Besieged but not beset

 

Devotion for Being Apart -
October 2

I will share new devotions from time to time,
and invite you to browse through devotions that have been posted on this blog.

What a strange and strained time this is.  The world feels chaotic and frightening right now.

I went on my mostly-monthly 24 hours retreat this week. My rules for these retreats include turning off my phone and reading no fiction, because I want to be as present as possible.  I broke my rules. 
Restless and tense, I walked four miles, some of that on talking my phone.  Then I came back and read a mediocre novel, and then went out and walked four more miles. Then, from a big chair at the picture window overlooking the tall pines, I watched the "presidential debate" on my phone.  

Afterwards, I took a deep breath and took stock. 

I could feel bad for doing it "wrong," for “wasting” my time.  Or I could have curiosity about my choices.  As NVC tells us - every No is a Yes to something else.  What was I saying Yes to? What need was I meeting?

I think what I was needing was ease, a sense that things will be ok. Right now in lots of ways, things do not feel ok.  And evidently right now, my go-to strategy for meeting that need is distraction.  

Getting away from the ever-present agendas, voices, bodies and demands of my family for 24 hours was supposed to help me be present with myself and God, and pray for the world from a grounded place.  

Instead, something in me panicked, and I chose distraction, numbness, avoidance.  I chose the diversion of watching an appalling debate and feeling the rushes of outrage and astonishment over sitting quietly in the night and letting my sadness come up and out of me.  I opted for the shallow amusement of an unsatisfying novel instead of being alone with myself and God, where the silence might feel too loud and the stillness too empty, and the words of contemplatives, mystics or scripture might feel too pointed and challenging. I took up the project of keeping my body in motion, racking up steps to feel like I was getting somewhere and achieving something, when all I was doing was walking the same 4 mile loop – one mile, turn, one mile, turn, one mile, turn...  

I didn’t actually want to be in time, in life. I didn’t want to feel it. I wanted to not feel it. I wanted to be inattentive, unfocussed, and unmindful of the realities of life right now. I wanted to be blissfully inconsiderate of what I was feeling.  Evidently, I was telling myself that it was too much to bear, and it was better just not to stop and let it in.
 
I’m tired of it all. I’m afraid. I am worried. I am heartbroken. And those feelings are unpleasant. So instead I choose distraction.
 
But I don’t really choose that.  

By the next morning I was able to slow down a little bit.  I had compassion for how tense we all are, day in and day out, and how much longer it takes us right now to unwind and relax.  I had a little more awareness, compassion and curiosity for myself, at least enough to sit still and journal and notice. At least enough to let my last walk be slower and more attentive - to smell the pine needles and feel their softness under my feet, to hear the birds and scurrying squirrels and wind in the branches, to feel my own heartbeat and breath - and to feel grateful at how the world persists and life moves on whether we notice or not.  
I choose to notice. 
 
Kristen gave me a wonderful book by David Whyte called Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words. The word I read today was BESIEGED.  I was struck by this paragraph: 

If the world will not go away then the great discipline seems to be the ability to make an identity that can live in the midst of everything without feeling beset.  Being besieged asks us to begin the day not with a to-do list, but with a not-to-do list, a moment outside of the time-bound world in which it can be reordered and reprioritized. In this space of undoing and silence, we create a foundation from which to re-imagine our day and ourselves. Beginning the daily conversation from a point of view of freedom, and being untethered, allows us to re-see ourselves, to reenter the world as if for the first time. We give ourselves and all our accomplishments, our ambitions and our over-described hopes away, in order to see in what form they return to us.
 
I can deeply appreciate how distractions are a helpful strategy to get through all of this.  But I don’t want my whole life to be a distraction. I don't want to be afraid to live this life.  

I choose to live and feel and be in time.  

So maybe a not-to-do list is helpful.  Like Richard Rohr’s suggestion of limiting news and social media to an hour a day. And maybe ‘beginning the daily conversation untethered and free’ is a helpful invitation.  Maybe this isn’t the time to be so concerned with accomplishing, but instead to be gentle with our own humanity, to greet our souls tenderly, to help ourselves start each each day by giving away our expectations, our fears and our 'over-described hopes...in order to see in what form they return to us.'
 
We are besieged, dear sisters and brothers.  This is an overwhelming time, and we are beleaguered and careworn.  Perhaps we can have some compassion toward ourselves, and curiosity about our actions, wondering what valuable needs we are meeting with our choices.  Perhaps we might give ourselves – when we awaken in the morning, or just before bed, or with an alarm on our phone or watch periodically pausing us in our day for a full minute – a moment of undoing and silence, to re-enter our lives, this life, having momentarily recognized ourselves inside the larger story, belonging to the deeper reality. Maybe this might help us come closer to living 'in the midst of everything without feeling beset.'
 
When I returned from my retreat and pulled my car into the the driveway, the carpenter who is working on the kitchen next door turned off his saw in their front yard and watched me get out of my car.  I said "Hello." He replied, “Hey, I really like your lawn sign. It’s such a good reminder.”
 

I looked at the sign and smiled, and thanked him.  

 
I need to be reminded.
He reminded me to be reminded.

This is part of the story.
This is not the whole story.
The world belongs to God.


CONNECTING RITUAL:

Look inside yourself with compassion and curiosity:

• What ways are you coping and making it through - what choices/strategies are you using?  
• What stories are you telling yourself with these strategies? (eg., I just keep moving because if I stop things will fall apart, or, My emotions are so big they will smother me if I let myself feel them).
• What needs are you meeting with your choices?
• Might there be more life-giving strategies to meet those same needs?
• After you've allowed yourself to be present to your soul, where does gratitude arise in you?

When you awaken to a new day, what can be on your not-to-do list?
What pauses can you give yourself throughout the day to remember the bigger picture and reorient?

PRAYER

Perhaps before we go to bed, whenever that is in each of our homes, we might pray this together, and so join our souls with each other and the world:

God, this life is hard.
I have never been through anything like this before.
Sometimes it feels like too much to bear.
Help me to be gentle with myself.
Help me to be gentle with others.
Help me to lift my head to the sky,
and sink my feet to the ground,
and let my soul return to its home in you.
I belong to you. This world belongs to you.
Amen.