I was on a poetry/meditation call where a woman shared she envisioned this inner/outer world we share as a teabag immersed in a cup of water. She sees us immersed in an ocean of water and air flowing in and out.
The image is with me as I reflect back to 1976 when Republican President Gerald Ford officially recognized February 1 as the first day of Black History Month, a month to honor the accomplishments and contributions of Black people throughout our history.
Now, the Trump administration denies and stomps on that contribution. How does that affect us all, this denial of inner and outer flow? One can only feel compassion for a tragic group of people isolated and contracted in fear and hate. What a horrific way to live on a planet that teaches and shows us how to thrive in connection, generosity, reflection, and inner and outer flow.
Sunset in Half Moon BayEarth turns and the path of sunlight returnsWaves of Daylight
My son Jeff and I are on a plane heading toward JFK in New York. We’ve talked, eaten, and laughed. We’ve looked at clouds. I think I see happy spelled out in a group of five fluffy clouds floating lightly in a blue sky but Jeff doesn’t see it. We’ve entertained ourselves but when I look at my watch, I see there are hours before we land. We decide to meditate for an hour. A timer is set.
Jeff looks peaceful. I’m trying by inhaling compassion and exhaling compassion and pouring the exhalation over my head like champagne. It doesn’t work. My feet aren’t fooled by the lack of support from the floor. They know I’m 40,000 feet in the air.
In the hyper-alert and hyper-vigilant state I’ve been in since my brother passed, I’m on edge, grumpy, judgmental, over-sensitive, and impatient.
I usually love flying but I’m aware I’m enclosed in a tube and and then I feel it. There’s a hole in my heart. I’m acting like a normal person, or so I think, but I’m a person with a hole in my heart. I look out the window at white, fluffy clouds. I don’t see angels or harps.
Jeff opens his eyes and notices my agitated state. I tell him there’s a hole in my heart. He begins leading me in meditation. I close my eyes and feel the hole, the ache, the pain, and moving up into my head, I feel how all of this is energy and staying with it, there is expansion and peace, and I trust the ground of the plane, the ground of my being.
My eyes are moist as my personal guru is next to me, guiding, leading. I’m the angel and I don’t need a harp because I have my breath. I notice the exhale is rusty and stuck. I cough and cough and stay with it until it smooths and pauses. I come to peace and trust, and in its own circular time the plane lands, and then there is the traffic leading into NYC which comes to a pause as my feet touch the ground under my feet. Relief.
After a lovely dinner in one of the many Italian restaurants that make NYC what it is, I sit wondering why I struggle so with spin and how I strengthen the threads in clouds so I can stand and feel support wherever I am.
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