There have been so many moments over the last few years when I’ve thought the world is falling apart more than ever. When I have wanted to pull the covers up and hide, when the words don’t come, and I feel despair.
I remember crying for the soldiers being sent to fight in the Gulf War when I was a child. I came home from Hebrew school distraught. As children, we mourn for what we can see and what we can relate to. It’s easy to assign blame or assume that our leaders know best. Especially for Americans, it is our culture to pick a side and root for that side. We’re taught, “If you’re not with us, you’re against us.” It’s easy to long for the days of outsourcing our morality if we ever had the privilege to do so.
I remember how my Mom would console me when I was a child. Telling me the news makes our fear and worry so much worse; before television and radio, you would only hear about what was happening in your vicinity. You would not be exposed to each horror and have stories of devastation laid out for you in technicolor.
This was before social media assaulted us with opinions and asked us to make up our minds so quickly that we forget to feel what’s in our hearts. Thinking instead of feeling creates so much division.
When my friends make mistakes or say the wrong thing, I let myself feel hurt for as long as I need to, and then I imagine surrounding them with love. I want the people I care about to feel confident to shine their light brightly, not tiptoe around people-pleasing in fear, ashamed to speak for fear of getting it wrong.
When I write to you, I imagine that you will see my words in the most generous way possible. I try to have faith that you’ll extend me the grace to make mistakes as I would a friend or anyone I care for. I realize intellectually that this may not be true, but that is the only way I can move myself into a space to write.
If you’re feeling moved to share your opinions, your loving wishes, or have a business that requires you to communicate with the public, I highly recommend ignoring people who delight in your mistakes and failures. Let’s hope they unsubscribe, unfollow, and get lost as long as they need to.
At the beginning of each year, I write a message to myself in every month of my calendar. For October, I wrote, “Ask for help as you move into this next phase of your journey.” I wondered out loud this morning what that meant. Unlike all the other eerily precise messages I’ve written to myself this year, this one remained a mystery still more than halfway through the month.
It wasn’t until I sat down to write that I remembered this TED talk by Elizabeth Gilbert that was assigned as a recommended viewing for my poetry class.
In this talk, she shares about the role of the artist in society and how, in ancient times, it was not assumed that art and wisdom came from humans. It was your guide, Damon, or god, that was responsible for the brilliance or lack in your work. Your job is just to show up and do the work. Of course.
Ask for help as you move into this next phase became clear.
I sat with my spirit team and asked for the words I could share with you that could possibly help and I want to share their message with you:
when the world feels heavy, remember that you have a respite available
you may visit with us for a moment,
eyes closed, breath steady, connecting to the loving power of your inner light
think of this not as a time to look away but as a time to gather strength so you can be of greater service
while your water boils, in the minutes between meetings, when you lay down at night, and when you awaken
invite us close, and we will try to ease the burden you feel
With love,
Sheryl
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“When I write to you, I imagine that you will see my words in the most generous way possible.”
~S. Wagner