That's what this week has been like. I'm finding a new gentleness with myself -- a moment here and a moment there of softness, of the heart's upwelling. Glimpses of the truth that all the ways I berate myself are just habits of mind. Choosing kindness, choosing to feel. It sounds so basic, but it's momentous. My whole life people have said to me, "You're too hard on yourself," and I've never really understood what they meant until now, as I am finding the capacity to step back and just witness my mind's ceaseless stream of judgments.
So, what happens when that starts to let up? Well, I can tell you: themes happen. On Monday, it was trust. A whole series of events unfolded, reminding me of the power and sweetness and necessity of trust. Later in the week, it was rest, and my deep desire and need for true rest.
The other big one this week? Choice. I have been weaving in and out of a sense of despair, lately, from the state of the world. It came to a head this week when I learned about the "Danish text," a draft climate agreement between the major power players at the Copenhagen climate conference. This leaked document represented the power players' attempt to circumvent the negotiations process and write an agreement that would protect all of their (our) interests, essentially leaving poor and less powerful nations to suffer the mounting burdens of climate change and poverty without recourse. The discovery of this document was an outrage, and the conference fell into disarray until somehow negotiations were able to resume.
Upon learning this news I felt an overwhelming sense of defeat. What part of "the global climate crisis affects all of us" do our leaders fail to understand? Looking around at the world and witnessing the living hell that so many people and creatures must endure, the living hell that we ourselves have created, I find myself in a depression. And I grieve, too, for simplicity -- I grieve for our disconnection from the earth, from our bodies, from each other. My disconnection. Can my work really make any difference at all, especially if I feel numb and alone while doing it?
Last night I attended the opening party for the new restaurant that my dear friends Eric and Ari just opened, called Gather. Every element of this restaurant reflects a rigorous commitment to sustainability -- from the bench seats made of recycled leather belts, to the art on the wall made from packing materials, to the local/ seasonal/ organic cuisine, Gather is a paean to possibility in business and in community.
I love these two men so much -- one of them is married to my best friend and colleague, and both of them are like my brothers. Last night, more than ever, I felt so moved to be a part of the same soul family as them. They spoke of the initial vision that sent them on this nine-year journey: the vision that Eric received, out in the desert, of a place where people would come together to share delicious food and connect with the earth. From there, their company Back to Earth catering and outdoor adventures emerged, always with the foundational dream of this restaurant. And now it's a reality.
They were both lit up, not only from the strength of this beautiful vision itself, but from the accumulated strength they have actually received from their years of continual, conscious re-alignment with the vision, despite whatever setbacks arose. Ari spoke directly to the notion of choice: he told a traditional tale, where a grandmother tells her grandchildren that there are two wolves locked in a mortal struggle inside of her and inside of everyone. One wolf represents fear, greed, anger, hatred, and negativity; the other represents love, kindness, sharing and positivity. Her grandchildren ask her, which wolf wins? And grandmother replies: the one you feed. I've heard Ari tell that story a number of times, but each time I am struck by the profundity of it. Here we are, on this mysterious planet living this mysterious life, seemingly barreling inexorably towards our self-generated doom -- so what can we do? Choose life, over and over and over again.
Ari concluded his talk with this quote, from the Lord of the Rings:
Sam: I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.
Frodo: What are we holding on to, Sam?
Sam: That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for.
And then we went and enjoyed a feast.
So that's what I'm left with. That Life is worth my life. More than anything, that every moment provides the opportunity for me to choose between giving up and continuing on. What would nature do? Well, just look outside your window and you'll see. Rain, then rainbows, then green life regenerating in the sun. Then rain again, on and on.
It's astounding, what arises when you start to be kind to yourself and let yourself feel your own life.
What's next, true love? ;)
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