Category: mental health

What If One Word Could Say It?

by Kay F. Klinkenborg

What if one word could provide clarity for the wide range of emotions we have all felt during COVID-19 since March 2020? Try: languishing.  Dr. Adam Grant wrote an article: “There’s A Name for the Blah You’re Feeling:  It’s called Languishing” for the NY Times, April 19, 2021.

I have heard a wide range of emotions this year: anxiety, fear, empty, listless, depressed, trouble concentrating, and life without a defined direction to name a few. And there have been many sad experiences of loss and resulting grief of loved ones and friends. Also grief of the loss of our normal routines, limitations of what, how and when we could do our predictable routines.      

Grant notes that “we think about mental health on a spectrum from depression to flourishing… being the peak of wellbeing.”  Prior to COVID many have experienced or known someone close who experiences depression. When depressed you feel despondent, worthless, no energy to move forward. “Languishing is the neglected middle child of mental health” states Grant. One of Webster’s definitions: to lose vigor or vitality.

Remember acknowledging that you weren’t functioning at full capacity, but couldn’t say why? You had no overt symptoms or behaviors to indicate mental illness. I recall days of ‘trying to make myself focus.’ Maybe accomplishing one or two of five goals I would have normally set for the day. I have read other articles that comment that during COVID, people were struggling with the long-haul impact of restrictions and the unknown. 

Languishing is the void between depression and flourishing—an absence of wellbeing, but you don’t quite feel yourself either—your motivation is dulled, notes Grant. The potential risk of remaining in ‘languish’ is that one might not notice you are slipping toward depression. You might not be experiencing joy or delight and suddenly realize you haven’t felt that for some time. 

Say it aloud, languishing, name it. Grant writes that might be the first step to learning more about it; because we haven’t done many studies on languishing. “Languishing is common and shared.” And thus, is not an abnormal reaction. We have not been through a pandemic before.  

The professionals admit there is still a lot to learn about this term.

Grant proposes one of the first things to do in coping with languishing is to ‘be in the flow.’  Fr. Richard Rohr in his book, Divine Dance, writes in numerous chapters about the concept of “flow.” To be in the flow is the experience of trusting the moment and staying focused on the smallest of goals. Being present and not letting your mind wonder hither and yon. Don’t spend energy trying to figure out how to control the situation or others or debating solutions for the biggest of problems that professionals/ elected officials are set out to do. Take a deep breath and remember the Creator designed you, and lives in you and all of creation. Don’t go the judgmental path…go the path of discovery the smallest awes.

I find that spiritually to own languishing means I have to name it and experience it and claim that God is a verb in the midst of all that I am witnessing, hearing, and experiencing. Where is God in what I see today? Where is God in what I heard about today from others? Stay in the flow. We have not been alone in this pandemic; nor are we alone post-pandemic.

Second, set boundaries as to when you are not to be interrupted.  You need breathing space to rest and process all that has transpired…even…especially even now… as we see a ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ in America as more are vaccinated.  All processing doesn’t happen in the exact moment…when we can’t name what is happening. We need to bring some grace to ourselves and others for quite reflective time. A time for energy to be restored. Maybe it is a time when you read a novel, do some craft work, have a project. The important thing…it is your time with boundaries and no interruptions.

Third, pick small goals (Grant). This pandemic was a BIG LOSS. Maybe a short word game, one meaningful conversation with a trusted friend 1-2 times a week to own the gift of that friendship to you and to them. Maybe you color in an adult coloring book.  It doesn’t matter the goal…make it a small one. No one is here to judge you about how you spend your time or what you need to do to complete a goal that feels satisfying. 

One of the most important sentences in Grant’s article is: “Languishing is not merely in our heads…it’s in our circumstance.” You didn’t cause this…you aren’t making it worse. Many journalists, mental health professionals, and trauma psychologists remind us we are entering a post-pandemic reality. And with that will be some who have some Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for which they need to seek some professional health; particularly if they aren’t eating, can’t motivate themselves to get up, are isolating from others, and feel ‘blue’ beyond what they can manage. 

We can now begin with the lists above to address how the post-pandemic awareness of what languishing is and has been in our past 15 months. Give voice, name it, there is power in naming what is happening with you. Your courage to name it…will encourage others to name it too…and that empowers each of you to move forward with positive steps into more ‘thriving’ modes of living. 

Kay F. Klinkenborg © May 2021                                         

Church of the Palms

Kay is a Spiritual Director; Retired: RN, LMFT and Clinical Member AAMFT. She chairs the Life Long Learning Board at Church of the Palms, serves on the CARE TEAM, and the W.I.S.E. Steering Committee.         

An Antidote for My Racing Mind

by Rev. Deb Worley

“Happy are those…[whose] delight is in the law of the Lord, 
and on [God’s] law they meditate day and night. 
They are like trees planted by streams of water, 
which yield their fruit in its season…” 

(from Psalm 1)

As I lay in bed last week, for hours and hours…and hours…, waiting for my body to recover from whatever bug I had caught that laid me up (or more accurately, laid me down!), there were times when my mind went in a million different directions. On occasion, as it raced, in an attempt to calm it down, I found myself reciting some of these simple phrases: “God is good…God is faithful…God is with us….”

Those phrases are not necessarily found among the 613 commandments found in the Hebrew Bible–“the law of the Lord”–and as such, are likely not what the psalmist was referring to when he wrote about those happy people who “delight in the law of the Lord,” meditating on it nonstop. 

But to me, those phrases–God is good…God is faithful…God is with us–encapsulate much of the truth and beauty and power of our faith. 

And when I can think about those things rather than the things that cause me anxiety or fear, then I become more solidly grounded–kind of like a tree. 

When I can think about those things rather than all the things I don’t know or don’t understand, then I become more deeply nourished–kind of like a tree whose roots are fed by nearby water. 

When I can think about those things rather than trying to desperately figure out how I can solve, fix, or help everyone or everything around me, then I become less tied to both my efforts and the immediate outcomes and tangible results, and more trusting of things happening as and when they need to–kind of life a tree whose roots are fed by nearby water, whose fruit grows when it’s time for the fruit to grow. 

I’m pretty sure I will never find delight in meditating on the 613 laws found in the Old Testament. But I trust I will continue to find meaning in meditating on the simple and profound truths found in phrases such as “God is good” and “God is faithful” and “God is with us.”.

I wonder if you do, too?

Peace be with us all.
Deb

Photo by Michael & Diane Weidner on Unsplash

Racial Injustice and Mental Health

guest post by Ray Littleford of Desert Palm UCC; this post originally appeared in the Desert Breeze

February 14 may be Valentine’s Day, and in the United Church of Christ, it is also designated as Racial Justice Sunday, and the theme across the denomination is Compassionate Community.  It is well established that experiencing racial discrimination often leads to mental health problems that detract from quality-of-life over the course of a year or even a lifetime.  Numerous studies have found that rates of anxiety, depression and posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) are significantly higher among minority groups in the United States. 

Historically, Dr. Benjamin Rush, a signer of the Declaration of Independence and the first American physician to study mental disorders, declared that Negroes were not inferior to Whites.  In the 1850s, however, Dr. Samuel Cartwright defined “drapetomania” as the disease which causes slaves to run away, and “dysaethesia aethiopica” as the condition that causes laziness and made slaves insensitive to punishment.  A century later it was theorized that the urban violence among blacks in the 1960s was due to brain dysfunction.

There is also the problem of the over-diagnosis of schizophrenia among African-American males, nearly four times greater than that of white males.  The diagnosis was applied to many hostile and aggressive black men, and then they were treated with high doses of antipsychotic medications. 

Articles in prominent journals of mental health and psychiatry have explored the reluctance of African-Americans, Native Americans, Asian-Americans and Latinx individuals to seek mental health treatment.  Cultural paranoia and lack of trust in the medical community are often mentioned, as well as concerns regarding the cultural competence and understanding of clinicians.  Mental health professionals are predominantly white (e.g. only 2% of US psychologists are African-American) so these professions need to do a better job of attracting minority groups.

Finally, another area of discrimination is the lack of awareness by physicians of physiological differences of various racial groups in how medications are metabolized by the liver.  This can result in either toxic levels of medications or ineffective levels.  If you have tried several different psychiatric medications with poor results, then ask your physician to order genetic testing of the liver enzymes.  Most insurance plans will authorize it, and then the test results can point to the medications that are well metabolized by your liver, not too fast or too slow.

I believe we are making progress in reducing the stigma of mental illness in the general population.  It behooves us to extend this progress to people of all races and ethnicities so that biases in diagnosis and accessibility to treatment are eliminated.  As members of DPUCC, our witness to the community is that everyone is welcome here.  In the words of the Apostle Paul:

If our Message is obscure to anyone, it’s not because we’re holding back in any way.  No, it’s because these other people are looking or going the wrong way and refuse to give it serious attention.  All they have eyes for is the fashionable god of darkness.  They think he can give them what they want, and that they won’t have to bother believing a Truth they can’t see.  They’re stone-blind to the dayspring brightness of the Message that shines with Christ, who gives us the best picture of God we’ll ever get.  Remember, our Message is not about ourselves; we’re proclaiming Jesus Christ, the Master.  All we are is messengers, errand runners from Jesus for you.  It started when God said, “Light up the darkness!” and our lives filled up with light as we saw and understood God in the face of Christ, all bright and beautiful.  (2 Cor 4:3-6, The Message)

Living in An Age of American Anxiety

by Ryan Gear

If you have a hunch you might be feeling more anxiety than usual, you’re probably right. With COVID-19, our political situation, the stubborn continuance of racial injustice, and the recent economic downturn added to the normal stress of life, Americans are suffering with astronomical anxiety levels.

According to the Census Bureau, as of mid-July, 35% of Americans are experiencing what could be classified as Generalized Anxiety Disorder. This is almost double the percentage in 2014 and is up by almost five percentage points since January. Arizona is on the higher end, nationally.

There is also a clear correlation of stress experienced according to age group, with almost half of 18-29 year olds experiencing diagnosable anxiety. Ethnic minorities and those with lower educational attainment clearly feel more stress than whites and those with higher levels of education.

It’s not just Americans who are feeling stressed out. British historian Richard Overy states that, like the 1920s, with political change, the increasing strength of nationalism, and fear of future wars, the 2020s in the UK will be an “age of anxiety.”

The same is true closer to home. While Trump may currently be headed for defeat in November, “Trumpism,” a form of nationalism motivated by the dwindling percentage of white Christians in America, will likely live on into the foreseeable future. It is conceivable that every four years for the next couple of decades, American voters may face the choice between leaning into the ideals enshrined in Declaration of Independence or falling toward fascism.

The economic downturn caused by COVID-19 is weighing on American families who have already suffered growing economic inequality since the 1980s. Pew Research found that income inequality in the U.S. is the highest of all G7 nations, and the wealth gap between America’s richest and poorest families more than doubled between 1989 and 2016. Middle class incomes in America have grown at a slower rate than upper-tier incomes since 1970.

In August, I’m giving a sermon series at the church I pastor called Distressed: Living in An Age of American Anxiety. My central point of the series is that, as people of faith, we have two things to offer to stressed out Americans, including ourselves:

  1. Our faith offers us resources to cope with anxiety, and
  2. Our faith addresses the root causes of American anxiety.

At the center of the Jesus Way is the belief that God cares for all of us and is especially predisposed toward people who are struggling. 1 Peter 5:6-7, encourages people who feel beaten down:

“Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”

We have the comforting words of Jesus from Matthew chapter 6:

“‘Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?… For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them… But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.’”

We believe that God cares about stressed out Americans and that God provides. At the same time, we also know how God expresses care and exactly how God provides… God cares and provides through God’s people who partner with God and allow God to care and provide for society through them.

God cares for us, and God cares through us. As people of faith, we have the invitation to partner with God to address the root causes of our nation’s anxiety. In a previous time of heightened inequality and anxiety, Walter Rauschenbusch woke up the American church with the book that birthed the era of the Social Gospel, Christianity and the Social Crisis. The Social Gospel movement was fueled by the words of the Hebrew prophets like Micah:

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God (Micah 6:8).

The champions of the Social Gospel were optimistic in their belief that human hearts could be quickly bent toward justice and usher in the millennial reign of Christ in the 20th century. The quagmire of WWI, however, along with the Bolshevik revolution in Russia, and the doldrums of the Great Depression, exposed a degree of naiveté in the movement.

Reinhold Niebuhr, while agreeing that the premise of the Social Gospel was rooted in the biblical concept of justice, suggested that a new kind of “Christian Realism” was needed. Niebuhr wrote in the 1932 Moral Man & Immoral Society that people who desire social justice must force it to happen politically. He points out the reality, for example, that a few exorbitantly wealthy people will pay more taxes out of the goodness of their hearts, but most will not; tax laws must be changed. There are individuals who love justice, but society as a whole does not. Therefore, the political will must be influenced by those individuals who do, and laws must be passed that force the rest to comply within a more just system.

In an era when, like ours, racism and economic injustice played the central role in American politics, Niebuhr presented a strategy that we can also utilize today to address the root causes of American anxiety. In Moral Man & Immoral Society, Niebuhr holds up the example of Ghandi who, while known primarily for using the method of non-violence, also wisely employed another strategy to influence the political will of the British Empire to act more justly toward India.

Niebuhr writes that even though there is actually no ethical distinction, in a strategic decision “Mr. Ghandi never tires of making a distinction between individual Englishmen and the system of imperialism which they maintain” (p. 249). Ghandi acknowledged the perceived difference between the decent and law-abiding individual Englishman at home and the horrible injustices the English collectively perpetuated in India. By doing so, he slipped past the defense mechanisms of the individuals who maintained the system and ultimately changed the political will. Quoting Ghandi from C.F. Andrews’ Mahatma Ghandi’s Ideas, p. 238:

“An Englishman in office is different from an Englishman outside. Similarly an Englishman in India is different from an Englishman in England. Here in India, you belong to a system that is vile beyond description. It is possible, therefore, for me to condemn the system in the strongest terms, without considering you to be bad and without imputing bad motives to every Englishman.”

As anxiety-producing inequalities are worsening, and political divisions are widening, Ghandi’s graceful strategy of inviting willing individuals to change the system may both counter the politics of division and be the most effective approach to addressing the root causes of our national anxiety. We have an opportunity to reduce our own anxiety and be the change we want to see.

Ryan Gear is the Lead Pastor of The Well in Chandler, AZ. During the COVID-19 shutdown, The Well meets online Sundays at 10am AZ/1pm EST.

We Are a Lenten People, Too! A New Way of Doing Grief This Covid-19-Easter Season

by Shea Darian

Year after year on Easter Sunday we joyously proclaim, “We are an Easter people!” But, Easter Sunday 2020 came and went. We find ourselves still wandering through a Lenten desert – not knowing when or how the nightmarish suffering and everyday losses wrought by the Covid-19 pandemic will end. 

Passover prayers echo from our lips as losses mount in every state and nation. We collectively grieve illness and death, economic woes, lack of resources and healthcare, and not being able to live, learn, work, play, or worship as we normally do. Every aspect of culture is full of change that brings loss, and loss that brings grief. 

There is a profound gospel message to be found in our grief this Easter season that requires some real daring to receive. It is this: Our beloved resurrection story does not change the fact that our grief will always be with us. Grief is as much a part of our human story and experience as is the Love of God. 

The healing potency of Easter Sunday that often gets buried in the reverie of joyous celebration is that this holiest of days is set at the intersection of the Lenten and Easter seasons. It is that place in the Christian calendar where sorrow and joy, despair and hope, life and death meet to remind us that God’s love is present with us through it all. The same is true for grief. Although grief is often misunderstood to be synonymous with sorrow, like Easter Sunday, grief is found at the intersection of celebration and suffering. So, as we make our way through the Easter season, we have no choice but to take our grief with us. 

We humans grieve when we lose what we cherish. But despite the fact that grief is born out of all good things in life, we often regard grief as an enemy to be eradicated. I beg you to consider (and invite your loved ones to consider) that grief is not the enemy. In fact, grief is that part of us that serves as a motivator and catalyst for healing – if only we will give grief a chance to work its wonders. 

 This wisdom story from India, retold in my forthcoming book, Doing Grief in Real Life: A Soulful Guide to Navigate, Loss, Death & Change, serves as an allegory for the intense challenge grievers face in responding to grief:

A youth wanted to befuddle the elder of the village. The old one was said to be exceedingly wise. But the young challenger imagined that youthful wit could outdo the wisdom of the rickety old sage. So, the youth caught a little bird, carried it to the elder, and hiding it between young hands not yet worn or weary, the youth announced: 

“I have a riddle for you, old one. Here in my hands is a bird. Tell me – is the bird alive, or is it dead?”

The youth delighted in the game. There was no way for the elder to win. If the old one ventured to guess “dead,” an open hand would release the little creature and the bird would fly free. If the elder guessed “alive,” the youth would set a fist and crush the bird at once. 

But the old one looked into the eyes of the young seeker and replied with care, “The answer, my child, is in your hands.”

Such is the puzzle of grieving. Grieving is a life-and-death challenge to which our spirits inquire, however silently or soulfully: “How will we hold our grief?” Will we crush it with silence, denial, a forced sense of victory, or will we open ourselves to grief as a teacher that reminds us how to live fully and freely?”

In our culture, we mistakenly view grief as something that happens to us, like a Covid-19 virus from which we desire to quickly recover. But grief is as common to the human condition as hope or love. Proposing that we “recover from grief,” is like proposing that we recover from being human. There is no such thing as a cure for grief. There is only this: learning to grow our capacities for grieving in ways that inspire healing. Grieving and healing, in fact, are one and the same.

Most of us have only a vague understanding of what grief is and how it affects us. So, let me give you a crash course: There is no universal grieving path. Researchers have proven many times over that stages and phases of grief are a myth from the past. Even so, our foremost grief experts continue to argue among themselves about how grief and grieving ought to be defined. Each one of us (grief experts included) come to grief and grieving from our own unique vantage point. 

Through three decades of studying grief and grieving, a question pounded at the door of my psyche: Given our endlessly divergent paths of grieving and healing, is there some sort of navigational tool that might prove to be universally relevant and useful to grievers and healers? For years, I doubted that any bona fide answers existed. But, the grief-related suffering I witnessed in my ministry and personal life prompted years of exploration and pondering.

Suddenly, without warning or effort, I caught the thing – my theoretical Model of Adaptive Grieving Dynamics (MAGD). It flashed into my consciousness: a picture of the human grieving process that expands in all directions. It’s a view of grieving in which all of a griever’s physical, psychological, social, and spiritual responses to grief are relevant. Not a paint-by-numbers grieving model, but a picture of the grieving process that provides a sense of relational direction – whatever a griever’s unique responses to grief might be.

Engaging in all four of the MAGD’s grieving dynamics in ways that are meaningful and effective for you – is the essence of adaptive grieving. Together these responses provide needed release, relief, and reprieve from suffering, and help to recreate life and relationships as you adjust to personal, social, and environmental changes brought about by a grief-striking loss. Specific grieving responses (emotions, thinking patterns, behaviors, physiological changes, spiritual perceptions, etc.) fall into one or more of the following categories:

Lamenting: Experiencing and expressing grief-related pain, distress, or disheartenment.

Heartening: Experiencing and expressing what is gratifying, uplifting, or (even, surprisingly) pleasurable within the grieving process. 

Integrating: Perceiving the life-shifting changes brought on by a grief-striking loss and incorporating these changes into everyday life.

Tempering:  “Taking a break” from grief – that is, suppressing grief-related suffering, or avoiding grief-related changes and realities that distress or overwhelm a griever physically, emotionally, mentally, and/or spiritually. 

As you become more familiar with these four universally relevant grieving dynamics, take note of your strengths and needs for balance in the grieving process. Learn from the strengths and growing edges of others. Be careful not to set up camp in only one type of grieving response, because just as each type of response can be a path to healing, each has its limitations. As the good book says, “There is a time to weep and a time to laugh…a time to mourn and a time to dance…a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing…a time to search and a time to give up…a time to be silent and a time to speak” (excerpts from Ecclesiastes 3:4-7). And so it is with seeking a balance of lamenting, heartening, tempering, and integrating as we grieve the losses of a lifetime. 

During this Covid-19-Easter season, we write our own grieving biographies as we choose. Our grieving choices will determine whether our grief-related suffering and healing serves to diminish or enhance our relationships with one another, and with everyone and everything the world over. 

Right now, as we tune into the palpable pulse of suffering at this extraordinary time in our world history, may we bravely and humbly open our hands to grief. May we allow this God-given gift of our humanity to work its healing powers. Because, we are an Easter people and we are a Lenten people, too.

Call And… Response?

by Davin Franklin-Hicks

“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”

– Viktor E. Frankl

If I could pinpoint the moment that I understood I had choice over my responses in life, it would be the day I read and re-read (and re-read again) Viktor Frankls “Man’s Search For Meaning” and came across the quote above. I was 24 years old and reeling emotionally every single day. I didn’t realize I was reeling emotionally every single day because I had been reeling emotionally every single day for 24 years. You don’t realize there is a different way of being than the way you have always been until something pierces the pain in a new way. This book, that quote, pierced the pain and I was never the same.

I was in pain from a childhood that had lots of loss and trauma. I had found a lot of love along the way and it kept me going. It patched me up for just a bit until I got to the next stop and needed another fix. We do this (whatever our own “this” is) and we don’t know we do this until doing this stops working. It’s life and it gets lived in a way that makes the most sense at the time with the choices we have. Our development throughout life is about capacity to hold, to understand, to respond. We have some sort of event occur, small or large, and we respond. It’s living and we’re all doing it.

Some of us have more of what we need from the start and some of us have less. Some of us have circumstances that come alongside of us, that build us and shape us into having greater capacity within to hold hard feelings and emotions, to make decisions that match our inner desire to be safe and loved. Some of us operate from a place of surviving and overcoming because that is what had to happen at every turn. And many of us are a mixture of all of that. I see my life as a mixture of incredible love, earth-shattering loss, amazing joy, immense grief, reliable protection, harmful neglect, and a commitment (sometimes half-hearted) to try again.

Community helps and hinders. We are herd mammals and we need each other. If the herd is brutal, then need is neglected and treated as shameful. If the herd is protective, then needs are met and vulnerability is protected. 

What happens, then, when the herd goes away? What happens when we look about and realize we are suddenly alone?

I attend recovery support meetings over video conferencing services quite a bit these days. They are constantly available. I have not been able to go in person to any of these meetings for years because I have been on medical restrictions long before the rest of the world joined me. Because everyone has been in quarantine, these resources have massively amped up and I am so very grateful for this. 

The first few weeks that I attended, it was full of fumbling and bumbling. There was constant feedback, dropped meetings, messiness. It was lovely actually, seeing us all grapple and try. I love it when I can be aware of effort when the outcome is not what I expected. One of the things that was gradually realized is that everyone had to mute their mics unless they are speaking. It works. It also is so quiet.

When we talk to one another, we look for cues and responses. We look for engagement that we are being heard. We like to hear the “uh, huh.” We like to hear the laughter when we make the joke. We like to hear the clapping when we are being celebrated. We want the feedback. We want to know that our voices are traveling and landing into the hearts of the people around us. It is sustaining. 

These meetings have been crucial and important to me. They have also been very, very quiet at times. I have heard people struggle with the change. I have struggled with it myself. 

When we call, we need the response. We want it quickly and we want it in the way we are accustomed to receiving it. We don’t want our voices to echo back to us, we want it to land on the heart of someone else, have them take it in and emote it back to us.

The call. The response. The call…. The response. The call……………………… The response.

Between the call and the response, we have space. The space has gotten wider and in that space is the echo.

We often dislike the sound of our own voice because it is disjointed from what we think we sound like through the thunderous vibrations of our own vocal chords interacting with our own ears. It’s the same, I think, for the words we say. We want our words to land somewhere else, but now they sit outside of us and they bounce back to us in this space we now have. It sounds far different than when it landed somewhere else. We want these thoughts and these wishes and these ways of being to be swept up and taken. We want the response to be swift.

My loves… the space is a gift.

We will regret how we use this time if we do not use this time to become more comfortable with our own echo.

The thoughts we are having we were having before, we just got to distract ourselves more with the business of life. 

The fears we are having we were having before, it is simply that our own awareness of our fragility and vulnerability is making it harder to hide from these things.

The pain we are having we were having before, we just can’t ignore it in the same way that we used to be able to.

The other side of this is equally true.

The love that we have is what we had before, we just didn’t know how crucial it was to live in because this loneliness is so hard.

The joy that we have is what we had before, we just didn’t realize how much the presence of one another amplified it so that it was harder to ignore.

The life we have is what we had before, we just didn’t realize that it was about being more than it was about doing.

Between stimulus and response there is space. We have stepped into the space that is offering each of us the power to choose our response. Craft that response intentionally, lovingly and fully, my friends. It is where we will find our greatest growth and our truest freedom.

My Life Since Coronavirus

guest post by Laura  Bever

The Coronavirus has left no one unchanged.  Its grip extends to every part of our lives.  This is true no matter our individual circumstances.  We all could tell our story and each of us would have a unique and reprehensible way it has changed us.  My life since the coronavirus is no different. We have lost work like so many, and while we worked/attended college online/homeschooled from home already, just like so many parents are finding, it’s very tiring, incredibly taxing, and often completely overwhelming balancing it all at once. 

There is however an element of my family’s life that makes this situation incredibly difficult.  We live a good amount below the poverty line. This isn’t a unique situation. Many families do. In fact, in America at a minimum, 39 million Americans live in poverty. It is, however, incredibly important.  Living in poverty is hard, really hard. It’s often challenging to explain the intricacies that make this so. However, this pandemic has brought us all to the same basic level. We are all struggling to find supplies and struggling to find resources and in need of health care, which are struggles that people living in poverty experience on a day to day basis.  For my family, these struggles have only been exacerbated. 

One of our struggles is the home we rent. While affordable for a family living in poverty, it hasn’t been well taken care of. We’ve had many problems, from sewage backing up consistently in our house, the shower wall falling in, to many leaks in our roof every time it rains.  Our most recent problem is in one of the bedrooms. The roof has been caving in since we moved in and could no longer wait to be replaced. We’ve had to maneuver having little access to our house as the roof was taken apart and is still being fixed, all while being under the stay at home order.  It has made our day to day outrageously tough to navigate with the seven people that live here.

Another area that has been made difficult is finding and getting groceries. At first, this was because there wasn’t anything available in the stores and now it’s because new rules have been put in place to stop the hoarding.  These rules limit the amount that can be purchased. For my family and most large families, this means going to the store every other day, something which is very difficult to budget. Things like milk and cheese only last so long with five children. It also means consistent exposure as we are making more trips out in public and though groceries can be ordered online, things like WIC are not options that can be used.  So there isn’t really a choice but to go out often. And because we use WIC we often find that the things we can purchase aren’t in any stores anyways.

Beyond this, Joe has lost a work contract, my volunteer job as a sexual assault advocate is nearly impossible at the moment with emergency rooms being off-limits, school for myself has been put somewhere almost mentally out of reach, and we both worry what we will do with five kids if or when we do get sick.  It is often said that living in poverty is like living with chronic trauma, the jumping and maneuvering to keep up seems very real, especially during a pandemic.

While we are all lamenting the extraordinary loss all around us, there is also something else important and worth acknowledging about how my life has changed since the coronavirus.  Just as the rapid pace of this virus has penetrated our lives, so too have other changes quickly happened. Acquaintances have become good friends, family I haven’t heard from in some time I’ve had the opportunity to connect with, I’ve been able to witness incredible acts of kindness, and have been the recipient of amazing gentleness. I’ve been able to talk with, laugh with, and cry with so many I love. I have had the honor of bearing witness to other’s incredible pain, and feel oddly connected to those in my life.  It doesn’t make any of this okay. It doesn’t make any of it better. It does, however, mean goodness is persistent, that vulnerability is brave, that caring for your neighbor is a determined act of ingenuity and cleverness, that loving others when we are so uncertain and scared is indeed heroic, and that sharing toilet paper can be a holy act in a time of scarcity. I’m anxious for what is to come and defiantly hopeful.

All Together. Separate.

by Davin Franklin-Hicks

Here we are. All together… separate.

What a weird time.

I have been doing this a while, this thing that we are doing now where we each take to our own homes and live a sealed life, trading handshakes and hugs for emojis and typed words. Instead of reaching for each other, we are reaching for computers, phones, devices. The phone becomes a portal to a world rather than a device to accompany the world. Our lives getting lived out on a small screen as the natural world around us does what the natural world around us does naturally without us. 

The world is healing as we are retreating. We are getting an object lesson that we didn’t realize we had been needing.

I don’t desire to make light of it because people are dying. Alone. People are not able to mourn together because doing so will increase the reasons to mourn. We must wait to even begin the task of grasping that which is lost. So much loss. So much change. And here we sit. Wondering and waiting.

I have been doing this awhile. And yet… this is oh so different because you are doing it too. That matters somehow, doesn’t it? It matters to know that it’s not just you… Even when it feels like it is just you, it never is. Whatever it is you feel, that feeling has been felt by nearly every person on this planet. That’s true pre-pandemic and is mightily true now. Whatever intensity you feel, that intensity has rested heavily on someone else’s shoulders. It rests there now. You are not alone in this even as you are literally alone in this.

I have some isolation tricks to share, but before we get tricky, let’s get honest.

Some of us are loving the opportunity to finally slow down and rest. That feels a bit bad for some because they don’t want to be the one finding solace and slumber when others are exhausted and in a nightmare. Some of us are really loving the break, though. That makes sense.

Some of us are hating every single moment of this isolation. It’s the opposite of anything they would have chosen for themselves. They need people and it feels like they are slowly losing their grounding force as people go away. Some of us are really hating this time. That makes sense.
The disease spreading has impacted us each in different ways even if we have not been sick or known someone directly who has gotten sick. It’s starting to get closer and closer, though.A friend of a friend of a friend had it. Now a friend of a friend had it.Now a friend has it. Closer.

Allergies seem like cruel April Fools pranks coming early. A sneeze turns into a warning where it used to be an annoyance. Scary, scary stuff.
We are feeling things, all kinds of things.It all makes sense in the midst of something we don’t understand. That’s an understatement. I’ll try again. It all makes sense in the midst of something we haven’t ever imagined before. That’s a bit closer. Not there yet, though.

It all makes sense in the midst of something we can’t fathom because we have not had anything like this ever, ever, ever. We are very aware of what is happening globally in a way we never have before and we just can’t begin to wrap our single human mind around it.

There is a lot of stuttering and trailing off of sentences as we try to piece it all together. When the words fail us, we turn our attention to graphs and numbers to quantify the unquantifiable nature of this loss. High school math teachers everywhere are whispering, “I told you that you would need this!” Fine. Mr. Clever was right. 

That’s the thing, though. This time is drawing on all the resources within us and outside of us. We are reaching into the recesses just to make sense of what the heck is happening. My goodness, that builds pressure within us and we are looking for a release valve. Some of us might be reaching for the things that have worked in the past and we may find that those things just aren’t working anymore, but we are alone and it feels too late to figure out how to manage this anxiety. I get that on a cellular level. Truly I do.

I don’t have answers. I do have experience in being alone and scared due to illness. I’ll offer that. In that offering, please know, I am scared too. I have the same moments you have still. My illness has not built up an immunity to being afraid of death. I just have a lot of experience of feeling that fear, thinking those thoughts, and having it lift. 

My offering is to remind your precious self that you are definitely not alone and isolation breeds all kinds of things that you actually do have some ability to impact. I was surprised to find that out. I still am surprised when intensity lifts and reveals itself as just a part of living rather than the harbinger of demise.

First and foremost, your thoughts are just thoughts. I know they are really, really loud thoughts, but they are just thoughts. You constructed them and shaped them. You made them. We forget that. These thoughts are sometimes helpful, they are often not. There’s more noise and fuzz when there is stress and it gets hard to distinguish what is real and what is not. One of the ways we combat this is by taking in new information. We listen and we add the information to the flow. This may not help because it’s still the same thoughts sifting and sorting the information. 

Can we agree that our thoughts sometimes may not be the best, most accurate thing and that news, in its effort to be the most newsiest news, is often riddled with errors? If we can agree with that, can we agree that solely thinking those thoughts and watching that news will only feed the cycle within that feels so bad? We need to break it up. We have to otherwise it will continue to hurt us. 

An informed mind is not a panicked mind. Those are very different things. Your feeling of panic will not subside by exposing it to more panic. It will subside by stepping away from that panic because Panic is always inaccurate. We are not doing ourselves any favors by turning our attention to more of it when we are consumed by it. It will make us lose all sense of reality in our attempts to grasp reality. 

We can’t be haphazard by the sources of information or our use of this time. If you went from having 60 hour work weeks to now having endless free time it leaves a void. What is filling the void?

The thing that will get us through is intention. Thinking about your day when you have endless time is crucial. I am not someone who adheres to a tight schedule and am not suggesting that you become rigid with your time, but the time will slip away and you will find yourself wondering what you did all day and why you are so tired. You are so tired because your brain was trying to gain purchase somewhere at some point and couldn’t because the autopilot mode feels far too slippery and you can’t seem to find solid ground. Time is a relative thing and if you did not know that before, you are about to know it in a very real way. The minutes can drag and the days can fly by. It’s odd. It’s very, very odd.
Structuring time to some degree is a necessity. Set-up a structure that is loose but something you can bounce around in and keep.

Next up: entertainment. Many of us have endless options to the point of being bored. Excess is overwhelming. 

It helps to simplify it. Try to do it in parts and separate the binging of entertainment with something in the real world. Break it up with projects, conversations, connections. The entertainment will be far more enjoyable that way.

Relationships: if you are unhappy and resentful of the people you are quarantined with, it may be time to try and work on that. That’s doable. Truly it is. 

If you are experiencing harm from them, that is something else entirely and please reach out to someone for help if it is abusive. If you can’t stand them because they slurp soup, that’s something we can work on. 
It will all be amplified which means it is inaccurate. Amplified = inaccurate. 

They don’t always slurp, they just are slurping now. This closed down world is mighty claustrophobic (I almost made a pun of cloister-phobic, but didn’t so I should get some points for that). The reason you feel locked in is because you are locked in. They slurped their soup before, your ears were just pointed somewhere else. Zoom out.

Make gratitude lists. Don’t just think about things you are grateful for, make an actual list and do it anytime you feel scared, annoyed, lost. It changes your perspective. Perspective is liberating.

Own your internal world. Your thoughts and feelings are your internal world and you are the only one who gets to construct it. There are endless thoughts we could be having so the thought that we happen to be on is just one of many thoughts you have access to. Pay attention to what gives you clarity and what brings in the noise. That’s yours to shape and yours alone. No one else gets to come in there without an invitation and that includes information and panic.

Lastly… we may find ourselves wanting to use the things that make us forget, the things that separate us from our living momentarily, but ruin us if used regularly. These things are usually addicting. They rewire the brain to search for ease instead of enduring whatever is going on. They overuse the good feeling chemicals in our brain that are finite. They become depleted and need time to regenerate. 

The more we use these shortcuts, the less our brain has time to reproduce the neuro-chemicals we need to feel things like ease, comfort, happiness, etc. That’s why we feel so lousy after we use these things in excess. I can tell you that this is very slippery ground in isolation. 
Our minds are already a tornado at times right now and if we add in more pressure from increasing drinking, drugs, overeating, porn, binging entertainment to the point of ignoring life, we will feel worse. If you feel like you have some choice over some of these behaviors, consider stepping them down a bit rather than ratcheting them up a bit. If you feel like you don’t have choice over it, reach out for some help because it will make it worse.

Be gentle with your lovely selves. Your life on pause is still life you are living and choices you are making matters. 

Even when you think you are the loneliest of the lonely, you are not alone. Not ever.

Of Course We Bought All The Toilet Paper

by Davin Franklin-Hicks

Back in the day I used to go to see funny movies in theaters. 
I say back in the day because we can’t go to theaters right now due to the mandatory quarantine happening in places all over where heartbeats exist and life flows. We are not alone in this. It is happening everywhere. That feels important to remember.

I also say back in the day because I have been living a life of isolation due to illness for several years now so I have been unable to go to a movie theater in a long while, even when they were open. 

I used to love going to movie theaters, though. I loved watching really funny comedies in a room full of other people laughing. It magnified joy in a lovely way and I would feel connected, alive, happy.  How amazing is it that we can be that impacted by each other? It’s lovely when it’s good.

How awful is it that we can be that impacted by each other? It’s hard when it’s bad.

The impact is immense. Your life and my life are so intertwined. My very survival rests in my ability to watch you live, see what I see and respond accordingly. My world and your world are so impacted by each other that the reality of separateness gets called into question all the time. We are far more connected and far more similar than we are comfortable admitting. I have choice and you have choice, but we really do make choices based on the smallest things we have no idea or awareness influence it. 

You choose a lot because of me. I choose a lot because of you.  That impact changes and fluctuates, but it always exists. We are connected.
The COV19 Pandemic has been a baffling and scary situation to watch as I sit from my long-isolated perch. 

It is a world-wide flash mob called “The Dance of Our Primal Fears” brought to you by: “Toilet paper: Need it. Buy It. Wait. That’s too much. You don’t need that much… Hold on…Stop buying it! It’s not the stomach flu!” 

It’s a new tag line that is being workshopped by the toilet paper industry. They’re working on it. Needs some polishing. They didn’t see this coming either.

The fear is bringing out the neuroses to the nth degree in all of us. The neuroses we have been polishing and working on for a long time, but we were gonna wait to unleash them upon the world, maybe after the election. They have been a-building for some time now. 

Under this new pressure, we are rolling those neuroses out early. Here they come on out like a mighty powerful parade as we buy all of the toilet paper in all of the stores in all of the lands. 

We are buying the toilet paper for a reason. And it’s a pretty important reason. We aren’t thinking. We stopped. Of course we did.

Our thinking is distorted anytime we feel fear and anxiety because of the neurochemical response that is just there to keep us safe. That reality is coupled with the long-time building of intense pressure that increased exponentially in 2016. It’s been intense for a while. We couple the fear with the intensity and we react. We see it on display as we take far more than we need and are indifferent to the scarcity we create for others for our own momentary, unsettled, and fleeting sense of relief. 

We are having fear. We are having impulses. We are making choices. 
I think about the first person that bought more toilet paper. I think about the next person in line who was like, “Why is he buying so much toilet paper? Should I buy more toilet paper?” Then she went and bought more toilet paper. Then the next person walking in the store as she walked out wondered “Why are people buying more toilet paper? There must be a reason.” They bought some more just in case. 

That is why we bought all the toilet paper. We do that. We are ridiculous. 

We just want to be safe.  We are all looking around, assessing, acting and then hoping we got it right. 

We are all choosing actions from the same place of fear and some of those actions will hurt us and some will help us and that is completely up to us to determine bit by bit and moment by moment and act by act as we navigate this in isolation-togetherness. 

This paradox has to hold the meaning of life. It just has to be in there somewhere.

We have a worldwide shared thought distortion that is damaging on so many levels and in so many ways. It’s a filter that comes from that desperate part of us that just wants to believe that controlling life is possible. 

I can control the moment I die if I just stay vigilant. This thought, though, is an absolute and absolutes are flags for thought distortions. It is also a thinking error. We cannot control death.

When we operate in thought distortions, fear is present a lot of the time. We also are about to do some damage if the distortion is the guiding part of our behavior. This distortion takes me from the reality that so many things are needed for my survival and makes me focus on one small thing, what’s in front of me. What I end up losing when I do this is, well…mainly – you.

If I operate in this distortion fully I begin to think that I matter more and you matter less. I then become threatened if you act on something I don’t understand. I then begin to worry that you will get to survive a bit more and I will get to survive a bit less.  That changes me and my behavior. It leads to me clinging and clawing and climbing this small part of the world that I can cling and claw and climb because at least I am still moving and at least I am still fighting. 

Then I will act selfishly. Then I will act harshly. And then it will be easy for me to become brutal. 

It is what happens again and again and again and again when we are afraid on such a massive scale. If you mix our fragility with global panic then people overreact. Of course they do. Of course. 

My friends, life is an endless grocery store trip for toilet paper in which people are stopping their carts in our way.

We are huffing and side-eying our communication of anger until it becomes socially feasible and acceptable to yell our frustrations or escalate in a worse way.

We then adjust our path as we lock eyes on the toilet paper we came for. 

We then block someone else’s path two seconds later as we get what we came for, not caring for a single moment that they are feeling what we felt two seconds before.

This is us. This is us figuring out how to live while everyone else is figuring out how to live. We have done this before. It’s always what we are doing. It just is bigger right now.

Take a breath, my Dear One. Take a breath. Take another. My friend, take another. And if you didn’t do that. Go back and do it.

Slow. Down. Breathe. That’s fear. It lifts.

Breathe. Breathe. Remember.We have other options.

One of my favorite things written down on paper for my eyes to peruse (as often as I wish) is a line from a poem by ee cummings called “i love you”. The line I love is about the forgetting and the remembering that we keep on doing.

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down
on it

I love this because it is the crux of living to me. We are always forgetting and we are always remembering.
We hold something that gives us an understanding of our aliveness and why it’s important.
We hold it for awhile. Then we put it away.
We live.
We exist.
Time passes.
We forget its presence.
We panic that we lost it.
We remember we didn’t.
We retrieve it.
Then we hold it again.

Let’s hold it again. Together.
We are scared and we’ve been acting like it.
We have other options.
We make other choices.
All we have is this moment and in this moment we can choose to do this together.
We are never really apart.
I need you and you need me even when we are healthiest apart. I still need you. You still need me. It just is.
We will survive better together and we forget that.
Now we can remember. We can choose differently.
Of course we can.
Of course.

Cocoon

by Davin Franklin-Hicks

I was hurt really badly some time ago. It was the kind of hurt that you carry in every cell. It was the kind of hurt that wakes you up and refuses to let you sleep. The pain was excruciating at times and settled into an intense ache the times in between. The ache was physical. The ache was emotional. The ache was spiritual. It felt unending. It redefined the word “harm” for me and those closest to me. I didn’t know I could hurt so much day after day after day after day and still not die. I know that now, though.

When I was harmed I was shocked. I couldn’t believe what had happened to me because there was no way I could have anticipated it. My life was solid. I had an amazing family, a job I adored, and friendships that were brilliant and full of life. I had dreams that I was pursuing. I had love at the ready. I had lost a lot of weight. I was exercising. I felt great. I was fully alive to myself and my world more than I had ever been in my 37 years of life up to that point. And then everything changed to such a degree that the life I knew before seemed like it was someone else’s. My lived experience of harm negated all the previous lived experiences of safety. That’s what trauma does to you, locks you in.

Even though I had been safe in this world more often than not, this one event of harm was rewriting me, it seemed. Like a virus that takes over your electronics, it just invaded the depths of my soul and started laying down new patterns of thinking that were the worst, fear-based stuff I had ever known. I thrashed and railed against this reality. I was crawling my way forward and collapsed more than I moved.

I would have stayed there. Laid there. Died there. I would have.

But I didn’t.

And that wasn’t because of me.
It was because of them.
Those people.
Over there.
Coming here.
Holding me.
Loving me.
Reminding me. This isn’t forever. This will change. This will pass. It always does. We are here.

Broken and beaten things need time to heal. A battered soul is the same. We need rest. We need nourishment.

What happens then if the thing you need to have to get better is the very thing you cannot access? I needed to sleep so my body and brain could heal. I couldn’t sleep though because my body and my brain were broken.

I needed to eat so my body and my brain could rebuild. I was unable to eat. I couldn’t swallow water without intense revolting nausea, let alone any food. I couldn’t take anything in as I was desperate to keep all the bad stuff out.

I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t heal.
Yet I was healing.
Slowly.
Ever so slowly.

You see, I was eating. I was sleeping. It just didn’t look like what it did before. I wanted my life back. I wanted to be able to live and move in this world in the same way I had moments before the harm. I wanted to feel hunger. I wanted to feel rested. I wanted to feel ease. When I thought about eating and sleeping during the worst times of post-traumatic stress, I was comparing it to what I used to be able to do. I was longing for a time that was so different than my own. Of course I was. How could I not?

The bit by bit bites and the minute by minute sleep that I was able to have access to slowly changed the healing process in my body, mind, and spirit. It was slow going, but it was going.

I was not alone. That was what changed it for me. That’s why I didn’t die on the floor of grief and unimaginable sorrow.

When you are that broken and that beaten in some way, you can’t begin to think the next thought of what you should do, let alone act on the next thought. Action was not possible for me. I was needing to be in an idle state, tucked away with comfort, medicine, kindness, compassion, and grace. Where does someone go to get that on Amazon? There is no kit to be purchased. Trust me. I looked.

What I described for you is something that happens from people just being. Those people over there that came over here to hold me, comfort me and love me just sat with me, listened to me and reminded me of who I am. They encouraged me to eat. They encouraged me to sleep. They encouraged me to keep trying. Sometimes I was helped by them mightily, other times I was too far within to hear them. Yet they remained.

You know how you never know what to say when someone tells you bad news? It’s because you don’t need to say anything.
You don’t.
There’s nothing that will fix it.
Nothing.

We hate that feeling, don’t we? We want to have some type of control over the world around us and it is so very strong when we see someone we love hurting. We want to alleviate pain when we see it. We want to skip to the end or hit rewind even though that doesn’t exist. It’s our first reaction, though.

We can’t remove pain. It has a function. It is there for a reason. The focus then is not on removing the pain, but in tending to the harm until the pain subsides as it does with healing.

Your presence is a balm, especially when it is a steady, dependable presence.
Your words, when found from places of love will be far more meaningful than when they come from a place of fear that just wants the pain to stop.

Gradually, there were words shared with me that helped me. That could only have come after being together for awhile. They only were fitting because of the tending that had come before.

Some of the things said to me in the tending that I was able to make use of were really vital because of the love that existed. I believed the sender of the message more because of the care they held for me.

I said, “I feel so much hatred. I don’t want to be a hateful person”
They said, “You are an inhospitable environment for hate. It won’t stick. It can’t. There’s too much love there.”

I said, “I don’t want to relapse because of this. I am so scared to relapse.”
They said, “We’ll sit with you until that passes. We are here to help you not use again. This trauma will not take your recovery.”

I said, “I can’t eat anything, I can’t even swallow water, I can’t do this.”
They said, “How about for today, you eat just a tiny bit more and I will eat a tiny bit less because it hurts me too.”

I was not alone. That was what changed it for me. That’s why I didn’t die on the floor of grief and unimaginable sorrow.

Your love, when expressed through presence or communication, is a magical thing.

Those people over there that came over here to hold me, comfort me and love me wanted my pain to stop. They tried things too. We all did. It just wasn’t effective so we stopped trying to stop pain and redirected our efforts toward living in the moment we were in, with the people we were with, and with the capacity we had. That was enough. That was more than enough.

We created space for healing even though it was so inconvenient and not at all what we wished we would be doing.

We created it still.

I read a joke on some social media platform at some point in the last year at some random time of night and it stuck with me, as random things so often do.

The joke was, “Do you think a caterpillar knows what it’s doing when it’s building its cocoon or is it like, ‘What am I doing’ the entire time?”

It stuck with me because it’s clever and I enjoy humor that wonders about the world around us rather than judges the world around us. I think of that joke on occasion, especially when I see a butterfly (pssttt… spoiler alert, that’s what comes out of the cocoon).

Today, I thought of this joke while brushing my teeth, no butterflies in sight. Something clicked.

I didn’t know I was building a cocoon.
Then the next thought.
I wasn’t.
They were.
I let them.
I had to.

I was a broken and beaten being and they wrapped me up. They waited. They stayed.

None of them knew how to do it and neither did I. We were clueless.
The thread was in the visits, in the expressions of love, in the sharing about their own lives as it reminded me that the world is still happening and that helped me reconnect to it. I cried. They cried. That was some strong, vibrant thread that we had at the ready and didn’t even know.

Our capacity to love is endless and boundless when it meets with others’ capacity to love.

A five-minute phone call is enough if that is what you have to give.
A meal together is enough if that is what you have to give.
A text message is enough if that is what you have to give.
It is not the amount of time of the offering, its the offerer.
It’s you.
That’s the balm.

The hurdle to all of this is our own doubt and fear. We think if we get too close to pain it will hurt too much when it is the exact opposite. Pain hurts less when tended. My goodness, though, isn’t it hard to know that when you are thrashing and railing and afraid? Isn’t it hard to know that when someone you love is the one thrashing and railing and afraid?

I am still cocooned in a lot of ways, but that is changing as I have been emerging more and more.
I laugh far more than I cry these days.
I listen to others far more than I need to be listened to.
I see the transformation more and more. It’s reminiscent of my life before. It’s not the same. It never can be the same because the past doesn’t exist in the present. It is a beautiful, full, vibrant life, though.

I have cocooned others recently, without even knowing it. Just from being and responding I have been able to hold others well too.

That innate thing that prompts a caterpillar to begin the next step for life to be nurtured and continued is the very thing within each of us that prompts us in our living.

We want to emerge. We want to be better, stronger, alive. We think we don’t know how to do that, but we do. It’s within you. It’s within me.

It starts with a prompt, that feeling inside, that nudge to reach out and connect. That is the thread of life, the thread of love reminding you of its presence. It is at the ready, waiting to be woven into sanctuary for one another. It will amaze you as you weave it and will dazzle you when it’s done.