This is The Meadow. Michele's weekly-ish essay for those seeking to be more fully awake and alive in the world.
I promised to discuss this idea of "orienting myself to receive grace and then consenting to it" that I introduced in our last newsletter
Honestly, I think that subtle movement is at the heart of true religious practice. First, it takes FAITH--faith that if we open ourselves, that something GOOD is out there. If there is no good, then why would we risk being so vulnerable? So, it starts with a faith that something good exists and that it wills our own good.
That is the "orienting myself to receive grace" part. And even though I've been a practicing Christian for 20+ years, and faithful seeker before that, I still forget to do this, not only each day, but multiple times during the day. Sometimes I think the whole point of religion is to help us remember this one basic truth--the Divine is good and doesn't wish us harm, but, in fact, wills our good.
Ok, if we take this faith in goodness as a starting point, then what? Well, now we have to address free will, AKA our will. We always, always have a choice, deep within us, to consent or to resist. To yield or to impose. To surrender or to fight. To connect or distance ourselves. In prayer or meditation, the consenting part is to consent to goodness, to yield to it, over and over again. Distractions come and go. Fear bubbles in my belly. And still, I breathe in, find my smile inside, that place where I connect to that inner sweetness, fount of overflowing love. And then I lose it. And then I find it again. Over and over, surrender and consent.
I am not the pain in my right knee. Or that humiliating email exchange at work. Or my son's hurtful words. They sink in. They cut me. I breathe in and that sweet sweet essence fills me. It doesn't ignore the pain, it fills it. The pain has dug a hole that allows even more grace, more sweetness in.
The bell chimes. Prayer and meditation time are over. I go about my day, forgetting what I learned. My throat clenches in anxiety at the news. My heart crumples when my kids lash out at me. I distance myself from those who need things from me I cannot seem to give.
AND
Sometimes, just sometimes, there is a bit more space in these interactions. Frankl's space between stimulus and response. And instead of clenching in anxiety, I breathe into it, welcoming it in my body. Wondering at the shape and texture of it. Kindly making room for it. There, there, little one. I see you are anxious about the world. I metaphorically (but it feels literal sometimes) put my arm around the anxiety and give it room to be. And go on with my day, throat unclenched. More able to sing.
AND
Sometimes, instead of lashing out with a curt response to my kids, I change the nature of the interaction entirely. I make a silly face or whisper something. Or look at them with utter love, despite their terrible annoyance at me, and I say wow, you are really upset right now. How can I help?
AND
Sometimes, just sometimes, instead of distancing myself when I'm overwhelmed, I just show up anyway, and say, I need a few moments. And I take those moments and come back, more present than before
I mostly forget though. I think daily prayer and meditation are important, but I am wondering if maybe more silence is needed to help me remember. Less food. Less wine. Less iPhone scrolling. More time to remember that sweet place of love flowing inside of me, making room for it, surfing it playfully, with wonder and exploration.
Ah, play! That will be the topic of our next newsletter.
Thank you so much for reading. These words are spilling out of me, and I am so grateful to have some readers, as I do not want to write for myself alone.
With much love and big hugs,
Michele
I look forward to your thoughts and comments. It feels wonderful to connect with others who share a similar commitment to waking up and living life more fully alive. I want to learn from your experiences, and I hope what I write is of some help or comfort too.
If you know of someone who might be interested in joining us in the Meadow, I would be so grateful if you shared this with them.
So beautifully written, and convicting to me. Thank you for this!
Yes, I continue to find it a struggle to stay present to hope and love. But I guess that's the practice. One thing that's helped me is this quote from Sylvia Boorstein, as quoted by Krista Tippett, on her podcast, On Being:
"Lovingkindness meditation is also towards one’s self. You share a story in your writing about precisely that. But you share what you often say to yourself when you’re in a moment of anxiety. OK. So I think this is just great advice. I’m going to hang onto this: “Sweetheart, you are in pain. Relax. Take a breath. Let’s pay attention to what is happening. Then we’ll figure out what to do.” I think that’s a fabulous sentence for one’s self and for one’s children."