Open-eyed or shut-eyed…how do we cope?

Welcome to an Inbox Inhale where I'm wondering how we should respond when things get dark? 

Click to listen.

What I mean, is that these past few weeks have felt heavy with dark news. The devastation of more school shootings… catastrophic weather events destroying homes....the loss of someone beloved in our community...and each of our own personal battles.

It's almost like when the movie gets really bad or dark, and all you want to do is close your eyes. That's my go-to at least, and it annoys the hell out of LJ.  With my face covered, and curled up into a little ball next to him on the couch, I'll keep chirping every few seconds, "What's happening now?"  "Is it better yet?"

And if I'm honest, that seems to be my go-to response in the face of all this violence and loss. But then in the next moment, I'm all fired up and signing up for gun reform, while searching for therapists for my kids online. I'm confusing, even to myself.

But my dog needed a walk, so I stepped outside and headed towards the creek at the bottom of our street with my daughter scootering alongside me. Within moments, I began to feel the sun shining on my face as I begrudgingly agreed to climb down the rocks and follow her to the creek-bed - feeling sure it would win me some "good mom points" for the day. And I heard her yell, "Hey mom, come look at this!" 

Worried it was something harmful or gross, I scurried towards her, and then she said, "Look! Feel it! "

"It's like mermaid hair!

And I couldn't stop the smile from spreading across my face because she was the one being good to me. Her imagination was overflowing, and gently inviting mine to play. In that nano-second, I remembered how imagination has the power to convert hard, mucky places into beauty.

And as it has for millennia, generations of humans have long been apart of Love birthing newness into the world through imagination. Art, beauty, movements, restoration.  And staring at her tiny hands, I wanted to follow her lead.

She gave me hope.

I wonder if opening our eyes to glimmers of hope  - allows us to see more of them? Like blades of green grass pushing through muddy stone. Or moss turned to mermaid's hair.

But how do we look for hope when life is hard?

When all we want to do is squeeze our eyes shut. And seem to have lost our imagination for changing what's broken? 

I don't think it's by bypassing what’s horribly wrong, or seemingly impossible. And some days, I'll admit, that's all I can do because my capacity is limited and so I shut my eyes and wait for it to get better. And there is space for that. Space for our capacities to be exactly what they are within each moment. And, at the same time there is a spaciousness available to tenderly hold what our reality really is. It's a spaciousness that feels bigger than what we can imagine. Sacred. Divine, even. Whether a micro moment, or a big moment...there are times where we can find the words to name what's been lost, take space to feel our grief, nap, cry to a friend, work to repair damage with a particular person or a larger group, eat a meal with people we love, and let ourselves be cared for. Maybe even follow your dog outside.

What if standing in the center of our human experience while also holding what's been hard - feeling the shape and texture of it - is the place we keep our eyes open to see? If we can? 

It's not that we get everything finished, fixed and solved, and with an exhilarating sigh of relief (or for me, accomplishment), we feel that now we are ready to see what's good.

I would love for it to go that way. And there's been moments where I do check all the boxes on my list...but the big stuff remains unresolved. So I squeeze my eyes shut. Brace for impact against all the shit that's flying through the sky that I can't seem to control. And then other days, I'll feel an urge to move towards the light. Or follow my child. And so I'll get up and try. Oftentimes, stumbling upon something that glimmers.

What if both are okay?

Jesus stayed in a dark tomb for three days. Alone, cold, (or maybe really hot, actually) and from everyone's perspective - it seemed that all hope was lost. And then, a mysterious shift happens. Suddenly, it was time to plant his feet in the garden and reach for someone who loved Him while feeling the sun shine on his face. Somehow transformed by what took place in the dark.

As I've walked through darker seasons of my life, I've come to learn that darkness offers a solace of her own.

Like a womb, with a sense of protection, cocooning, presence. That just as our bodies contract, and wrap inwards - this is something we need. There is also the darkness of free-falling into unknown territory, and that feels terrifying. But at the same time, I've had the sense that I'm not free-falling alone. 

Mysterious? Absolutely. And yet just as we need to be drawn in, we also seem to need to expand, reach for connection, and move towards the light that calls our name.

What if Christ's living was a map for us? That when we feel like hope is lost and we're stuck... planting our feet in the grace of green grass, and opening our eyes to the light of Love offers our souls a broader imagination. A sense that we are being reached toward - as Love beckons us by our name. We hear a song, get an unexpected hug or late night text checking in on how we are doing. And it seems we're only standing there in the sun because we first were cocooned in the dark - where we received an intimate sense that we were never alone. Despite how scared, lost and confused we felt.

What if it's less about trying to stay in the light, while avoiding the dark - and more about our movement between the two? 

That just as we hold a wide spectrum of capacity within ourselves - depending on the day, time, or our circumstances...so do our lives hold a wide spectrum of moments.  There are moments where we contract. Others where we expand. And when we look around the life we live - we see heartbreak and hope coexisting, together.  It's not one without the other.

Like green shoots of grass sprouting through stone, or my daughter's imagination for more beauty in the world and reaching to share it with me. Or getting news that my son lost a beloved teacher and I watch him shrink with sadness before my eyes. Other moments I feel the burn of irritation at how slow my healing feels -  wishing certain wounds would close up faster because I'm tired of getting stuck on repeat, like a broken CD. Then there's the bright sound of laughter, as my dearest friend's son runs barefoot across my kitchen, chasing my daughter with joy as light streams through the window. This comes after long months of only hearing the slow shuffle of his little feet, padded by hospital socks, as he moved from his bed to the couch - where he and my daughter could catch a glimpse of the sky while they played.

Could it be that moving between the dark and the light is where the living takes place.

Photo by David Billings on Unsplash

As I've done my own learning and work with embodiment,

we do know that finding glimmers of goodness and hope sends small signals of safety to our nervous system - and these glimmers allow us to feel a little more “okay” right here, in this present moment.

And feeling okay enough….is how we find the capacity to move forward and live. Live into imagination. Into hope. Into love.

Maybe we can even feel the glimmers warm and steady us where moments before we’d felt contracted by fear?

I wonder if today, you might be in a place where you could open your eyes for the light? 

TO TRY:

Perhaps move intentionally outside, or through your day and look to see where new life is determinedly pushing through. And then mark it, jot it down, make a note in your phone, or simply breathe with it.

Could this be offering you a kind way through? 

That you might open up space within and around you to acknowledge what you are holding. What feels dark. What glimmers. And perhaps begin to feel that though fear would seem to like the final word….our small particular existence is wrapped up in a larger reality where newness continues to break through the cracks of life - regardless of how dark, mucky or hopeless it may appear.

And in the same breath, if you need to curl up with a warm blanket, and drink some tea...may you feel held by your body's knowing to move inward, and that you are not alone there. Love shows up in couch pillows, too.
 

I'd love to hear what you find, any glimmers that you might see. So please hit reply. Like really. I'd love it. And next time, I thought I’d share a few glimmers that I’ve noticed.

And maybe by sharing together, we'll set more glimmers aflame. We can hope, right? 

Until then...

May today be kind.
May you move towards what you need...open-eyed or a drawing in, 
and trust that the Presence of Love is with youas you move.

With love, wonder and care,
Devany