Listening to the World

In this moment, I am looking to the past to take forward what is useful to soothe me and my community in the present. Here are a few reflections that have felt like warm honey…

What is good for the group is good for the individual…

In cultures that value individualism, people look to the self for all the answers. Communities that prioritize the experience of the collective know that when we support the growth of the group, the individual also thrives. There is an opportunity for us to turn toward community wellness in this moment. To make decisions not based on how to keep our separate bodies safe, but to be mindful of how our actions impact the health and wellness of those around us.

When I feel overwhelmed with uncertainty, I turn to nature for guidance. On the surface, trees appear to be independent beings, standing separate from one another. However, under the soil, they are linked to one another by a robust and tangled fungal network. Through that network, trees help one another out by sharing nutrients and information.

While it may not seem like it at first glance, humans actually have a good deal in common with trees. We stand upright, have a crown on top and mobile limbs stemming from a central trunk. Like us, trees stand tall, but not alone. Like us, they are very much a part of a symbiotic community. While our fear is transmittable to those around us, so is our tranquility.

I’ve been checking in with the elderly and ill people in my life. I have been talking to my colleagues who are independent contractors and at risk of losing their income if businesses close and asking: what is it like to be you in this moment?

Stress does not need to be solved, but it does need to be witnessed. The world is offering an opportunity for reciprocity:

Who are you feeling seen, soothed, safe, and secure with? To whom are you offering eyes, ears, heart and openness?

Rituals are guideposts for healing…

They provide ways for us to connect to what matters most. I remember participating in a Baci ceremony in Laos. Lengths of white cotton string tied to the top of the tower in the center of the room and reached out toward every corner of the crowd. Community members gathered to sit on the floor around the centerpiece. Everyone is given a length of string to hold between their palms. In the silence, the old man begins to chant, calling on the spirits, or khuans. The Laotians believe that the human being is a union of 32 organs and that the kwan watch over and protect each one of them. It is of the utmost consequence that as many kwan as possible are kept together in the body at any one time.

Since all kwan is often the attributed cause of an illness, the Baci ceremony calls the kwan or souls from wherever they may be roaming, back to the body, secures them in place, and thus re-establishes equilibrium.

In Laos, luck comes from the spirits. A baci, or good luck ceremony, calls them with chanting, while cotton string ties them and the good luck they bring in place. The ceremony emphasizes the value of life and the power of community.

Though we are not being encouraged to gather in person, social isolation is detrimental to our health and wellbeing. I’ve been having FaceTime dinner with friends and family, starting “WTF” text threads, hopping on conference calls with my colleagues to both commiserate and plan.

What are the practices of togetherness that might bring you closer to, not further from, yourself and those you care about?

Some questions/shares I have been putting out in the world:

How are you feeling?

What is feeling hard right now?

What is feeling good right now?

How can I be a part of bringing you pleasure?

Here is what I need in this moment:

Our ancestors are with us…

I am very aware in this moment that I have access to the wise guide within me, and all the wisdom that came before me. My ancestors lived through difficult times and they endured them and evolved through them. There is an intergenerational transmission of struggle, but also of strength.

My father is a chef, teaching me how to nourish and please myself and others. My grandfather is a gardener, demonstrating the practice of patience and showing me that what one nurtures grows. My grandparents, great grandparents and generations before them were fisherman on a small island in Italy. The fisherman uses one leg to maintain balance and wraps the other around the oar to propel him and his boat.

First, the fisherman hits the water with his oar. This lets the fish know he is there. Then he immerses the net made of bamboo or cane into the water, pressing it to the bottom of the lake floor with one foot, in order to trap the fish. This process traps one fish. This process is livelihood. This process is a meditation in slowing down.

What have your ancestors passed to you? What practices and experiences might you be able to draw on to be better with this moment?

Mary Oliver’s words have a lot to offer us…

I have been leaning on people, near and far, who practiced listening to the world. I leave you with Wild Geese:

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,