WHAT gets touched, every time?

 “Maybe a little on the late side? I’m going to have coffee or beer with Rachel today, about 4 p.m.”

That’s all he said, and a rage flashed through me. I know this is my work, so I swallowed it as best I could.

What IS it that makes this exchange so utterly predictable? Why does this keep coming up for me, and what gifts does it bring for me, ultimately for my freedom? (His part in this is his own...)

I think one part of it is that Brian dreads telling me so he holds off until the last possible moment, which then feels like a “gotcha” to me. I also want her to be gone. Gone. Nothing injurious to her, of course. Not that kind of gone. But out of our lives. He will never allow that to happen, so this will continue to arise. I hate being surprised like this, and it clearly touches a tenderness in me when it comes before something he and I are negotiating a time for.

For the last several years, she has brought little to me but heart-ache, betrayal, and disregard of my impotence oft-spoken of in “church things.” She was privy to a lot of that storying in me amidst women’s circling we’ve done, and she doesn’t give a fuck about it for me. Only what she needs. Only her own unwillingness to grow the fuck up. The anger here is the easy part.

What I know of the tenderness in me, under the anger/rage? What I grieve?

I grieve that I will never be able to bring Brian the unadulterated commitment to his church that she lived for years, under his tutelage, continues to live in as much leeway as he'll grant her. I am committed to Godde’s Church, and my expression of that rarely feeds him, supports his institutional-self, strokes his ego.

I grieve the loss of the young woman I used to be, who could live into that space with him and who did all that for him but no longer can without a sense of self-silencing, self-abandonment. I feel alone in my own work when he chooses to spend time with her, especially if it’s right before time with me. He supports me in my work, but he doesn’t feel it nor share in it, in the end. His sacred devotion to an institution that has persistently betrayed women is both blessing for me, and curse. Rachel represents so much of what I have had to give up to be faithful to my own calling(s) which he will never share for himself.

I grieve that Brian will never know the joys of fatherhood, though I do not grieve that choice for us. I wish it had been different some days, true, mostly in how it “plays him.” It saddens me that this unresolved grief in him often gets projected onto me, gets “played” in him by her, “the daughter he never had.” She has access to a part of him that he cannot share with me, old-terrain between us that goes nowhere, a grief that he has little skill in how to grieve for himself. She remains a wedge for us here, as long as he finds no other way to grieve that in himself.

I grieve the difficulties Brian and I had to experience to know the contentedness we know now. The unhealthy connections for Brian with Rachel were seeded then, so they are always at the root. Will never be eradicated, in other words, only managed. Her neediness touches the neediness, fear, and betrayal I felt then, which he never could admit or nourish, understand, touch. She mirrors his limitations to me, for me, for us.

She is a relationship of obligation for me, one in which I have little to no say in saying yes or saying no. This touches my own tenderness around control and simple surrender. If I set a boundary healthy for me, he won’t or can’t keep it. It’s not his boundary or need. So I regularly say “okay” to things I don’t really want to do. To appease him? My version of trying to honor the differentiation here between us? I know the specter of him having coffee/beer with her while we do not engage her as a couple feels like a really bad idea. He becomes vulnerable in his congregational work (evidence example #1, Ashley's departure accusation) and then I have to pick up those pieces later anyway. Better to stave all that off in prevention?

His woundedness around “having no friends” means he holds onto her with a desperation of having a friend. So he can provide her what she needs in his competence, which isn’t friendship of course, but it is a pattern he is beginning to struggle with…

I love him. I want him to find the places and persons that can nourish his own growth, his sense of fun, his own spirit. It is always better when his focus is not solely with me, for me. For him, that will always be with church people, where he has the perceived upper hand he hopes will protect his gentle heart.

She’ll be our perpetual “secret” I guess. His need for her. My tolerance of it. Social times with her together that I make possible. Because I do love him and trust him to sort it all out for himself.

Clearly, Rachel and I share that, however conscious or unconscious it all is for them, us.

Peace be with all of us, each in our own need.

Today, I let him go into his own work, what he needs that Spirit directs. It is a blessing to be finite, to not be in charge, to simply let go…

A Sunday Morning Breath - Being Here

A beautiful morning dawns, warm for a November morning, but just enough chill to hint at winter. Brian is off for his sacred callings, and I ponder what invites for me this day. Church? Walk? Run? Food prep? Online work, so I don’t need to tend it tomorrow? The sun shines brilliantly into our living room. Nala rests her head on the fleece she loves, closing her eyes. The house sparrows chirp outside, wondering when I will refill their feeders. It feels a blessed morning, just being here.

Or journaling in a way that seems to beckon these days. Journaling by hand into my notebooks brings my body anxiety for some reason. A shake or a pause in my handwriting, which is hard to read anyway? Dad has that…so I wonder.

It was good for my heart to muse on sex and life with Brian yesterday. It opened some things in me, to remember how thankful I am for him, and to relinquish my uber-sense of over-responsibility for things that are not all mine. We veered into some yearnings-conversation during cocktail hour yesterday, which never seems to happen without cocktail hour. He cannot name what he wants, which he hides behind “I have all I need.” And we do have a blessed, abundant life together. The familiar comparative separation arose–he experiences me as simply SO MUCH while he feels so small. I felt prepared for it, reminding him it was a beautiful way I was made by Godde to be. I didn’t receive his judgment, in other words, but reveled in my beautiful size, being just right. And I mirrored how beautiful his quiet size is as well… 

One of the learned things that helped was we caught ourselves in the parallel projections that we often experience together but focused on ‘the other.’ He experiences me as talking so very much while he has no clue of how much he talks at me. When he tendered his experience, I tendered my own back to him, reminding him that we always find ourselves in this parallel projection. We are having the same experience, though one projects the irritation or frustration onto the other. He recognized that pattern and received it. That’s the best we come to actually hearing one another amidst our own sense of feeling unheard.

I’ve been reading–slowly, a chapter every couple of days–this book that Lisa recommended: The Way of Grace: the Transforming Power of Ego Relaxation by Miranda Macpherson. Today’s chapter centered on melting the grip of control, offering a practice Macpherson calls the mountain of presence. I smiled to recognize the meditation-practice, though I’d never read of it before. It arises naturally in the invitations into body-presence I often extend to directees. A way of connecting to the ground beneath us, the energetic presence of the Earth nourishing and grounding all of us, aware of it or not. The previous chapter centered on fear, there is nothing to fear, with invitation to harness fear as a gateway into Grace. I will explore that with some intention later, methinks, as I breezed past it this past week. I’m not aware of my fear as much as I used to be, which makes me wonder whether I’ve relinquished more of it, or simply contained more of it in new flows of practice(s). I wonder…

I have found myself drawn to a 30-Day-Challenge pdf I printed off earlier this week, curious what I might want to deepen with such intention. Shoulder mobility is the most obvious thing for me, as I do want to strengthen my capacity for a strict pull-up. So…mobility-stretching exercises for 30 days. Practice of ego-relaxation seems to be a good candidate as well, easily held within the frame of centering prayer Brian and I talked about doing together a couple times a week. 

Mostly, I’m aware of this increasing awareness to balance, invitation, creative-renewal once again. The months before sabbatical are a bit like Pooh’s wisdom about putting his paw into honey. The honey is tasty, for sure, but it’s the anticipation right before putting your paw in the pot that is so delicious.

Heart-Dog Homage -- Nala

I was talking with a longtime elder-mentor-friend yesterday, reconnecting about holy things so important to each/both of us. A portion, therefore, was about our dogs. I was delighted to hear that in her advancing post-retirement age, this friend still walked her dogs 7-10 miles per day. “They don’t like to walk together,” she explained, "so 7-10 miles/day it is!" I shared some of my story with our Nala, including the anticipatory dream I had about her two weeks before she arrived. Such mysteries make sense in the Holy, after all.

But I find myself today wanting to share with her what I love about Nala, with pictures to boot. Well over 500 words...

Nala came into my life when we needed her much more than I knew. Our heart-dog Marley had died September 6th, 2017. Nala (who was named Lana, at the Animal Control shelter) came to us on November 1st. Neither Brian nor I had been actively looking for a dog, but events conspired on the evening of October 31st. Brian looked online, saw a picture of Nala/Lana as ‘available,’ and he said when I got home from circle, “I just can’t let it go…” So we went to the shelter and home with us she came! 

I DO remember seeing her with another family, when I got there after a day’s worth of meetings. I sat down on the floor to get close, and she ran up to me, leaning into me immediately, landing between my legs and falling into my lap. She looked up and kissed me on the face. It was both surprising and immediately familiar somehow. I said to the family, “My husband was here earlier; we are adopting her today.” Technically an aggressive, pushy move, but they thankfully acquiesced, and home came Nala. We had to stop by PetSmart to get her kennel, food, another leash. Marley’s stuff was feasible for the short-run, but Nala was a bit smaller, especially at the start. Brian had a meeting that night, so he left the two of us on the couch. She climbed into my lap, laying lengthwise on my lap and chest, and promptly went to sleep. She was exhausted. 

And adorably cute. I just looked at her most the evening, until Brian returned. I was so stunned to have a dog again, I wasn’t quite processing it all.

The next months, Nala led us on a merry chase of normalcy. Hysterical stories of her, communicating her need to be with people at all times. Her refusal to be contained. (It was a foolish human willfulness to get a second kennel, when she had clearly already obliterated the first one, for example.) She had been abandoned by her first human family–so we suppose–and lived on the streets of Fairborn Ohio for a period of weeks (animal control guessed). She could not be left alone without utter distress. What to do, with two busy working adults, trying to keep her into a lifestyle she could enjoy?

We eventually looked into The Doggie Retreat for doggie-daycare. That actually worked well for a over a year. She had a friend, Scipio, who was always with her in the pictures the staff would take, posting up on Facebook. But then I got the pet-owner’s call of shame. Nala had taken a bite out of a boxer, and wouldn’t let go. I was informed she was no longer welcome at the daycare center, so I needed to come to pick her up. And I did feel ashamed, out of habit! By the time I got her home, though, I was all up in my legal-defense-fierceness. Where was the inquiry?! What truly happened?! How did that dog attack her first?! She was framed!! We laugh about it now, of course, but I truly was angry. She is a social dog who only nips to defend her own boundaries. I’ve seen her do it with our nieces and nephew, for instance, and been envious that she is so clear. I’m certainly not clear when I need space from small kids or family! Just kidding…or not…you can decide.

Now into year five, Nala has settled into her forever home, and blessed assurance that her forever home really IS forever, as long as we have any say in the matter. (I could imagine her chasing a squirrel, for instance, or rabbit, and getting lost…she’s a bit obsessively focused in such ways…). We have our routines, the three of us, and she is a willful member of our household. Honorary human. She gets a celebratory beef-consumme cocktail in a coup glass on November 1st, toasting her arrival anniversary. She curls under my right arm at bedtime, snuggling in for the night. Lately, she’s taken to stretching out lengthwise, leaning against my leg, but it’s clear she’s in pack mode with us. Which suits both Brian and me just fine.

For myself, I recognize her arrival into my life was sacredly timed, and auspicious for both her and me. She has now become an extra little energy field that I’m accustomed to having around me, nearly all the time. When I felt broken or empty somehow, her energy helped that. Her consistent presence has taught me much about staying present, about being-with…her…but also others in my life. She feels so energetically a part of me, or me a part of her, that I do really miss her when we travel. She has been a consistent presence amidst a fair amount of change–from pandemic isolation to transitions out of WWfaC and now into new things, with new sisters of collaboration. 

When I had the dream two weeks before she arrived, the coloring of the dog was just like Marley’s coloring. I had understood it in the receiving as a grief dream. I had not been remotely prepared for what losing Marley would be like. I was a hot mess, overwhelmed with grief I didn’t know how to name aloud. I kept feeling it shouldn’t be as bad as it was…”Just a dog,” said my Reason, so clearly WRONG. Marley had never been “just a dog…” So the dream was my heart aching for Marley, gone.

Except when Nala arrived, I knew instantly that the energy in the dream was not remotely Marley’s quietude, but Lana/Nala’s abandonment energies. I was in an inner tube, trying to paddle out into a harbor, out into a large lake or sea. I had lost my paddle, and someone was bringing one to me from up ahead. Then there was this little red dog, dog-paddling like mad to catch up with me. Everything about the little red dog was saying, “Don’t leave me behind. Don’t leave me behind!!!” So in the dream, I scooped her up in my right arm/torso, and pulled her close to me. I assured her, welcoming her onto my lap as she leaned into me, my chest. Just like I now do every night when it’s time for bed. She leans into my right armpit, chest-torso, and snuggles in for the night.

Sacred gift, at just the moment Brian and I truly did need her. He and I are so cognitive-heady that we struggle to express our softer heart sides, feelings. These come out all over Nala, and as a result, all over each other. At one time in my life, I might have considered this to be a problem needing to be fixed, redressed in therapy. But today? I just go with it. It works. We all benefit. So be it.

And I love it when she jumps onto my or Brian's lap on the front porch, leaning in, looking out. She can see the birdfeeder better, after all, and she wants to be close. I can literally feel my heart expand and the energy deepen, enveloping her, or she enveloping me. 

I never knew I’d get to know another heart-dog, after Marley. Nala’s coloring is Marley-esque, and if you believe in these kinds of things, one could argue Marley sent us Nala, knowing we would need her.

For as long as we get to celebrate and enjoy her, then, we will. We are daily blessed with her affection, play, side-eye glances, stretches, bed-hog self. She communicates well, and knows she’s loved, safe. Good karma, all around.

It Was a Holy Saturday Unlike Any Other...

It was a Holy Saturday unlike any other.

My parents had arrived into Dayton, Ohio on Tuesday. They were finally able to return to their previous home of 47 years, to visit with Brian and me for Easter, to see old friends. It’s also been opportunity for them to really learn that their new home in Portland Oregon really has become their home. My dad commented on how he is missing his new friends, which surprised him. [Emotional connection always seems to surprise him, for some reason—an important observation for what is to come.] After spending one night with us, they spent two nights with good friends of theirs up in Troy area before returning back to our home Friday afternoon. Good Friday. When Dad got the news from Aunt Betty up in Cleveland that his brother, my Uncle Karl, was fading fast. Hospice was being brought in…

 

I learned of this as my mother came downstairs, walking up to me for a hug. A longish hug for her, I noticed curious. “Karl is fading fast,” she said. I nodded, saying the expected “I’m so sorry…” I was beginning to shift my internal expectations, feeling an anxiety arise in me for how a trip up to Cleveland would stretch Brian and me over a very busy holy Tridium already in process. Mom’s next words startled me. “I am not going to let Betty drag us up there.” I think I hid my startlement well enough, staying present with where she was, what was unfolding for us as a whole… Now I'm reminded how little we know the stories that drive resistances in others--often stories that need honoring before they can be released. I felt a sadness for my mom and me at that moment, as some story clearly had her. My father was on various phone conversations upstairs so we waited quietly to learn more what would be required or invited.

 

As he came down the stairs, we gathered in the living room. He lowered himself into the side sofa and relayed the clinical news, what he knew about Karl’s dying—could be soon, could be weeks, he said. “I don’t see any reason to drive up to Cleveland,” he finally said. “He’s not very responsive. Not sure he’d recognize us. Once there, we’d be in a vigil posture, waiting for him to die. I don’t see any reason for us to go…”

 

It took me several moments to fully digest what he was saying. Here again, some story I could not perceive or understand had him. I could not fathom his words, his choice. We were getting ready to go to our Good Friday service. I had a leadership role in this service, both reading and then a ritual singing of Were You There? while walking the Christ candle out of the sanctuary. But the mixture of emotion was conflicted and simmering in me. I simply could not believe my father was not going to say good-bye to his older brother, when circumstance (Providence?) had brought him so close as to make it possible.

 

I said nothing to them, basically. I’m well versed now in honoring the decisions of others in my family that I cannot understand, stomach. It’s important to me to honor such difference, even if everything in my own being cries out for a different outcome or choice. So I simmered, and off we went to Good Friday services. The pastoral staff gathered in the office before service, and with the privacy there, I blew off a little steam about my parents’ choice and how I felt about it. But we prayed to begin, and then all went well. Afterward, back at home, we had a nice glass of wine with cheese and conversation. “No more news from Cleveland,” was all my dad said.

 

Holy Saturday morning dawned, and I awoke with the expectation of going to CrossFit, as is my practice, being home for my folks and brunch by 9 a.m. I sat on the couch with my cup of coffee, 6:30 a.m. or so, and Brian came out to join me. He had an air of intention about him, so I waited expectantly…

 

“There’s one question we did not ask yesterday afternoon, when pressing your dad about his needs and choices to come,” he began. Looking at me, he continued, “What do you need in this? What are you feeling, desiring to do?” I shook my head and said, “No, I did ask my father that question, directly!” Brian smiled and gently redirected, “No, I’m talking about you. Your needs, desires.” I startled, becoming aware for the first time that I was also an actor in this family drama unfolding. I could finally perceive what he was asking me. I startled as the tears arose in me immediately.

 

I paused, checking in with myself, my belly, my body. I let the tears and sadness arise in full. I’m not close with my uncle Karl, but few of us are. He’s a difficult man to know, to love. Angry. Assertive and cantankerous. But also the best hugger of the family. A good heart, fierce for tending the pain in the world. [picture below is Grandma Ruth and young Karl, before any brothers arrived.] He’s the eldest of the Brothers, who have been a fundamental force in my own life, formation. I dread the passing of this generation, knowing I will grieve so very much I don’t know how to name. As I began to thaw being the actor I could be, I became incredibly, sensately aware of the convergence of things, so puzzled that Mom and Dad seemed to disregard: their proximity, which Easter with us made possible; Holy Saturday; Karl’s fast decline while they were here, on this sacred weekend. I looked at Brian with surprise, “Oh my…I need to go say good-bye. I need to see him today.” The convergence could not be coincidental.

I texted my dad, knowing he was awake but upstairs at the computer. He came downstairs and we got him a cup of coffee. I told him my desire to respect his and mom’s decision, but that Brian had instigated an awareness in me just now. “I need to drive up to Cleveland today to say good-bye to Uncle Karl. I need to see him before he dies. I cannot ignore the convergence of your visit, Holy Saturday, and Karl’s fast decline. I need to go to Cleveland to see him today.” Tears sprung up in my father’s eyes as he looked at me, his face inscrutable. Then I probably pushed it a little too far to goad the point, “You and Mom can decide to stay or come with me, but I need to go to Cleveland.” He smiled, and a huge energy or sigh seemed to release within him.

 

“Oh my….” He began. A whole vista seemed to open up before him, within him, freeing him to make the journey to say good-bye to his brother that until then had been closed off for him. He spoke as he processed aloud for a while, eventually confessing, “I could not see any other option other than arriving there and being forced to wait in vigil until he died, perhaps for days, weeks. There was no sense in that to me. But to arrive, to be with him for an hour, and to drive back home to be with you and Brian for Easter just feels so right. I don’t know why I couldn’t imagine that until now…” He looked at me, tears still present. “As my mother said to me, so I say to you, ‘I’m so glad we had you.’ And I should probably go tell your mother that we’re going to Cleveland today.” We laughed a little, knowing she was still sleeping.

 

I fixed a high protein breakfast for us all to eat before I jumped in the shower and we prepared to depart. I texted my cousin Megan that we were coming, but to let Dad tell her mom. Dad called Betty to let her know. I picked up three envelopes of old pictures that another cousin, Winnie, had sent to me, so Mom and Dad could see them all. The above picture of Grandma Ruth and Karl that Dad had never seen before was in that collection. Brian cleaned out his car and prepared it with water bottles and extra face-masks in case those were required. It was never really named aloud, but we all knew he was staying behind with Nala, to be at home, to prepare for his responsibilities impending on Easter Sundy. Mom, Dad and I were on our way by 8:30 a.m., a light rain and extra coffee at hand.

 

The drive up to Cleveland—ostensibly 3.5 hours—was easy and uncomplicated. I was driving and so chose a mix I had not listened to in years on the car media via my iPhone. Breathing Together I had named it. Dad was communicating with various family members on his phone, and my mother sat in the back seat, comfortable and present. Various tunes came on that made me smile, raise my eyebrows, enjoy in the presence of my folks.

 

These ‘mixes’ on my phone are records of my prayer life over the years. This one was from a time when my folks asked for no contact from/with me, so pained and threatened they were by my feminine awakening journey. “I Walk with the Goddess” came on, and I sang it at the top of my lungs while my parents smiled at me, my clear enjoyment of this music they did not know. And this time, were not afraid of. Each next tune became a curiosity to me, as I could not remember until they came on what tune was next, what tunes were on the mix.

 

Breath, by Sweet Honey in the Rock, came on toward the end of the mix. I startled, with tears rising. It’s a song celebrating the prayers of the ancestors, the pact with the living that the dead have. It’s an African teaching in song about how the dead are not under the earth, but all around us. Dad’s ears perked up and he Googled to get the lyrics. He asked to hear that one again, so I restarted the tune, after he got Mom’s phone to show the lyrics. We listened to the song together, aware we were being spoken to.

 

At this point, I took the rosary that I had made last summer from around my neck. It’s glass pearl-beads, with tiger-eye hearts and beads, made “for my Grandma Ruth.” I had done some ancestral healing work last summer, within the context of my Fire&Water eldering journey, in which some of the obstacles I’ve felt between me and even the memory of Grandma Ruth faded away in a fire. When I’m aware of Grandma Ruth, I pray with this rosary. I gave it to Dad to hold for a bit, while I told him that work, that association. Mom held it next before giving it back to me. I honored that it might sound like gibberish to them, but they could understand it in terms of the Communion of Saints, if they wanted to…but I attributed the nudges in me, my spirit, to this ancestral wisdom she was knocking into them, through me, into me, through holy convergence. We laughed, a little shy about something that even she in her own lifetime would never have dared believe.

 

Dad asked for me to make a copy of all the music we listened to that day. He got how this music was sacred to me, finally. Not because of the words, per se, but how the words dance with the energy of Life, if you’re willing to pay attention to the dance. I felt seen and heard by my dad in a way I had not before. Deep gratitude for that gift…

 

We arrived about noon at the MacGregor facility where Karl was staying, meeting my cousin Gretchen in the parking lot. With tears in her eyes, she approached for a welcome hug. I held her a bit while she cried. She hugged both Mom and Dad, and thanked us profusely for coming. We walked into the facility and entered into Karl’s room. Betty was not there yet, so we approached the bedside and simply said our hello’s. His eyes were open but he was unresponsive, verbally. Gretchen sat on his bed, and Dad and I pulled up chairs to be within reach of Karl’s hands. We began to chat, catching up with one another as family does.

 

Dad and Gretchen went out in the hallway to talk clinical details, of a sort, so I held my uncle’s hand, smiling. Mom sat on the other side of the bed, also smiling. It seemed time for me to sing what I had envisioned when Brian first asked me the question that morning. “Fly, fly little butterfly fly, to the calling of your spirit. Fly free and purposefully, and know you are held in Love.” It’s a little chant that Red Tent sisters would sing whenever anyone was facing a transition—a kid going to college, a woman getting ready to leave a job or home, a person preparing to die… As my voice filled the room, Uncle Karl’s eyes lit up and he looked at me, wide-eyed and smiling. Our eyes locked for a time before his eyes closed, and he seemed to sink back into himself, resting in the gentle, simple music. When the song ended for the final time, I leaned over to my uncle and whispered to him my love. “And it’s okay to go now, Uncle,” I assured him, uncertain if he could hear. “It’s okay to leave us… We’ll see you on the other side.”

 

My cousin Megan arrived next, followed shortly by her mother, Betty. We gathered around Karl’s bed, all of us, with Betty up close, holding his hand. She spoke to him and he responded verbally to her. “I was waiting for you to come…” he said with a smile. He seemed more present now, recognizing each of us in turn by name. It warmed me that her face and voice brought him more present to all of us.

 

We shared some stories like we would, being family with him woven into the speakings. A pause seemed to open for a little more singing, now that all the family could hear, receive. Standing at the end of the bed, I sang the Butterfly song, then an “Honoring Those Who Came Before Us” chant, also from Kelliana, Red Tent. Then all of us sang together the table-blessing the family has sung for generations. Three times, to fully inhabit the words, the music, and sound of our voices bathing him all around. His eyes lit up again, with a big smile. Then his eyes began to close, almost resting back within himself, knowing he was loved, home, going Home.

 

Tears were dabbed, hands were held, and then hugs were shared before my folks and I began our withdrawal from the space. Dad leaned over his elder brother, placing his hand on his shoulder, then kissing his forehead. “Good-bye Karl,” he said softly. I approached my uncle, kissed him on the forehead, and told him I loved him. I repeated, more softly so not to be readily audible to others, “See you on the other side. It’s okay to leave us…” As we were walking out to the car, we almost passed by Larry and Hal, both wearing the obligatory masks. I didn’t even recognize them at first, until it dawned on me I did know those eyes and foreheads! We laughed and I apologized, admitting it had been over four years since I’d seen Hal, so adult and solid. Finally, Mom, Dad and I approached the car, easing back into it for the long drive home.

 

We actually toured a little bit of their old home spaces close to Case Western, but found our way back to the southward highway. The sun was shining by now, but we were a bit teary and in awe for a while before we noticed. We listened to more music on the way home, though our capacity for any more sacred input was gone. We stopped for gas in Columbus, and picked up a loaf of Brian’s favorite bread from The Great Harvest Bread Company. We arrived back home about 5:30 p.m., to a nearly-prepared steak dinner with asparagus, mushrooms, red wine. Before sitting down to dinner, we landed in the living room. Brian made us cocktails, and while we didn’t have the ingredients for Karl’s cosmopolitan drink of choice, his second choice was apparently a side-car, which we could do.

 

I stepped outside with Nala after dinner, ostensibly for her evening constitutional, but so I could call my friend Lisa. I expected to leave a message on her voicemail, unsure even what I would say, but she picked up the call. We said hello and then she just held some silent space for me while I cried. I was exhausted. I had some alcohol in my system, which lowered the defenses I’d held most the day. I said whatever I needed to say, and she grieved with me, celebrated with me, laughed and honored this thin space we’d been in for so long…

 

Given the rich foods and wine, I didn’t sleep well that night. I arose on Easter morning to write the reflection I always do on Easter mornings…What does the resurrection mean anyway?...and the family stirred for coffee, the traditional sweets (cinnamon rolls this time), and preparations for church. I made us a protein breakfast, and got to church for choir rehearsal. The service was beautiful. Brian’s sermon was stunning. The music was nourishing, with descants abounding.

 

I was in my car after the service when I got the call from my dad.

 

“Uncle Karl died at 11:20 a.m. this morning.”

 

It was a Holy Saturday unlike any other… The generational transitions have begun…in such grace, such mystery, together.

Visceral Fear and the Swamp of Distrust

The panic began when the emailed-itinerary arrived, though I wasn’t conscious of the scope of the experience about to unfold until much later. Well over a month ago, I reserved an AirBnB in Covington, KY as the ‘retreat space’ for a leadership cohort-journey I had elected to begin. Given the pandemic, this retreat would be all on Zoom, but crafting a space ‘away’ seemed like a good way for me to fully enter in, fully focus, fully allow. I did my research for a couple days, as you can get lost on the Airbnb.com website with all the choices! I let my gut lead and eventually made the reservation that appeared to promise privacy, a nice kitchen in which to prepare my own meals, a nice sitting room with both comfy chair and desk options, and a nice bathtub. Fireplaces, plural--one inside and one outside--were a plus I could use if it were chilly outside. I’d even received a Spirit-nudge I’ve come to recognize that this was the invited course of action to take. All good.

The itinerary email arrived the morning I was to depart, just like clockwork. It had detailed instructions with complementary photos, for clarity. One of the home-front. Pictures of the street-signs to follow. The block to drive around to get to the private alley. The parking garage and the latched gate that would need to be opened. The number-keypad-lock. All of which were what sparked the panic. The house looked like it was in a potentially questionable neighborhood--old brick, small, tightly packed houses on an urban street. It was different than I had expected or imagined. To get to the parking space and ‘carriage house’ out back, you had to drive around the block to a private alley. Each picture showed more of a packed urban neighborhood that felt different from what I had imagined it would be. You were to park on the right side of the garage/drive-way, and the latched gate was to be unlocked (picture provided). The number-pad on the door was shown, with an entry code provided. From this side of the experience, all of this was hospitably provided and could be construed as a clear welcome, all information provided.

Except that is not how it all landed in me, in this body of mine.

Unaware of it at the time, I went into full-blown visceral fear. I immediately doubted my earlier research and review, imagining I had missed crucial details that would have insured my safety. I feared I had chosen a rundown neighborhood in which I would be then be unsafe as a woman by herself, in an unknown location, disconnected from resources to keep herself safe. I feared I had been duped by false pictures, misleading photoshopped images that suggested one kind of space but when the cancellation time had already passed, insured a moneymaking scheme, preying on clueless middle-aged white women like myself. I feared looking foolish in front of my husband and/or friends, having to cancel a reservation at a loss of a couple hundred dollars. I chastised myself the entire drive down to Covington, convinced I had made a mistake and would have to quickly rectify it before beginning a retreat with 24 unknown companions. 

I saw that the cancellation deadline was 3 p.m., so I rearranged my plan for the day so to see the property before 3 p.m. This meant a mad dash of final packing, getting the cold food into coolers and all of my clothes/necessaries into my roller bag. It meant rushing through any sense of ritual “beginning” this new journey, like spending time with my dear Nala or any sense of conscious presence of leaving my home for the first time in months, if not a full year, for a journey into an unknown Invitation. I’m usually pretty ritualistic about this kind of thing, but not that day. I was out the door in a flash, figuring I’d pick up anything I’d left behind, if I were to be even be staying in the Cincy area that night after all. It crossed my mind that I really didn’t want to be doing this after all. I took my Zoom grief-group ‘circle’ on my phone, on the road. I pulled over into an unknown neighborhood, to be present to my grief-circle-sisters for that hour of sharing time. Then found my way to the AirBnB, for an energetic sense of the neighborhood and the space itself. 

To cut to the chase then? The BnB was beautiful, just as advertised. The neighborhood was an historic neighborhood of the city, with grand old houses and beautifully distinct architecture to enjoy--large front porches and remarkably diverse buildings, textures, landscaping and more. The river I had hoped to enjoy was less than a five minute walk away, just as I had envisioned, and the local grocery was a 4 minute drive up the street. The living space itself was sparklingly clean, beautifully crafted, welcoming and cozy. The deck with the outside fireplace looked homey and the ceiling fan kept the temperatures just right. My stay involved several long walks, in loops, in the neighborhood as well as the next one over. It was everything I had hoped for, even prayed for. My earlier research was accurate, and my instincts were sound.

My experience of this day of departure is what interests me here. PANIC. Visceral fear that I did not really recognize as visceral. A collection of cognitive responses to a visceral event was my day. I problem-solved in response to the panic, rearranging my day so to be on the road and see the property before the cancellation deadline. I assured myself that I could cancel if I felt any hesitation about my safety. Yet it was all just as it had been. Nothing had actually changed in the world, but my relationship to it had been awash in fear and driven by distrust. Even after realizing it was all going to be fine, there were echoes of the visceral fear throughout the first day there. I slept with furniture in front of the door and an extended pocket-knife on my bedside table. I’m never “that anxious woman on her own”! The echoes of fear finally waned by the second full day there. 

The part that seems noteworthy to me now is that I was completely awash in a visceral fear that I did not recognize as a physical event at all. I problem-solved it all through logistics and an immediate, defensive distrust. I let the stories of distrust completely drive my body, my day, my behaviors. Arguably into 24-36 hours of all that was to come. Talk about noteworthy.

My gentle learnings so far, then… One, I did not really consider as significant the felt-sense experience I would have in leaving my home and companions, post-pandemic, for the first time in a year. My days and weeks have had a familiar discipline-rhythm that was going to have to change to accommodate this new pilgrimage into Fire&Water leadership journeying. Second, I did not really know how to make room for the feelings of fear that were building in me as I prepared to enter into one of the most diverse learning communities I’ve ever had the privilege or opportunity to enter. I have learned in some intentionally diverse communities in higher education, but I so need this one to be different, to be grounded in human being together, compassion, vulnerability & grief, healing, interdependence and love. (Just to be clear, higher education is not interested in those things, per se). 

Ultimately, I think I did not know how to make space for the fear arising in me, which leads me to begin asking how I might learn to do just that. I did not make space for me to even wonder aloud with a friend if I would have the courage necessary to be seen as the flawed and unsophisticated white woman that I am. I do stand firmly in my gifts of presence, intuition, compassion and devotion, but I do not know learning environments in which those gifts are valued, with anti-rascist work, within social justice advocacy work. I’m not a very good social-justice advocate in the modern-sense of that term, and I am well aware that this can look like complicity with injustice. What I am, however, is fierce for those willing to enter into practice and journeying with me. When I can feel the relationship or even potential of relationship, I will advocate for them to the end of the world and back again. 

So I was not remotely prepared for the visceral fear that would ultimately break me open a bit, aerating the soil of me to be more receptive and open to whatever would unfold. Nope, I lost my balance entirely into a several-hour panic, relying on a cognitive approach to a visceral event, and an immersion into mental stories of distrust barely grounded in anything real. As I told two friends/elders when I picked up my ‘bag’ of candle&goodies for the retreat: “I am already exhausted and it hasn’t even started yet. So exhausted that surrender to the flow of whatever would come is all I have left.” 

We all smiled at one another and began to talk about horses, the invitation to draw near, and the skittishness that is so familiar in trying to draw close. So it begins...