I am just beginning to climb out of a state of unrelenting hopelessness. Every day COVID numbers escalating, climate change now a global crisis, the fires out west destroying acres and acres of precious trees and wildlife, floods destroying homes and whole towns….not to mention all the serious social and political issues that are present…heaping more and more powerlessness and hopelessness on my heavy heart.

We all have dreams, hopes, aspirations, preferences. They help sustain life and motivate us to thrive despite “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” as Shakespeare observed. I have noticed, however, that when I consciously or unconsciously transform these desires into concrete expectations, suffering often arises - especially when those expectations prove to be unrealistic.

If I can observe myself with detachment from that “wisdom center” that is all-loving and trusting, I can then start “accepting” (samtosha) myself, just as I am, finding more comfort inside my own skin. I can apply it to every relationship I have, including teaching, by offering presence, deep listening and compassion, creating a “sacred safe space” that leads to a synergetic dance of mutual trust and connection with my students.

“Making time for rest can recharge your ability to deal with commitments, relationships and impact your overall health. This is because your mind and body are intrinsically connected. When you take the time to sit and rest even for a few minutes a day, you are allowing your body's cells to recharge (this is why meditation is so powerful). Having a simple bath or shower with a few controlled breaths can be enough to re-infuse your inner light.” Jessica Sepel, Mindbodygreen.

“The practice of mindfulness involves finding, recognizing, and making use of that in us which is already okay, already beautiful, already whole by virtue of our being human.” - Kabat-Zinn

‘Your past moments of love and connection make you lastingly wiser.’ - Dr Barbara Fredrickson

‘Love, love, love. Love is all you need.’ - The Beatles

If freedom does not come from the world, perhaps it comes from your body, mind, and soul in spite of the constraints of the world? How does one tap into their celestial nature in spite of this tenuous earthly experience? Does it require more meditation? More reading? More hikes…alone?

The answer may not be found in doing more. It may very well reside in doing less.

Despite the hours of repetitive liturgy that is at the heart of Jewish worship, I am not much for formal prayer. This is true for three reasons: I don’t believe in the God to whom these prayers are addressed; 2) I find the words of the prayers parochial, patriarchal, and largely irrelevant to my life; and 3) I find reading aloud in community boring: no matter how beautiful the words may be, reading them in unison (or worse responsively) robs them of all value. Given this, it should be no surprise that I rarely attend formal Jewish worship services. This was true before Covid-19 and is all the more true when services are conducted via Zoom where you can see that the vast majority of people on–line are not paying any attention at all.

While witnessing unprecedented sickness, social unrest and grief, I’ve also seen a great deal of generosity, heroic acts of compassion and whole hearted sharing that perhaps would not have happened had times been milder. I always say that there are two sides to every coin. We do ourselves a disservice by only focusing on the negatives of this year because we deny ourselves deeper insight about experiences that stretched and groomed us for the better.

One lesson I’ve learned is how even the briefest of mindfulness practices can provide needed self-care in those moments when we’re feeling activated by the various stressors that we all find ourselves facing. Taking as little as five to ten minutes, to deepen the breath as we just practiced, to stretch, to briefly scan our bodies with the simple intention to soften, let go, and release… all of these mindful practices can make a surprisingly huge difference in reducing our stress.

Mercy’s bridge rests on the solid foundations of human evolutionary resilience, brain neuroplasticity, and spiritual awakening. Our species’ wiring for compassion and the desire to eliminate our racialized suffering provide the real potential for our social imagination to grow.

In July, I visited Minidoka National Historic Site, a windswept, barren, sage-strewn high desert area in south central Idaho. My friend and I were the only people on the self-guided tour, and as we progressed, the camp came to life in our imaginations. Children swam in the small pool created from a canal/irrigation ditch, men and women hauled baskets of potatoes from adjacent fields to store in an underground building (built by them), boys practiced baseball on a large field and rubbed the dust out of their eyes, women arranged home-grown flowers or painted.

Like blood cells bringing oxygen throughout the body (and shuttling away the carbon dioxide waste product), making deep contact in my journal clears out the residue from my past experiences and activities, and it offers me something pure and clean and renewing in its place. Not energy per se, but something invisible that allows me to call up energy in the moments ahead when I'll need it.

As a Latinx, immigrant, non-black person of color, mother, consultant, life coach, and activist, this work is essential for me, my people and the world. mindfulness and compassion practices are the tools that allow me to take active action to bring justice, to decolonize my mind and body, to be an ally and defend black lives, and to aim to abolish all systems of oppression.

I think that many of us are feeling both types of ambiguous loss during the Coronavirus Pandemic. Physically our worlds have changed little. Most of us live in same our homes. Office and school buildings, shopping malls, museums, etc. are physically the same, but vacant and void of human interaction. There is no emotional presence. Our lives are physically similar, but emotionally absent. Graduations, wedding dates, vacation departure dates come and go unchanged, but the emotional joyful celebration is missing.

I awaken to the sound of stillness--birds chirping at my window sill. A flutter of sunshine quickly enters my peripheral eyesight, as I slowly open my eyes. I smile. I look to either side of me and notice that my youngest daughters, Hazy and Rosebud, have climbed into my bed, perhaps fleeing the darkness of their room. Perhaps in search of sanctuary? Perhaps they miss the days when they could leave the house? Perhaps they miss school? Their grandparents? Friends? I’ve tried to keep things as normal for them as I can under these very unusual circumstances.

When an ending comes, what happens in your body? Do you get tight, contracted? What’s the emotional experience? Does it bring about anxiety, fear, sadness? And what happens in your mind when endings come? Do you have remembering thoughts or planning thoughts? How do you meet this experience? 

In a sense, we’ve been pressed into this place of greater intimacy with those in our immediate living space while at the same time denied the person-to-person contact with our circle of friends and co-workers. Our number of relationships shrinks while the intensity of a few relationships escalates.

I have on my computer a collection of some 500 poems. Each was chosen for a reason. Sometimes a line may have captured my attention, like Mary Oliver’s “You do not have to be good” or sometimes I come across a phrase that deserves contemplation like Stanley Kunitz’s “Live in the layers, not on the litter.” Maybe I sensed a truth that I needed to hear (Patience with small detail makes perfect a large work, like the universe. Rumi Kapur) or was given a caution for a day that was to include unpleasant circumstances (There’s no use hiding it / What's inside always leaks outside. Yunus Emre)