You know that feeling you get in the pit of your
stomach? The one that says
"fear" and "danger" and "stop"? You know the way your chest can clench
sometimes with that feeling, and the way it makes you want to fold inward and
protect your heart? You know that
feeling?
I have been living with this feeling for a little
over a week now. Actually, that's a
lie. I have been running from this
feeling for a little over a week now.
I've pretended to confront it every now and again -- but haven't
really. I've said hello to it as I ran
by, more likely. I think it appreciated
the acknowledgment, but it wasn't satisfied.
That feeling is a greedy sonofabitch who wants ALL of the attention
before it will think about going away.
I gave a workshop yesterday on mindfulness and
self-compassion -- and it was messy, and challenging, and hard, and exhausting,
and some version of right that is hard for me to understand and accept. I came home last night and I was tired and
overwhelmed with all the other things that need doing, and I didn't want
to think about the things that are hard.
I couldn't focus on anything, though -- not work that should have been
done, not mindless TV, or reading, or even knitting, so my brain did the thing where
it cycles rapidly through ALL of the things that are hard. Eventually, I went to sleep, but then woke up
at 4:30 this morning just to continue cycling through the thoughts of all the
hard things. And not just the current
hard things. This was one of those
"remember that time you said the dumb thing when you were 12?" type
of cyclings. I thought of all of
the things.
This morning, I drove to church, and I felt like a
hypocrite. I felt like I suck at
mindfulness and self-compassion, and I felt like everyone must know
that. If I didn't have obligations at
church, I honestly wouldn't have gone.
The reason? Because I'm
scared. Because my brain likes to make
associations, and because right now those associations are saying "you
have asked for too much." The
faulty associations in my brain are saying, "shut down now," are
saying, "pull back now," are saying, "don't share your heart." It's not because of church or the people
there, to be clear -- it's me, and another situation that feels messy and hard,
and old feelings that crop up and become pervasive when I feel scared, or
unsupported, or alone in something I need to do.
So this morning I went to church, and I sang with
the choir for the first time in several months.
And this song...this song will never not fill me with emotion and
intensity and love and heartache. This
song -- it speaks right to that hurt place in my heart. This morning, we stood in a circle around the
congregation, and we sang this song, and it was powerful, and right, and
profoundly good.
Draw the circle, draw the circle wide.
Draw the circle, draw the circle wide.
No one stands alone, we'll stand side by side
Draw the circle, draw the circle wide.
Draw the circle wide, draw it wider still
let this be our song, no one stands alone
standing side by side
draw the circle, draw the circle wide.
While we were singing, I could look at the
faces of the people around me, and I knew that they needed it, too. I saw tears, and closed eyes, and faces
holding emotions that told me how much we all need this widening
circle. Not only do we need the circle,
we need this assertion - again and again - that we are part of the circle. That we can widen the circle. That we will widen the circle. That we are not alone. Perhaps there is that hurting part of
everyone's hearts that needs the reminder that no one stands alone.
As I was driving home, many hours later, I
continued to sing this song, and to think about what it means, and how hard I
struggle with being in community sometimes, and how scared I am of moving into
this week. I thought about how I know this
circle is there, and how hard it is to believe it will continue to be
there. I pictured us -- all of us in
this community -- in a literal circle, holding hands, and how there is always
room to expand the circle. How many
times I have seen circles of chairs expand and contract as people arrive and
depart.
Then I pictured how, when my heart is hurting, I
can step outside the circle and join the hands of the people on my left and my
right. I can seamlessly create a space
and close it, and the circle will continue expanding and contracting. When my heart is not hurting, I can step back
in. This image -- this closing and
expanding of the circle -- it was, actually comforting.
But then I thought of this quote by Rumi: "Your
task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers
within yourself that you have built against it."
I thought about all the barriers I have built
against love. I thought about the ways
that love, in all its forms, is fucking terrifying. I thought about the ways that I have
dismantled (or am dismantling) some of those barriers, and the ways that I pull
them back out like a shield, like a force field, like a suit of armor when
things feel hard.
That's when it hit me. And when it hit me, it hit me hard.
Hey, the thought said, quietly.
Hey, listen.
You CAN step outside the circle. You can.
But you can also step in.
And guys...this simple realization...it completely
undid me. I cried big, fat, ugly tears,
and hid my face in my sweatshirt, because I don't even like my dog to see me
cry.
I thought about the ways I see it happen all the time
-- this stepping in, and stepping back, and stepping out and back in
again. This is the way of the circle. It is ever expanding. Ever containing. Ever changing.
The choice here -- the choice is mine. The barriers to love that exist in my
heart...they are real, and they are there for a reason. I can step outside the circle. My heart is uncomfortable right now as she
attempts to find her footing, and maybe I choose that the world does not get to
have my heart right now. She is mine,
and if I want to shut everything down around her, I can.
Maybe I step out and close the space I am standing
in, knowing that when I open my heart again, the circle will still be drawn
wide. Maybe I continue to stand in the
circumference. Maybe I step outside of
the circle and leave a gap.
Or maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe, this time, I choose to step in.
Draw the circle wide, draw it wider still
let this be our song, no one stands alone
standing side by side
draw the circle, draw the circle wide.
I am drawing the circle wide, friends, and I
repeat to you: no one stands alone.
No one stands alone.
#uuccsunday
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