Let Us Go Down Some More

Time and our bodies carry on while we practice planning without a certain future.  I find it more real, harder, far more vulnerable, and more rewarding.  How do we live into what once was a square chart of certainty, called a calendar, and its remains, the continual question mark of, “should we plan it or leave it open?”  With our plan no longer our compass, instead we chart by sunrise and sunset, the ripeness of the fruit, the presence or absence of the birdsong.  Maybe it’s a first that one of your few gentle and steady companions– the tree outside, the squirrel on the fence, the critters of your place bring you authentic solace, comfort, even companionship?  When all the great gods of being here and there have left the scene, we might admit that the trade is not too bad.
It doesn’t mean I’m without my own impatient eagerness to “get going”.  Or without a healthy but cautious gaze set on how far into the subtle and natural world I could go while we all wait for the green light.  But amidst the uncertainty, the not knowing how long we have, I find there is stil a gently rhythm, a kind of ‘there, there’ gentle soothing that one might recall receiving once upon a time.  Where does the gentleness arise from?  When there are no promises, how do we rest?
I think it’s the same when we surrender to the healing arc.  The first glance of the trajectory can bring up such fear that you can wonder whose idea this might have been in the first place.  Once into it, it’s pretty confirming, it can feel bad, in the most familiar and repulsive way.  Then we have a choice.  It’s usually right at the moment where you’re sure you’re ready to turn the whole thing around and chalk it up to “I almost did it” something grabs you and takes your further.  What does the grabbing, I’m not sure.  But before you’ve figured out where the exit button is, you’re into a new state of consciousness, every cell knows it.  You’re becoming a new thing.
I don’t know if I’ve stepped into my new thing after all this yet, or it the world has either.  I say, “yet”, so I must sense it could be coming.  I asked myself somewhere part way through Covid lockdown, “what am I becoming given all this?”. I’ve had my hunches about the world’s becoming, knowing part of it rides on choosing it.
As the months wear on, and I am now missing the gatherings, the music, the multiple conversations, all in one room, I suspect the thing that brought us here is not done with us yet.  I suspect there is even more touching down, even more of the something that could grab us, deepening us, knocking on our covid-closed doors, before transmuting us into the new.
I write to say I’m still listening, still wondering, still letting the impurities rise to the surface.  I’m happy to see that nature thrives, as I’m sure you’ve noticed too.  Maybe we are cleaning things up on the insides–our insides.  I’m saying I’ll keep going if you will.  Let’s see what we’re all becoming.  For now if it’s dark, or unclear, or even just boring, let’s include the ‘there, there’ with the thing that’s grabbing us.  We all come out the other side.