From what I can feel, this last month has been an extremely difficult, scary, emotional, challenging month. We have seen how anger can play out through “extremists” of many kinds. Last night, I had difficulty falling asleep, and I lay on the bed thinking of my little daughter, and the world she has been born into. Today I felt cloudy, uncertain, stressed. Today when I sat down to meditate it was in anxiety.It was a meditation about pausing the thoughts. The kept coming, as they do. To do lists, day dreams, fears, hopes, possibilities, etc. etc. etc. Today everytime I felt a thought I tried to just drop it. Another one came. Drop it. Drop it. Drop it.
After 20 minutes, I lay down. My hands above my head, but relaxed there. I took a few breaths, and could feel a bit more space around the chest. How compressed I had felt, starting slowly to shift. It doesn’t matter how much some times, just that a door is opened.
This afternoon, I sat to read and opened a book of poetry to this:
Song of a Man Who Has Come Through
D. H. Lawrence
Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!
A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.
If only I let it bear me, carry me, if only it carry me!
If only I am sensitive, subtle, oh, delicate, a winged gift!
If only, most lovely of all, I yield myself and am borrowed
By the fine, fine wind that takes its course through the chaos of the world
Like a fine, an exquisite chisel, a wedge-blade inserted;
If only I am keen and hard like the sheer tip of a wedge
Driven by invisible blows,
The rock will split, we shall come at the wonder, we shall find the Hesperides.
Oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul,
I would be a good fountain, a good well-head,
Would blur no whisper, spoil no expression.
What is the knocking?
What is the knocking at the door in the night?
It is somebody wants to do us harm.
No, no, it is the three strange angels.
Admit them, admit them