What to do

with the time that is given to us

This morning I skate-skied the lake, which is something you can only do when the conditions are just right. This particular session was made possible by the 8 inches of snow that fell in December getting packed down by the rain we had a week or so ago that has since turned into a crust that can hold my weight thanks to a few days of colder temps (plus a tiny bit of new snow dusting the top). Tomorrow it’s predicted to be 43 degrees so things may get too melty to go again, but for today, conditions were right enough to support some laps.

Meanwhile news out of Minneapolis, 45 miles south, continues to be full of disturbing, chaotic, and often conflicting stories (if you are intentional about going outside what your personal algorithm shows you). At any rate, ICE has arrived in the area, and though I haven’t seen any activity in my rural community with my own eyes, many folks I know are feeling the tension and anxiety and fear that comes with having a multitude of extra armed and seemingly unpredictable individuals continually present. One friend told me this morning that she had just received an email outlining the protocol if ICE shows up at her kids’ school—and they are in a suburb, not the city proper. Another friend is working tirelessly to support her extended family of immigrants while managing her own mental health needs. Another friend is triaging support requests to ensure resources available go to those who need them most. Some folks are attending protests, some folks are doing research, some folks are justifying actions, some folks are making calls, some folks are trying to look at things from multiple perspectives. At any rate, just like in 2020, urban Minnesota is in the national spotlight for unnecessary violence.

It’s hard to know what exactly to do, how to best respond in a way that contributes in a helpful way to the collective story. It’s easy to get sucked into scrolling until your eyes bug out. It’s easy to get mad (not that there’s anything wrong with anger if its energy is eventually channeled into something life-giving) or sink into despair (not recommended) or apathy (also not recommended). I’ve definitely spent too much time online in the past days trying to make sense of what’s going on. A tall order when so much of what goes on these days doesn’t seem to make sense (at least when you look at it from a perspective that wants all beings to feel safe and loved).

Meanwhile there are 19 Buddhist monks and a rescue dog walking 2300 miles, from Texas to Washington D.C. to raise awareness for compassion and loving kindness across America. They’ve walked 15-20 miles a day since starting in late October, through all sorts of weather and through all sorts of communities with the goal of promoting peace. Right now they are in South Carolina. Some of them wear running shoes, some of them go barefoot. The dog trots alongside unless it’s a rest day for him. People from all walks of life line the streets when the monks pass through, receiving blessings and absorbing the energy they bring with each step.

This isn’t the monks who are walking at present, but to follow their progress, go here.

Speaking of a long walk through troubled lands, I’ve seen this quote circulating a lot lately. It was written during a different era of unprecedented times for a fictional story, yet it still speaks to this time for so many.

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

―J.R.R. Tolkien

So the question of the day, I suppose, is this: What will we decide to do with the time that is given to us? Not an easy question, but perhaps one to sit with for a little while each day. Today I decided to turn off the scroll for a little while and go ski around the lake in the sun, and later I’ll meet a friend to discuss how my family can best support hers as they navigate what’s going on. I’ll pick up my kid from play practice, and I’ll reach out to those friends who are now anxious about doing the same. I’ll keep the energy of the monks who are walking 2300 miles for peace as my guide, and do my best to let my attention be a prayer for the peace that the world needs so much.

This morning, on the lake.

Let your attention be a prayer

Today
and all days

let your attention 
be a prayer
rolling with fog
over still waters.

Let your attention 
be a prayer
absorbing warm sun,
an ingestion of light.

Let your attention 
be a prayer
joining birds and frogs
in making a joyful noise.
 
Let your attention
be a prayer
one that fuses 
with all other prayers

rising in a great cloud 
of collected healing–
Earth’s congregation
connected in community

attention to the wild
the gateway to devotion.

Mary Oliver said, “Attention is the beginning of devotion.” Let’s pay attention to the things that we need to (this isn’t a suggestion to ‘bury your head in the sand’). Let’s ensure our attention is going where it’s going to do the most good. Let’s reach out when we need help, and let’s support those who are struggling that are within our reach. And let’s make sure we are taking the time and actions necessary for restoration so we can keep taking those steps toward peace.

Enough of this world
after Teddy Macker

You can never have enough
of this world,
and that’s part
of the mystery, isn’t it?

Instead, all we can do
is see red flowers
as they drop their petals
each one a crimson offering
a delicate gift given just once,
each one, and then they’re gone.

Instead, all we can do
is feel how sun and wind and rain
all have their own language of touch
each one a burst of tactile energy
an elemental shift given
day after day, season after season
always repeating, never the same.

Instead, all we can do
is notice the nuance
pervading all of life
each detail another thread weaving
a continual stitching 
of earth’s collective tapestry.

Instead, all we can do
is wonder at how praising
things that cannot last
holds the world for us, somehow
allowing what we do have
of this world to be enough.

May your week include enough of whatever it is you need the most and plenty of wisps of active hope, rising.

*poems from Just Wild Enough, which is available now from Wayfarer Magazine and Books.