| “Even a wounded world is feeding us. Even a wounded world holds us, giving us moments of wonder and joy. I choose joy over despair. Not because I have my head in the sand, but because joy is what the earth gives me daily and I must return the gift.” (Robin Wall Kimmerer)
I’ve recently made a pact with myself that if it’s a clear day and I’m not in an early morning meeting, I’m going to get outside for the sunrise. A 15-minute walk away, I can watch the sun rise over Lake Whatcom. There’s even a little hidden spot on the shore where I can put my earbuds in and dance. It’s hard to describe the avalanche of joy and well-being I’ve been overcome with on those mornings. If someone were to peek around the hedge, I think it would be obvious I was having an illicit tryst with the universe.
The horrors and complexities of our world aren’t going away and will only require more and more of our loving attention as we stay in community and work for liberation. The poet Ross Gay asks, “What if wonder was the ground of our gathering?” There are a lot of other grounds for gathering, and many of them have to do with what we are against. Resistance will always be part of my spiritual practice, and anger shows us what we care about. But beneath anger is often longing. And what I long for is union with the earth, to escape the myth of separation, to know, as my friend Micah said on our Truthsgiving call, that we are all “cells of the same body.”
As I write this, I’m on a solo retreat along the Nooksack River. I’ve come here 9 times over the last 5 years, and each visit has deepened and formed me, been a gift exchange between the earth and me. It is hard to drop into wonder if we don’t get quiet. Yesterday, I ignored my giant stack of books and painted instead, went for several walks along the frozen riverbank, sketched out soul themes from 2023, and met with my spiritual director who lives down the lane. I need this like food and water. My clients need me to do it. The earth itself needs me to do it.
And what I have experienced, after over 20 years of taking retreat, is that the attunement lasts far beyond these 3 days. Though I certainly have seasons when I feel estranged from myself and estranged from wonder, these retreats have supported me to be in a constant exchange of tenderness and discernment with Love. That presence is never far-off and is experienced in the extreme ordinary-ness of cleaning the house, facilitating groups, grocery shopping, phone calls with friends, or singing in the car. It’s like a slow-release medication, doling out its healing powers long after I’ve swallowed it. I have clarity about what to say “yes” and “no” to. I have less envy of other people or what they have. I rarely feel excluded or frantic. My instructions are clear: just be awake. Often that wakefulness means I feel a lot of grief—I welcome that, too. The tradeoff is joy.
We’re heading into the holidays, which can suck us under no matter how mindful we are. Sneak away. Tuck into some darkness. Find yourself so you’re more immune to all the forces trying to get you to buy things or give away your precious attention. The earth offers herself to us, gift after gift.
P.S. For some tips on how to plan and take a solo retreat, download this. |
