Is it safe to be here now?
Mindful Mondays.
I’m back on the front porch, feeling my feelings.
It’s Sunday morning as I write this on my laptop, surrounded by the wondrous sights, sounds, smells & other sensations of nature that I am, in effect, blocking out: With my tech in my sightline & my ears clogged with earbuds that play a generic, digital rendition of “soothing focus music,” I am all but oblivious to the scene where I center myself.
And this is ironic.
I wrote last week about some really serious, scary feelings that seemed to go out into a vacuum, preserved for posterity (or at least as long as the Substack sub-culture exists) for any future readers to use as they will. Intended for help, they may well have fallen flat. And the fact is, I will possibly never know.
It kind of feels like this:
We’re all just screaming from our own little corners of the world, envisioning the ant hills that we perch upon as mountain tops.
Maybe the documentary I watched on social media over the weekend has me wondering just what the point of all of this is. Maybe it’s the fact that I parent young-to-nearly-adolescent boys, & I worry about their future even as I envision what I hope it will be as the goal post to this long game of parenting that I play. … Or maybe the 4th of July feels have me in their clutches as I take a long view on the anniversary of our still-young-by-comparison country, still learning as we go, still struggling to change the game, despite the myriad histories that stand as historic stories whose written endings tell an all-too similar tale.
We are people who evolve by learning as we go, both individually & collectively. We are flawed & human & looking for the most part for our better angels of guided support.
The day after Independence Day is my own personal wedding anniversary. A day I said, “I do,” decades ago in the very yard I survey today, under a party tent housing outdoor guests while I ignored the pit in my stomach & the ringing in my ears to forget my fears & forge ahead with commitments I only meekly understood & for some reason vaguely dreaded.
Here is my most embodied memory of the ceremony:
Not the heat under the tent & our stirring, stifled relatives who’d gathered from around the country on the hottest day of that year; not the little ceremonial mistakes that are too easy to remember, like my brother-in-law playing the wrong song for our entry music or the lighter giving our mothers trouble as they lit our family candle; not the nervous, joyfully tearful readings by my brave sister & dedicated childhood friends who each chose an important passage on the complications of love from spiritual writers throughout the globe & all time——Rumi, Kahlil Gibran, Wendell Berry.
But this——
A small bee landed on my hand-picked posy of wildflowers. I let the buzz of social anxiety at being the center of attention fade out of my consciousness as I focused in on that busy bee, detaching as well from the droning intonations of my much-beloved minister who shared what I’m sure was a moving message——about how God is with us everywhere, especially in this outdoor temple, & how his final, pre-retirement wedding service at last put the focus where he’d always wanted it to be: on the connections, natural, universal & spiritual, between these life partners, their community & the divine.
It centered me to forget my fears & “be here now” (pun intended!).
But here’s one thing:
The moment before the bee landed, I had thought I may hyperventilate & run away. My head was screaming with the repeated thought, “I can’t do this!” And I argued with myself, “But you have to.”
I was choosing to be married, after all; choosing how we would do things people had done for generations, & how we would consciously do some of those things differently, be they last names & engagement rings, bank accounts & tax statuses, or even domestic housework & legal paperwork. What would our life look like going forward? We made our choices, knowing time would tell.
In habit——or reflex——I called out in anguished prayer silently inside myself:
“Help me!”
That bee landed immediately on my bouquet as I, already still as a statue in my frozen fear, watched intrigued & thankful for the distraction of this small creature that would normally have scared me so.
Looking back, I see it also as a lost lesson.
Or maybe the lesson wasn’t lost (at least not in full), but the message was missed (overall or in part): I focused on the bee & forgot my future. But I also mislaid the present.
I did not thank the bee for doing her work of grounding me as she flew around. I did not tune in to her hum, nor to the sounds of my supportive friends & family & long-known minister who were there to help me. I did not fully connect.
Early, this morning, something similar happened. Writing long-hand with an ink pen in a favorite notebook (my collection of love poems & holy quarrels with my higher power guidance), I wrote in anguish the inwardly exclaimed question, “Where are you?” And in the moment my pen finished the flourish, a small chipmunk appeared from its previously invisible dwelling under my porch onto the top step to stare at me in fully serious silence.
Bees can be symbols of teamwork, fertility & abundance. Exactly what I hoped for & feared most on my wedding day. Chipmunks may also mean prosperity & protection, especially of the home & family.
As I write this now, I turn off my music. Take out my earbuds. Tune into myself & the world around me in meditation as I guide myself (& maybe you, if you choose to receive the message) to BE HERE NOW in all ways.
Message delivered.
