around and there, against the hillside – just where I had been looking and finding nothing before – was a drainpipe. A drain pipe! I couldn’t believe my eyes. I shifted a bit, reached for it and got ahold. It was anchored strongly enough that I could use it to support me as I crept up the hill past the steep, almost vertical, section. As I got to the top, to the parking lot above the beach, I looked down. Where did that come from? Why was this tiny drain even there? I joyfully, but shakily, ran down the stairway from the parking lot and ran back to my mom. I plopped down on her blanket to tell her the story and she got upset with me for getting it all sandy. She asked for just a few more minutes of “peace and quiet” so the story went untold. It wasn’t until I was in my twenties, in a conversation with an Episcopal priest, that I ever told the story again – but I pondered it for years – my own deep knowing that God came to my rescue. I now think that an angel placed the drainpipe there.

I love Annie Dillard’s writing, because she is both highly rational and scientific and highly mystical. Her memoirs are considered non-fiction. In one passage, she describes a solitary and awe-inspiring moment in her life that I have shared in sermons throughout the years. Perhaps I repeat it because it captures that odd sensation that there is more to what is in front of us than meets the eye – a sense of the transformation of the ordinary. This story she tells is about a day when she was walking near a farm on a dirt road and everything changed – the silence of the field next to her overwhelmed her.

She writes: The roosters across the road started, answering the proclamation [of the lone maniac bird] or cranking out another round, arhythmically, interrupting.… I shifted along the fence to see if either of the owners was coming or going. To the rooster I said nothing but only stared… When I was turned away in this manner, the silence gathered and struck me. It bashed me broadside from the heavens above me like yard goods; ten acres of fallen, invisible sky choked the fields. The pastures on either side of the road turned green in a surrealistic fashion, monstrous, impeccable, as if they were holding their breaths. The roosters stopped. All the things of the world – the field and the fencing, the road, a parked orange truck – were stricken and self- conscious…” “…[T]he silent fields were the real world, eternity’s outpost in time, whose look I remembered but never like this… I turned away, willful, and the whole show vanished. The realness of things disassembled…” She continues, “Several months later walking past the farm on the way to a volleyball game, I remarked to a friend…, ‘There are angels in those fields.’ Angels! That silence so grave and so stricken, that choked and unbearable green! I have rarely been so surprised at something I’ve said. Angels!” (from Teaching a Stone to Talk).

Okay, I’ve rambled about these encounters with the miraculous for way too long today, but I guess I’m attempting to make the point that even through this dull, inactive phase of life in which some of us currently find ourselves, we may still be surprised. It is possible to see that this life – despite politicians, uncaring humans, repetition, and pandemics – may be filled to the brim with magic, with spiritual presence. If we have the eyes to see, miracles abound. Now if I can just remember….

Love, magic, and miracles to you,
Karen

P.S. I’d love to hear your miracle stories, too!

IMG-0833

Isolation Journal: Week 8 -Abundant Craziness

As for me and my house
We will stay where we at.
– 1st Isolations 24:7
(From SistasinZion on Facebook)

IMG-0608I have no idea what to write at this point. I don’t think this week will go down as a wise, measured, or well-reasoned one in U.S. history (to put it mildly). No one in the country seems to really have a good plan – though I know some very good people are trying to give us one (and then another, and another).  This response to the pandemic is an experiment through and through. Conspiracy theories abound.

Unfortunately, the seeds of deep division in our country – political, racial, economic, gender-related, spiritual – have grown into a thick jungle of thorny weeds. The only response to this mire seems to be wild flailing whacks with a machete.

Any plan is upsetting to one group or the other. Racial hatred is again in the news the past few days with vivid and disturbing tragedy. Our national leader seeks to divide rather than unite and to fan the flames of hatred with every tweet. Behind the scenes ugly values are undoing the foundations of justice at a rapid pace (there does seem to be a plan in place in this area). Ugh.

Some U.S. states are making gradual returns to “normal” by allowing parts of the workforce to return. Some are opening restaurants, beaches, churches, others are still banning such gatherings. Angry people are refusing to wear a mask as a political “right” to liberty, and armed, masked (white) protesters have taken to various capitols to protest stay-at-home orders with very few consequences. Ugh again.

willieHere’s a mildly amusing reality. The good and bored and winter-worn folk in Minnesota plan to hold the well-beloved Fishing Opener (a huge state-wide annual weekend event) this weekend (while schools are still closed and shelter in place orders remain). The governor cancelled the “Governor’s Opener” but most everything else is still in place. Let’s see…pickup trucks and SUV’s hauling boats to lakes and resorts all over the state (resorts whose rental cabins are still closed). Only family groups in each boat (in theory) and round-trip is supposed to use only one tank of gas. Uh huh. In theory also, everyone will be socially distanced as they back their boats into the water at the few boat launches on each lake. Social distancing (and masks?) also when they buy fishing licenses, purchase munchies, bait, and so on. Okay. Then add massive quantities of beer and socially starved individuals to the scenario. No doubt this is going to go smoothly. Ditto in Wisconsin. What could possibly go wrong?

Okay, now, where in the world is the Sacred in the midst of these amusing, wacky, disturbing, and seriously menacing realities? Whew. Luckily, the answer is still: Everywhere.

This week, though, I need to step waaaaaaaaay back from social media and news to see this. Each morning, I have started my day with coffee on the patio as the songs of various birds serenade and Nature goes about her business. Today, a small red bird fluttered overhead, a jack rabbit ran by and two coyotes cleared out the brush as they cruised through in search of a morning snack.

D70AAD99-F9EF-4F1F-A6AB-AACF0FBF1601Joy this week has been found in natural beauty,  humor, friendship, music, Minecraft with my granddaughter, occasional texts from my daughters and friends, video chat with my sisters and sharing the occasional tasty morsel of food. (Yes, one more Chipotle order.) I am still “casting the Net of Light” each morning and night – sending love and light to friends and family near and far, to people who are hurting, to creation, to life.

What ways are you finding to support your soul? What contributions to the world’s light, peace, and love have you been making? Sometimes, the only answer we can come up with is that we’re doing our best to take care of ourselves and to not carry illness to our neighbors. If so, I believe that our best is all that is required.

This week, I’m going to try to incorporate Thich Nhat Hanh’s advice on how to cope with things (especially people) who drive you crazy. He writes, “When you plant lettuce, if it does not grow well, you don’t blame the lettuce. You look for reasons it is not doing well. It may need fertilizer, or more water, or less sun. You never blame the lettuce. Yet if we have problems with our friends or family, we blame the other person. But if we know how to take care of them, they will grow well, like the lettuce. Blaming has no positive effect at all, nor does trying to persuade using reason and argument. That is my experience. No blame, no reasoning, no argument, just understanding. If you understand, and you show that you understand, you can love, and the situation will change.”

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can
and wisdom to know the difference.  

Love, grace, humor and blessings to you, – Karen

225D72D6-C9C0-49C1-B957-303242C939A2

 

Isolation Journal: Week 7 – One true thing

The tree of life, my soul has seen,
laden with fruit and always green.
– Elizabeth Poston

IMG_0596At this point we are all getting down to brass tacks, I think. Comedians are struggling to find fresh humor, government leaders, gurus and ministers are struggling to find anything new or enlightening to say (though I truly do appreciate the effort). The rest of us struggle to find purpose in our daily routines – other than just biding our time. There’s this faint little air of desperation that kind of lingers in the background – even in our jokes.

Here’s my rant for the day (Disclaimer: This paragraph is completely optional and probably not very helpful):

I am tired of most online conversations (and I’ve only had a few), tired of online worship, workshops, and audiobooks. I am sick to death of Hallmark and murder mysteries. I’m tired of my boring healthy food routine. (We again placed a Chipotle order this week – savored every bite.) I am so sick of political bickering that I really need to follow my Colorado friends’ example and howl. I’m tired of trying to figure out if I need to wear a facemask on my walks in 95-plus-degree weather and I’m tired of crossing the street or leaving the sidewalk to avoid my unmasked neighbors. I’m tired of those flagrantly huddling in groups, laughing and conspiring about the rest of us who are apparently “just paranoid.” I’m tired of my own thoughts. The list continues: tired of bathing my groceries, washing my hands, and so on and so forth ad infinitum. Ugh!

So, here’s where the brass tacks come in. What do I actually love?

I love the Holy, the Divine. I love my husband, our kids and grandkids, our siblings, their families, cousins, aunts and uncle. I love my friends – though I long to hang out with them in person. I love Mother Earth and Mother Nature. I love delicious food, fresh water, safe shelter. I love laughing. I love the freedom to walk on safe streets. I love art and music. I love the moments when I can find my center, my core and feel its connection to all of these beloved things above.

Are we all at that point? Are we getting tired of Covid-humor, Covid-rules, Covid-monotony, Zoom torture, and television? Is that why beaches are crowded and the police are having to enforce social distancing rules? I know a few of my friends are handling this with more grace than I. But I’m pretty sure it is not just me who is losing it.

I shared this article by Amy Weatherly on Facebook this morning and thought that this says it all. Weatherly writes:

“I think it was Brene Brown who told a story about a village where all the women washed clothes together down by the river. When they all got washing machines, there was a sudden outbreak of depression and no one could figure out why.

“It wasn’t the washing machines in and of themselves. It was the absence of time spent doing things together. It was the absence of community.

“Friends, we’ve gotten so independent.

“We’re ‘fine’ we tell ourselves even when in reality we’re depressed, we’re overwhelmed, we’re lonely, and we’re hurting. ‘We’re fine, we’re just too busy right now’ we say when days, weeks, months, and years go by without connecting with friends. I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s so easy to say even when it’s not true.

“We’ve become so isolated and it’s hard to know how to get back….”

This morning, I sat out on the patio and sipped my coffee. I reached out to the Divine and asked for support, for connection and presence. As I did so, that deep down sadness popped up again, a few tears flowed. I asked the emotion where it had come from, what it needed. It just wanted to be held, acknowledged, and allowed to be. It needed gentle, loving care.

IMG_0588I again asked the Divine for presence, for wisdom, for support. While the birds sang and quails warbled, a breeze blew softly. I watched a lizard on my fence walk sideways, then do pushups in the sun. And then I saw this. Last summer a huge bud appeared on this cactus, then it just folded up and faded away. Today, there was a fragile pink-tinged white bloom with gorgeous yellow center on the most unattractive, lumpy cactus.

And then I thought of this phrase, this Truth that I had put into words long ago:

“…The only thing of which I am sure is that God has been with me, is with me now and will always be with me. From that, I trust, when faced with other persons’ fears and crises that God has been with them, God is with them now, and God will always be with them. That is my one true thing. It is the point of reference from which I go out and come back. It is this truth that has allowed me to put IMG_0587my children on the school bus or the airplane. It is this truth that allows me to sit by a loved one who is gravely ill and not be so afraid. It is this truth that under-girds my hope for humankind.”

Some things don’t change. This one true thing – “brass tack” or touchstone – still rings true for me.

And so we put one foot in front of the other, trusting that on some plane of existence – in the sacred dimension – we are always, always held. And if we need to, we can just lean back into that and let go of all our exhaustion and effort. This week, maybe lean back into your Truth. And then, together, we won’t need to make things into such a demanding duty. Maybe we can kind of luxuriate in the peace of being held. At least until we turn on the T.V…..

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
– Karen

P.S. Back in the days when I was delivering sermons, I came to realize that I hardly have any advice. There are only one or two things that I really, really know and, therefore, I say the same things over and over and over again in different words. And here we are again.

 

Isolation Journal: Week 6 on our “Blue Boat Home”

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you about mine.
Meanwhile, the world goes on….

– Mary Oliver, from “Wild Geese”

IMG-0519This sixth week of social distancing and isolation has gone by rather quickly. Or else I’m just losing track of time altogether. There have been up days, moments of boredom, sadness, and anxiety, but for the most part, this week has been quiet and calm. We have shelter, food, friends, family, health, and a beautiful world outside our door.

It is getting warmish here in our southwestern climate, so we will begin to walk in the morning next week. Tried out the A/C yesterday. This morning, I got up, sat on the patio and listened to the birds, sketched and later water-colored a bit. I listened to music as I painted. Earlier in the week, my birthday present from John – a hand drum – arrived. After I finished water-coloring, I tried drumming along with some of my favorite Kirtan chants. Very fun! I will do that again. There was an eclectic nature to the music I enjoyed today – from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir to Andrea Boccelli singing the Lord’s Prayer to a Sufi chant for Ramadan to Kirtan. Well rounded, I’d say.

The morning flew by in this pleasant way – and it didn’t occur to me until Noon that this was Friday – Journal check-in Day.

IMG-0524The political situation is one that triggers still – and I find that I feel agitated when I watch the news. I loved watching the World Health Organization’s press conference. It was a pleasant change to listen to sane and intelligent people who are truly doing their best to solve a crisis of global proportions, focusing on the well-being of human beings everywhere. I learned some things and understood other concepts more clearly. Sad that this is such a novelty.

My spiritual director spent an hour “companioning” me on Monday and that was very helpful. She again nudged me toward being gentle with myself, keeping things simple. A week ago, she sent me a copy of a blog I posted in 2017 and it was actually helpful to me this week to re-read my own advice to “soak in the love” during the April New Moon (which was this week). So that’s what I’ve been doing.

The many Earth Day postings people have shared this week have been great and inspiring. Along with Sharon McErlane’s advice about frequently casting the Net of Light (see her latest video session, below), the week has kept me in touch with Nature and Spirit at a deeper level. It feels calming and centering.

All in all, I am grateful for children and grandchildren who are healthy, a loving companion, the comforts of home, music, movement, beauty, Mother Earth, and the Divine. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all these blessings, Holy One.

Wishing you peace, health, love, and connection,  Karen

IMG-0511

Favorites of the Week:

Second Installment of the Net of Light gatherings with Sharon McErlane.

Imam Jamal Raman’s post for Ramadan – “South Asian Sufi devotional song and Whirling Dervish. Based on a saying by the Prophet Muhammad( pbuh) praising Hazrat Ali. Composed by the sage Amir Khusrao (d.1316 CE).”

Peter Mayer’s Earth Day “Blue Boat Home” – on Facebook and here’s his “Holy Now” (a long-time favorite).

2017 Post from Following the Golden Thread – for the April New Moon

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Week 5: Isolation Journal (I carry you in my heart…)

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
– e. e. cummings

IMG_0449I had some intense sadness this week…hurt feelings for a moment put a “crack” into my shell that allowed sadness to well out and spill over. I tended to my hurting heart in gentle ways, but really only set it aside.

Most of the week I’ve been ricocheting off the floors, ceiling and walls in a sort of empty-headed routine (getting very little done, I might add). Best moments include Tuesday’s soul collage session with my friend by phone. I had trouble coming into focus long enough to pick images I resonated with – but eventually got momentum, scissors and glue were employed, and finished cards began to appear in front of me.

Each day this week has included a walk – usually 3-4 miles, one day near 5 miles. Today will be a lazy day to give my heel a short break. The weather is warming so we now go later and later in the day. Soon it will become early and earlier to catch the cool morning air. We are looking forward to the switch but we aren’t quite ready. We have seen deer, lizards, bunnies and quail galore, a few coyotes at home, and the occasional javelina.

I must confess that social distancing with humans while walking is an imperfect art. We are not crowded here by any means, but John and I take the distance rules seriously – and we walk in the bike lane or cross the road as needed. There are spots on the route where this becomes challenging maybe once or twice per walk. I must write this up to, “we’re all doing our best” or else I would complain about my neighbors’ awareness or lack thereof. It has, for the most part, done away with the friendly social component of the neighborhood walk except for a wave here and there. There’s a certain tension one senses even in those speeding by as runners or cruising past at high speeds on bikes.

Wednesday we had a grocery delivery and it was so exciting. I told John that I get a little flutter in my heart seeing fresh raspberries, strawberries, and red bell peppers. He said, “You need to get out more.” Then added, “We all do.” Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed the bathing of groceries and gently tucking them each into their places in the pantry, cupboard or refrigerator.

IMG_0460I completely forgot to mention that Sunday was Easter and Monday was my birthday. Monday, I was showered with greetings and attention from beloved family and friends all day long. On Easter, I had spent the day doing church with friends from Colorado (via Zoom). We got to see the Easter happiness of the grandkids during video calls. Easter afternoon included a tasty meal and lots of Minecraft with two granddaughters, and an hour of chit chat with the youngest.

Anyway, on my b-day, my sister sent me a beautiful succulent plant via the florist. Who knew that florists were vital workers? Very cool. Homemade and virtual cards from the grandkids and a special Lord of the Rings birthday card from my daughters now adorn the house and my various “altars.” I hate to say that the highlight of the day from a material celebration standpoint was the delivery of some pizza (gluten and dairy-free for me), but it was like I was on a reality TV survival show and had just found a stash of the most delectable food. I wolfed it down at first, then paused to savor realizing that I might not see this again for some time. It was like a tangible connection to “normal” life for which I was starved.

IMG_0400Anyway, here we are on Friday – feels like two weeks later. In my meditation this morning, as I mentioned earlier, I touched on some real tenderness again, sadness, and heard the word “vulnerability.” Somewhere inside we are processing everything that is going on. Though there is a promise of states returning to more normalcy, we are not all feeling the comfort of this.

There have been moments of clarity this week in which I’ve had an awareness of another source of this vulnerability and pain. As a person whose almost entire female gene pool has in common traits of “control,” “resourcefulness” or (my husband might add) “stubborn individualism.” We don’t have great trust, overall, in other people to direct or protect us. We tend to want to chart our own path. We have reasons for these traits. The people in our lives who were supposed to be adept at protecting and directing did an often questionable (and in some cases downright lousy) job.

In addition to social isolation and upheaval in our lives – right now government leaders in charge of our well-being trigger us all day long. There is a degree of deceit and ineptitude that is overwhelming – especially for those of us who don’t trust others easily to begin with. Sane, grounded leaders shine out like beacons.

It brings me back to vulnerability. No amount of control, resourcefulness, or thinking ourselves out of predicaments is going to protect any one of us individually. Brene Brown writes that “vulnerability is the only bridge to build connection.” So, I’m not going to help you by pretending that I’ve got this all together. We’re not going to connect by demonstrating the big routines we’ve built into our new normal. Maybe we can build a bridge to one another by sharing the tenderness, the tears that overflow now and again when we least expect them. Maybe we can be each other’s Winnie the Pooh and Piglet (or Eeyore) and just hang out and let each other be where we are.

There’s a prayerful ritual that I have learned from Sharon McErlane and my friend, Constance, called, “casting the net of light.” When I have enough presence of mind, I do this in the morning or evening. Here’s how it’s done: Prayerfully and energetically – using our imaginations to assist – we envision the Net of Light which covers our earth, its people, creatures, plants, earth, air, water, everything, and connects us. We find our place on the Net, connect to it, and call in those other lights – friends, family, spiritual guides, angels and ancestors, our spiritual anchors, and we find connection. It was during this deep connection, today, that tears came. In the comforting connection of the Net there was enough security to allow vulnerable places to be held.

In Braving the Wilderness, Brene Brown reminds, “An experience of collective pain does not deliver us from grief or sadness; it is a ministry of presence. These moments remind us that we are not alone in our darkness and that our broken heart is connected to every heart that has known pain since the beginning of time.”

So, friends, my beloveds, I reach out to you. I need your presence on the great Net of Light now. And I hold you – your heart – in my heart.

Love, Karen

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Isolation Journal: Week Four (I think that’s right…maybe….)

Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing.
We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem,
but the truth is that things don’t really get solved.
They come together and they fall apart.
Then they come together again and fall apart again.
It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room
for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.

– Pema Chodron, When Things Fall Apart

Things do seem to have fallen apart and there is still room to fall some more. We feel like we’re on one of those elevators that begins to fall, stops, then falls some more and stops again. We don’t know if we’re at the bottom yet. I look around at this precarious juncture, feel terrified, and think, “Maybe it’s time for a cup of coffee” or “Time for another Hallmark movie or Britcom.”

Often, during this roller coaster ride (yes, mixing metaphors is allowed during lockdowns) it is easier to distract oneself, to find tiny avenues of comfort (coffee, movies, blankets, showers, food, walking) rather than to stop, sit still, and take in this moment’s reality. This week, with the support of some of my favorite people* – online and by telephone – I’ve had the opportunity to sit still and take in the moment. Despite my internal resistance and intense addiction to distraction right now, I’ve had moments of collective stillness and illumination with these folks, moments of deep peace.

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from Sufi Scribe, Facebook

On this day, there is global heaviness unrelated to the pandemic – it is both Good Friday and the third evening of Passover. Humans will take themselves through very painful memories concerning suffering, human failings and cruelty, and will recall those few women and men who found a way to be compassionate and present even during such times.

Moments of illumination, where we can find them, help us to shake off the cosmic heaviness and the “briefings,” “summaries” and alerts coming through the news media. One part of us takes in the data, the news, while the moments of stillness, acceptance, groundedness, and turning toward the Sacred help us to take in something else.

This morning the Friday Summary that popped up in my email was very grim – illness, death tolls, lack of resources, potential food shortages, economic meltdown, political stalemate and so on. As I took my shower following that mental jolt, the phrase that popped into my head was from Byron Katie’s “Four Questions” – “Can you absolutely know that it’s True?”

Katie points to the same reality as Pema Chodron – but she arrives there using a different set of tools. Katie suggests that you identify your stressful thoughts using her “Judge your neighbor” worksheet. Once you’ve written out your fears, stressors, and bald faced complaints, you apply the four questions to what you’ve written. The first question: “Is it true?” The second question sometimes brings one up short, “Can you absolutely know that it’s true?”

For example: If I write, “The world is falling apart. Everything is horrible.” Is it true? Yes. From my perspective, this is true and the news says it’s true. But can I absolutely know it is true? Hmmm…. Well…I suppose not. People are being extraordinarily heroic, sharing resources, sharing their lives and livelihoods. The earth and its creatures are having a IMG-0376hay day. Mountaintops are visible, waters are running more clear. Goats, deer, and sheep (even javelinas) are romping through towns unobstructed by traffic. And actually, now that I think of it and look around, it is a sunny day, flowers are blooming, I have fresh water to drink, I have adequate food, I have shelter, I even have enough TP for the next week or so – and chocolate. So, maybe I can’t absolutely say it is true that everything is horrible. (There are two more questions and interesting turnarounds on the worksheet. Check it out.)

But for the time it took us to write this stuff down, to apply the questions and sit with them, we have held our fears and faced them. We’ve looked at them from one side and another. And we’ve come out in another place. Even in much more dire circumstances, there is some miraculous transformation which can take place as one applies these questions – to any and all situations.

Pema Chodron writes:

“Fear is a universal experience. Even the smallest insect feels it. We wade in the tidal pools and put our finger near the soft, open bodies of sea anemones and they close up. Everything spontaneously does that. It’s not a terrible thing that we feel fear when faced with the unknown. It is part of being alive, something we all share. We react against the possibility of loneliness, of death, of not having anything to hold on to. Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth.
“If we commit ourselves to staying right where we are, then our experience becomes very vivid. Things become very clear when there is nowhere to escape.”

So, my summary of Week Four of my journal is that:

  • I’ve had moments of mindlessness – distraction to the point of forgetting which way I was going and why more than once (I also found my measuring tape in a most unlikely place).
  • I’ve had some very low moments of grief. The overwhelming death toll numbers in New York City, illness numbers here in the Navaho Nation, and the death of John Prine was an individual low point – he has been one of the sensitive and accurate narrators of life during my time – and I have just always liked his melodies, humility, hope, humor and grit.
  • IMG-0335I’ve had irrational fears (Do I feel odd? Am I getting sick? Did I remember to bleach the door handle after I washed and bathed the groceries?) including a dream about bugs and worms getting into the house, the food.
  • And I’ve had moments of joy – phone calls from grandkids, kids, friends, and walks with Johnny. I’ve even had some moments of enlightenment – thanks to my favorite shamans, gurus, ministers, and friends.

Several years ago, when I was really grieving and struggling with my sister’s cancer, my daughter sent me this quote from Pema:

Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation
can that which is indestructible be found in us.

I cried and cried and was deeply comforted by this truth. We can’t get to the core of things by floating around carefree. We find the indestructible connection, we find the eternal by coming face to face with our own impermanence.

As a collective, we have the opportunity to face this together. I am so grateful for taking this journey with all of you.

Love,
Karen

P.S. Another unlikely “winner” we’ve noticed during all of this. Trampoline sales appear to be skyrocketing.

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* Some favorites this week (in no particular order):

Contemplative Monk on Facebook (Bob Holmes)

The Four Winds Society (Alberto Villodo) on Facebook – livestream shaman updates

-The Psychology Babes on Facebook

Rumi, Saadi, Hafiz (Poems & Quotes) on Facebook

Netoflight.org (website)and Facebook (Sharon McErlane) – have enjoyed livestream events

Isolation Journal: Week Three (needing some Love)

Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and renew a right spirit within me.

Cast me not away from your presence
and take not your holy Spirit from me.

Give me the joy of you saving help again
and sustain me with your bountiful Spirit.
–     from Psalm 51

IMG-0220I am in a religious-y mood today, which probably makes sense. In two days it will be Palm Sunday which marks the beginning of Holy Week, the most solemn week in the Christian tradition. Passover begins next Wednesday – the Jewish celebration of the Exodus from slavery in Egypt and God’s sparing of the children of Israel from a deadly plague. It is a religious-y time. Undoubtedly, much will be made of the experience of suffering and the ultimately hopeful messages in these traditions in the week to come and parallels to our current situation will be drawn.

I am no longer tasked, though, with helping to make sense of such things for others (as I was in my ministry). I am, like many others who are now mostly retired, left instead to simply live the experiences life brings me from day to day. Primarily, the task for me now is to find meaning in the rhythms of the day. This is a challenge for those of us who have found our worth in serving others, or just in doing.

IMG-0266Most of this week has been quiet, with moments of true contentment in our sweet little life. We putter around, we clean and cook, we chat, we go for our walk. We had one joyful delivery of food and one mildly frustrating delivery (the frustration lies in the lack of control over things). Spring – nearly summer here in Arizona – brings beauty and new life. John and I are also celebrating 10 years of being back in contact with each other in just over a week – a reunion for which we are grateful each day.

We are all also living under stress and new circumstances – which change somewhat every hour. We have new rules, new routines. We have new challenges and fears. And we are bombarded with numbers, stories, theories, and fears by the dozens. We see people rising to heroics and people hoarding and buying handguns. We wonder where to look for wisdom and leadership.

So, today, I am sad. There’s no one particular reason. Mortality and the exhausting efforts to stay healthy have worn me down a bit. The world’s grief is palpable, loss is palpable. Danger lurks around every turn.

IMG-0248Oddly, I think part of it is also that my birthday is coming up, too. In adulthood, I have often had an emotional “dip” around my birthday. I don’t think I’m sad about getting older at birthday time. It feels like a grief about how life and gifts and things aren’t able to soothe the soul. Grief that stuff like food, presents, activities don’t deliver joy or healing.

When melancholy sets in like this, I’ve found only the most basic steps will help.

  • Being gentle with oneself. Curling up with a blanket and a book or movie, taking a hot bath, having a cry as needed, then a nap. Sometimes writing helps, music helps.
  • Subtle, real nourishment. Comfort food helps only a bit, but real nourishing food – like soup or stew – seems to help the healing along.
  • It helps to tell a friend that you’re feeling blue, feeling low. It especially helps to talk to a friend who won’t try to fix us, who will just walk with us and be with us as we find our way.
  • Words and prayers like the ones in the psalm, above, help me. This psalm has been one I have resonated with since my early 12 Step days. The words recognize that the one speaking them is off kilter – perhaps based on actions, or perhaps based on attitude – but they remind us that the Sacred is waiting, in fact invites us, to reunite and get back on track. Divine Love is waiting for each of us (as needed) with open arms. And I have learned again and again and again that there is nothing (yes, nothing) that can separate us from this Love.

I think we all need to give ourselves a little break right now. A break from high expectations. At least a momentary break from the rigors we are putting ourselves through. Spiritually and emotionally, we each need to be held for a moment in this divine Love and Compassion.

This reality brings to mind a chapter in a beloved book, Traveling Mercies, by Anne Lamott. In this memoir, Anne tells of the death of a beloved friend in her eighties and how it had really brought her to a low point. It was springtime and had been rainy, but her friend, Nashama, suggested that they go for a walk – so they did. Lamott writes:

Suddenly…the ground and vegetation at our feet began to get a little watery, and then we began to hear sucking noises, swampy quicksandy sucking noises, and pretty soon my overpriced walking sandals had been swallowed up by mud…

“Let me help you there, little lady,” I said. “I’ll go up first and then give you a hand.”
        …
“Is this a good idea?” she asked. “Are you braced?”

“Yes,” I insisted, and pulled her toward me, and she lifted up off the ground and moved upward a couple of feet, until I started sliding back down toward her and we both landed noisily on our butts in the mud….

I was laughing so hard that I felt maniacal and not at all sure that I wasn’t about to cry. But I felt like air was bubbling into a place inside me that hadn’t been getting much lately….

Against the sparkly black screen behind my eyes, all these people appeared, like people in a come-as-you-are fashion show, strangers to each but beloved by me. There were all the sick little kids we know, and all the friends who had died…and the old people in my family and church who had grown so suddenly frail.… And I thought to myself, “Well, no wonder you’re this sad.” The silence of the marsh was…profound….

When Neshama and I finally got up to go, I was still sad, but better. This is the most profound spiritual truth I know: that even when we’re most sure that love can’t conquer all, it seems to anyway. It goes down into the rat hole with us, in the guise of our friends, and there it swells and comforts. It gives us second winds, third winds, hundredth winds. It struck me that I have spent so much time trying to pump my way into feeling…solace.… The truth is that your spirits don’t rise until you get way down. Maybe it’s because this – the mud, the bottom – is where it all rises from…. At the marsh, all that mud and one old friend worked like a tenderizing mallet. Where before there had been tough fibers, hardness, and held breath, now there were mud, dirt, water, air, mess – and I felt soft and clean.   (Traveling Mercies, Pantheon Books, NY, 1999, pages 257-265.)

Go easy on yourself and your loved ones right now. We are all raw and hurting. No wonder we are all so sad underneath it all. Life is tough in a big, real way. But love – human or divine – can bring us through. Turn toward love, turn toward the Source of solace, and you will find that you are held.

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Isolation Journal: Week Two

I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long.
If we’re in each other’s dreams,
we can be together all the time.
– A.A. Milne

IMG-0169Last Sunday, I “attended” two full and one partial live-streamed worship. One was more technically successful than the others (must have had someone onboard who knew how to piece these things together – music, written prayers, speaker). The others, as many people discovered, had issues due to the internet capacity on Zoom and FaceBook livestream having overload issues. But they got their points across – their love and care – and all was done with isolation protocols intact.

Another online worship showed a congregation full of mostly elderly people and a regular procession up the center aisle…and it was live. Shocking! I went away making note of that congregation and observing that they apparently live in LaLa Land, not in Tucson.

Later in the week, I listened to pre-recorded meditations and did some chanting, as suggested by a friend. We’ve now got a list of great yoga classes from teachers I know, yoga nidra, gong bath, and other beautiful opportunities coming up – from Brene Brown, David Whyte, Deva Premal, and others. And don’t forget the “happy hour” (and A.A.) invites!

I find that I can only “fit” a few of these online activities in even living in isolation – maybe one or two a day. Then I need time just to be. To putter around and clean, to rest (even napping now and then), to take a break from social media and texting, to put together some nourishing food, hopefully, to exercise or, at minimum, sit in the sun.

Best moments:

  • IMG-0125More Minecraft with my granddaughter (mostly cheerful, but challenging one day – virtually pelting grandma with glass potion bottles) – pretty much like “real” playtime (LOL)
  • A playdate with my friend in which we spent a couple of hours doing soul collage (virtual togetherness)
  • Chatted and shared spiritual direction by phone with another friend twice. Very mentally and spiritually therapeutic
  • Exchanged numerous texts with family and friends encouraging one another – love, humor, support.

Yesterday:

  • Shared an hour, virtually, with church friends via Zoom
  • Picked up groceries from a grocery store parking lot and drove home the long way – the scenic route – which was scope for the imagination and refreshing to the mind (except for irritation at the pack of sweaty adult bicyclists – 10 or more – riding in a non-socially-distanced clump and clumsily crossing the busy roadway)
  • Unloaded the groceries using our special “outside stuff” gloves, I spent half an hour using the grocery sanitizing protocol from the video by Dr. Jeffrey VanWingen while John used his new clippers and cut his own hair on the patio (actually looks great!)
  • To celebrate, I then went wild and ordered lunch from Chipotle. (They had our food here in less time than we would have taken to get there and back – but don’t tell anyone, I don’t want them to be inundated next time we want to order. Also, next time, I will order food that can be zapped in the microwave – which I don’t generally use – before serving to terminate any virus germs in the food.)

IMG-0132We’ve now made it to the two-week mark from when we visited my sister. I’m relieved that none of us are having any illness symptoms – so it looks like we weren’t carriers as we thoughtlessly traveled and ignorantly left germs in our wake.

Yesterday, I watched a couple of movies, one of which was Disney’s “Christopher Robin.” It reminded me of the gift of slowing down and living simply and didn’t ramp up my anxiety.

Self observation:

  • As someone who generally brings a non-anxious presence into the world, I am very aware of moments (hours?) of turbulent anxiety.
  • I’m aware, also, of a cabin fever-type irritation that rears its ugly head, and I’m not as calm and self-possessed as I’d like to be (like wanting to shout, “Idiots!” at the cyclists we encountered)
  • The scope of our activities has really narrowed. We’re nesting to keep ourselves (we’re both in high risk groups) and others (many in our retirement community are in highest risk group) safe.

Basic self-care and self-love is in order! Prayer, meditation, walking, yoga, hot baths or showers, naps, nourishment and more.

We are all doing our best in slightly different ways. The wave of illness is quickly moving into our home states, cities and towns. Keep those lines of loving communication open. Share what is working for you with others. Patience, compassion, and love are the watchwords.

Do what you can to soak in the love and light – then share them where you are able.

Love you!
– Karen

P.S. When all else fails: Serenity Prayer, Psalm 23, Philippians 4:13, Gayatri Mantra,  Om mani padme hum….

 

LOVE AND LIGHT IN THE DESERT

Isolation Journal: Week One

All shall be well,
and all shall be well,
and all manner of thing shall be well.

– Dame Julian of Norwich

I’ve decided to journal experiences and observations of Pandemic of 2020.  The first entry will probably be longer than the next just to get caught up as life shifts suddenly. Feel free to comment with a similar summary of your week!

Today is Friday, March 20. We’ve been home since Monday. We had planned to now be in Minnesota taking care of our grandkids, after visiting my sister and brother-in-law. We visited my sister and her husband last weekend as planned and watched from the great Northland while the world started to shut down.

IMG-0055We brazenly went out to meals, shopped for groceries, etc. I had been very virus-conscious on the airplane – bringing wipes and precious hand sanitizer for our seats and trays – but once I got to my sister’s I didn’t really protect her from us. At the airport, I had wiped down our table for lunch, in the Northland, we didn’t do that. We hugged. We used my sister’s guest restroom, slept in their guest bedroom, sat at their table. I realized in hindsight that I did strip my sheets when we left and set them in her laundry room…but probably should have put them in the washer on “hot” and gotten them going. I wiped down the bathroom sink with a paper towel, but that’s it. I should have disinfected with my famous wipes. Ugh. Pandemic hindsight. My brother-in-law is in his eighties and has diabetes – so we were not thinking this all through yet – we should have been more careful.

We enjoyed our visit with them but gave them their first real glimpse of the pandemic on a trip to Target where they discovered empty shelves (all the typical first empty shelves). They began to worry.

After visiting from Friday to Sunday, we headed south three hours to the airport to drop our rental car where my daughter picked us up. At that point, my daughter and her husband had cancelled their trip to Italy (for obvious reasons) and were going instead to vacation in Hawaii, leaving Tuesday morning. We drove home, walked to the store, shared a meal, played with the kids and chatted. Hmmmm. Things were changing fast.

The college where my son-in-law is employed had decided to send all of the students home early, before break, taking all of their belongings (emptying dorm rooms). My daughter and her husband were now apprehensive about Hawaii plans because travel restrictions and crossing state borders were beginning to be an issue. They didn’t want to be in quarantine somewhere while their kids were there in Minnesota.

NorthfieldWe came up with the somewhat brilliant plan that we could all head to Arizona (on cheap fares), where we live, for a week or two – on spring break. The kids could play in the sun, splash in the hot tub, etc. That was the fledgling plan when we went to bed, but by morning we had all read some sobering math and articles on the exponential spread of the virus. We weren’t going to unnecessarily expose them all to travel risks. My daughter and son-in-law realized that they were staying home and that we needed to get ourselves home to Arizona. We had a nice breakfast and lunch, took a brisk walk around the campus and headed for the airport. It was a bittersweet goodbye. The kids struggled to understand why we were leaving so soon when we’d planned to be there to play for a week and a half.

Our flight was quiet except for those who were calming their nerves with alcohol. We took a non-stop and watched movies on our phones to calm ours. Our shuttle driver (similar to Lyft) had been able to reschedule and pick us up. He was a bit grouchy on this drive, because his life had changed economically in the five days we were gone. His income had been slashed by numerous cancellations. His frustration and anxiety was palpable. We gave him a slightly larger tip and wished him well. We were thrilled to walk into our home sweet (isolated and not contagious or infected) home. Whew!

We headed right to the grocery store though it was 8:30 at night. This was our first real shock – row after row of empty shelves, freezers, refrigerators. We got what we could to bolster supplies at home. We were grateful that we’d been to Costco and Natural Grocers before we had left on our trip and had adequate non-perishable supplies for a couple of weeks…maybe a month. The store had no eggs, little fresh or frozen meat, little dairy, no fresh or frozen veggies or fruits, little bread (and, of course, no TP or sanitizing products). Hmmmmm.

That was Monday night. We have now spent the past several days doing our travel laundry (didn’t think of doing it all in hot water…oh well…), resting, and doing other household chores. Yesterday morning we fortified ourselves with lists and headed once again to the grocery store (online orders were not possible anywhere). We got everything we needed except eggs. We discovered that many of our fussy or odd food preferences helps…everything is gone except for the almond flour or the whole grain unsweetened cereal. So we have what we need for awhile. Does that officially make us hoarders? Our freezer is full, our pantry is full.

We came close to many people (social distancing was not possible). I’ve enjoyed talking to people in check out lines and especially to the grocery store and other store workers each time I’ve gone to a store. They appreciate someone asking how they are doing and all have crazy stories to tell of the world gone mad. I keep repeating the first story we heard in northern Minnesota of the woman shopper who climbed up to the top of the pallets, tore open a TP case and started throwing TP down. The young man in the deli said, “So she could have fallen and died, but the TP was more important? Crazy!”

I was glad, yesterday, to observe the check-out workers who heard a woman speaking in Spanish about her daughter’s inability to find infant formula. Within minutes, four different clerks were telling her how to get what she needed at the store. Apparently, they are rationing these things – but the needed supplies were available. Good! Not as good a story as the checker at Safeway who told me they had at first tried to limit some items to two per customer. When she explained this to a customer trying to buy 25 identical frozen dinners, he threw one at her. She frowned and said, “I told him to throw the mac and cheese, not the good dinners.” We shook our heads in unison.

Maybe commiserating with the grocery clerks is my little assignment during these times. I should find something I can give them each time as a thank you. They are risking themselves for our needs and their necessity.

The most fun so far was yesterday, playing Minecraft online and hanging out with my Colorado granddaughter, who is eight years old. My older granddaughter helped me by phone to get into my game and into the correct world with her sister. I haven’t played Minecraft for a year, so I was pretty bad at just moving around – walking running, flying, swimming – and getting through doorways. This kid flew circles around me and ran me through the woods and the basements of dwellings and long hallways as I struggled to keep up. She has created a huge compound of buildings – kitchens, libraries, greenhouses, living and bedrooms, corrals for animals, fields of flowers and bees, lots of crops, woods, mine shafts leading to well-lit corridors and basements, cellars and supplies. Monsters lurking here and there (but we are in Creative mode, so no worries). She laughed hysterically as she led me though the hallways and I banged into walls, doors, lamps and struggled to fly up through the openings. She raced around in loops for awhile because she was so amused at my struggle to keep up. I was laughing, too. After an hour of virtual play, it felt like we’d actually been playing as we used to in her house when she set the rules and I needed to just participate in the process. Best virtual moment so far. Then she introduced me to the four baby chicks her mom bought when she heard school was cancelled – Sunflower, Blackout, Hiroko, and Copper.

My worst moment so far was last night reading a statistical prediction of the numbers who will become ill. My heart was very heavy for a bit.

Then a friend sent me a worldwide online event* that’s happening this weekend and I spend a little while listening to Deva Premal chant the Gayatri Mantra. That brought me back up. (Yes, I’m praying, too and sending and receiving love and light out there. But this was a connection to a wider community for a moment. That helped.)

I played some Boggle with my Colorado daughter last night online – we’d welcome suggestions for fun apps (without as many ads) of good word games.  She has an Android and I’m on an iPhone. One of my friends and I set a “play date” to do Soul cards together by FaceTime this week. Two of my favorite yoga classes are going online. I just have to set the time aside and do it! How great!

AZ doorwayMy Minnesota daughter says that they are easing into a relaxed home school schedule and looking to plant some spring seeds, etc. Amazon just delivered a 6-part warrior cat series that I’m going to read and discuss with my MN granddaughter. My friend is doing something similar with her grandson.

I guess that’s all for Week One. What was your best moment? Worst moment?

Peace, friends! Love you!

*Deva Premal & Miten online Global Meditation event tomorrow.