Solace is what we must look for when the mind cannot bear the pain, the loss, or the suffering that eventually touches every life and every endeavor.
When longing does not come to fruition in a form we can recognize, when the people we know and love disappear, when hope must take a different form than the one we have shaped for it.
When life does not in any way add up, we must turn to the part of us that has never wanted a life of simple calculation.
To be consoled is to be invited into the terrible ground of beauty upon which our inevitable disappearance stands, to a voice that does not soothe falsely, but touches the epicenter of our pain or articulates the essence of our loss, and then emancipates us into the privilege of both life and death as equal birthrights.
how so many beauteous offerings come my way….
inquiry for today~ and when we forget to be thankful, we forget our truth..
Sometime midweek, I had to stop, just stop, shake myself a bit and consider—what exactly is solace?
A practice of solace?
Sounds timely to me, dear friends.
Different systems talk about solace in interesting, similar ways.
Twelve Steps tell us in the midst of chaos, there is serenity.
Living Yoga tells us that, no matter the external clamor, there is silence inside, that it is through the human experience, the doorway to Grace emerges.
Like everything else in this wacky pandemic, these practices that I know—to some degree—that I practice—to some degree—intensify in necessity and deepen in functionality.
You guys, we must find comfort somewhere.
That which used to soothe us might be different now?
The agitations around us might be louder now?
Yet what is it, that remains the same?
What is consistent?
What comforts us?
What comforts can we return to, as a verb form, an intentional and willful action woven into the fabric of our day?
What new comforts can we initiate?
This is me.
Here I am.
But we practice.
We make room for imperfection.
Here’s the bottom line:
I believe I am the only one here who can soothe me.