Holding Both Sides

Much has happened since I wrote last week's A Mindful Pause. I began the week offering an exercise to water the seeds of joy in summer. A day later, we witnessed the aftermath of a horrifying school shooting. The week came to a close with Memorial Day weekend, a time when many celebrate the unofficial start of summer, while honoring those who sacrificed their lives for us. All that went on in this one week and Memorial Day itself captures so accurately the paradox of what we have to do in life -- hold both sides of something at the same time. Suffering and joy exist simultaneously and we find our way back and forth between them.

My husband and I have a tradition of going to upstate New York for this long weekend. It is always replenishing as we reconnect with the natural beauty of this earth, slow down, eat food we normally wouldn't eat, and rest. As we turned around to come home this morning, I thought about the pain many people suffered in the last couple of weeks, as well as the reason for this holiday itself and it felt at odds with the feeling of ease and play that this weekend also inspires. But, are they really at odds? When I look more deeply, I know that this is what we must do all the of the time -- simultaneously hold what is painful and what is joyful.

Sometimes people feel guilty for enjoying something when there is so much suffering going on, but this feeling of guilt does little for anyone. And sometimes people only see suffering and don't allow themselves to take in joy, beauty, and goodness. There is another way that is more kind. This way does not push one away so that we can have the other, but instead cultivates a heart and head space large enough to hold them both. Over the weekend, my heart was never far from the pain of the recent shootings AND I could enjoy the walks through the country, savor meals out, take naps, and stop to look at the rain drenched peonies in the garden where we stayed. This allows us to keep going and do the work we do.

We will face more suffering and sometimes it will feel downright frustrating and defeating when some of it can be prevented. Sometimes it will remind us of our complete lack of control. Sometimes it will knock us down for a while until we can get up again and take a next stride forward (which we will do). But no matter what, while all of that difficulty is happening, the ants are still crawling on the peonies for this brief moment they are in bloom, and we get the honor of witnessing their lush opening. When we stop for these wonders, while whatever storm is passing through, we get to be awed and filled with delight, even as our eyes are still wet from our tears.

As the week begins again, my invitation is to pause and see the alternating, maybe even contradictory, feelings that may be present in this moment in time and allow yourself to swim between them without any judgement, without making one more important than the other, without saying one should not exist. Instead, allow yourself to be in all of this experiencing, just as it is. Enjoy what you enjoy. Cry when you cry. Do what you can to contribute to what is beautiful and good. Make room in your house of self for all that arises. 

I'd like to close honoring and thanking all of the men and women of our armed forces who have served for us. Aware of the many lives lost and at risk for our safety and freedom, I send out deep gratitude for what has been and continues to be given. 

Wishing everyone feelings of safety, inspiration, and aliveness in this week. I leave you with the words of Mary Oliver.

🌼
Jean

The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
~Mary Oliver