Conjunctions

We stood on the bluff last night to watch Saturn and Jupiter hang out together. The photo above, just a hasty cell phone snap, is blurry and inadequate, but I still like the sight of that bright white beacon in the sky, and the moody streaks of dark clouds commingled with the last of the light. To me it evokes the feeling I had, poised at the edge of the land and the year. There has been so much darkness, so much loss, and yet there are cycles, continuities, and comforts. And there are wonders, some in the heavens and predicted by astronomers, others unanticipated, perhaps in our very midst, and easy to miss...so keep looking.

It has been hard to contain all that we are experiencing, and harder still to understand and express it. Lately the sadness seeped into me, and I fell silent. Well, not entirely silent…sometimes I growled. I was curmudgeonly and snippy. Snippy…a sharp word, like scissors. I was hyper-aware of the selfishness and stupidity of others, which isn’t to say I entirely excused myself. (I’m always hard on Cynthia.) My feelings have been easily hurt, which makes me defensive and self-protective, and that in turn makes me snippier, which only extends the mood. I seem to react disproportionately to everything.

I guess it’s a manifestation of grief. We’re not all equally affected, that’s for sure, but we’re all grieving. It’s helpful to remember that. Yesterday I listened to an online gathering led by On Being’s Krista Tippett, intended as a space to acknowledge what we are going through, together and apart. She spoke of loss in its many incarnations: of people we have known and loved, of passages, of ordinary days, of being physically together. And she spoke of learning, which is what we are called upon to do. We need to find lessons in all this and apply them. Can we? Will we?

One thing she said that really resonated with me is that in the midst of this pandemic, we are also discovering and creating new forms of beauty. She pointed out, for example, that the words “love” and “care” are spoken (and demonstrated) more openly now, even more fiercely. I have seen this. I am living it.

And Lucas Johnson (On Being’s Executive Director of Civil Conversations and Social Healing) pointed out that this moment in history has also allowed us…or forced us…to acknowledge the ugly realities of racism in this country. It is possible to move forward based upon things as they are, not merely as we wish they could be. But we carry important questions: How do we remain faithful to what this hard year has taught us? How do we change in response to what we have learned? Who will we be to one another?

But, as Krista added, “Everything isn’t always up to you. You just have to do what’s yours to do.” I find this reassuring.

In closing, Pádraig Ó Tuama shared a solstice blessing:

As night stretches here,

day contracts elsewhere.

And in their night, we are

bathed in light. In all nights

there is light; in long days

there can be ache too.

For you, we call the sun

to stand still a while, and

the moon too, and the stars, and

the waters and the heavens.

Hells as well––just for a

second; just for a breath.

May that breath rest you.

And may each breath rest you,

as it has until now, and now

and now. This one, after

that one, after that one after

that.

As it is when zoom meetings end, my living room grew more deeply silent afterwards, and I felt a tad lonelier than before. It had been helpful to confront all these feelings, On Being style, and yet I still felt blue and subdued. News update yielded mostly anxiety and outrage. Darkness and the planetary conjunction were still an hour or two away.

And while waiting for the predicted wonder, a little unanticipated one arrived, in the form of a text from a long-ago student. A former cowboy, now working for a mining company somewhere in Nevada, he asked for book recommendations. He described his particular area of interest, but mostly he wanted to expand his mind and experiences through reading…and can you imagine, for an old teacher, what a joy this is to hear? I feel so honored that he turned to me. Another conjunction…at just the right moment. I’m working on this now.

The planet show did not disappoint. As an afterthought, I turned and looked at the moon through binoculars, and I feel that I know the moon a bit better now, having seen beyond the radiance to its weary, creviced face.

And the earth continues its journey around the sun, having passed its furthest point, and the days begin to lengthen.

I brush my hair, and its white strands are everywhere. My mirror says: You’re kind. You’re lined. There is much you’ve left behind, but a good deal more to find.

I walked in the canyon this morning. The light is stark, the road is glinting, the sea is molten silver. My shadow is long, and my heart is longing.