Holding out in the Storm: Remembering Rest

Hello again, friend. Thank you for coming to sit with me for a moment.

Have you taken a deep breath today? The kind of breath that stretches the muscles taut against your ribs? Stretch your arms, roll your shoulders, unclench your jaw.

My heart holds space this week for many things. Last year, I talked in this blog post about macro and micro-tragedy:

But the small stuff doesn't stop for the big stuff. We just have to manage it at the same time.

Time goes on. We hold space for sadness, grief, devastation. We carry tragedy and trauma and despair on our backs like packs across a desert, and it feels at time that we cannot put them down. Even when we are faced with wonder and excitement, we hold this responsibility, still. We are obligated to continue, especially when the worst things cut closest to home. I am sorry for the pain. I am sorry for the loss. And I am mostly sorry that I cannot carry the grief of each life in pain that I see. I want to make the suffering of the world less, but that's not achievable on so large a scale.

But I've made a little campsite. It's tucked in a valley in the rocks, where we're sheltered from the wind. There's a fire, the kettle's on, I've got tea brewing. Come closer, lay your back against the old felled desert willow trunk, sit down, and breathe.

The world moves, but you have to remember to take your rest. There are a thousand platitudes I can say, and a thousand ways to reiterate the same, basic thing. The draw of time will always continue, even when you are working yourself into dust.

I know the itch to go consumes you, but remember that the breath between breaststrokes is as important as the strength of your legs.

I've got the firewood in a pile next to the fire, and a cushion to sit on. Please, settle in. You can leave at any time, but right now, your mug is warm and overflowing.

This week... I have struggled with one thing. I cannot comprehend cruelty. It's something that does not fit within my concepts of life. This last week has pushed my capacity to hold anything at all.

So when I say I've made this camp for you, that's not the whole truth. I made it for me, first. A place where I could sit and cry and hold true to my own responsibility for kindness and action.

It took awhile to remember that I can comprehend love, though. I can see it in my nieces' faces when they run up to their grammy, the way that my friends speak about their loves. I can feel it rumbling in my lungs every day beneath the aching sorrow that threatens to run my through.

So friend, take your time. I'm in no hurry. I'll be here as long as you need. It's my gift to you, to help me remember the love, above all.

Hopefully, next we meet, it will be a merrier occasion. Until then, take care of yourself, and remember to love.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_ZFoEdxGNY

All my best,

xx Bea