Raw and Tender

I've been a bit raw and tender lately; like an egg that has cracked and the yolk spread across the kitchen floor.

Yesterday, at the end of my shift, I put my headphones on and settled in to finish my medical records. The headphones serve to isolate me so that I will focus and get my work done. They served their purpose because I looked over and there were my co-workers, performing CPR. Our receptionist had barreled into the treatment area cradling a dying dog. The team had immediately mobilized. One person climbed up onto the table, straddled the dog and began chest compressions. Another placed an IV catheter. A third person set up the ecg. A fourth placed an endotracheal tube and began breathing for the patient. It was just like you'd see on tv. Only the efforts were for a dog rather than a person.

In my ears was Stevie Nicks. Landslide.

"What is love?

Can the child within my heart rise above

Can I sail through the changing ocean tides

Can I handle the seasons of my life

Well, I've been afraid of changin'

'Cause I built my life around you..."

And with that I stepped outside of my body. I floated somewhere to the side of the physical me and felt all the feels. Pride at my co-workers and their amazing dedication and ability. Sorrow for the people who were, in all likelihood, about to lose their dog. Confusion about the randomness of life. Helplessness as I watched it all unfold.

***

The world has been challenging as of late. All the bad things on the news. It's particularly difficult for someone like me. I internalize it. I feel, sometimes too much, for the people involved.

In the midst of all of this my husband and I have been attending a weekly class in Compassion Cultivation Training. These weekly meetings, with a group of strangers, have begun to feel like therapy. Tears have been shed. More than once.

Today we meditated. We inhaled darkness and expelled light. In and out. In and out. In with the darkness, take the darkness into your heart, and, like a furnace with coal, transform the darkness into light. Exhale the light.

We've learned some mantras. And one I now whisper to my patients; especially those that are being euthanized.

May you be safe.
May you be happy.
May you be free.

***

Wage peace with your breath.

 

Breathe in firemen and rubble, breathe out whole buildings and flocks of red wing blackbirds.

Breathe in terrorists 

and breathe out sleeping children and freshly mown fields.

 

Breathe in confusion and breathe out maple trees.

 

Breathe in the fallen and breathe out lifelong friendships intact.

 

Wage peace with your listening: hearing sirens, pray loud.

 

Remember your tools: flower seeds, clothes pins, clean rivers.

 

Make soup.

Play music; memorize the words for thank you in three languages.

Learn to knit, and make a hat.

Think of chaos as dancing raspberries,

imagine grief 

as the out breath of beauty 

or the gesture of fish.

Swim for the other side.

Wage peace.

Never has the world seemed so fresh and precious:

Have a cup of tea and rejoice.

Act as if armistice has already arrived.

Celebrate today.

~Judith Hill

***

Tonight we were asked to make a commitment for this week. Give away one thing per day. Your time. Your heart. Your genuine attention. Money. A book. A poem. A gift.

I was reminded of something my daughters and I used to do when bad things happened. Something that has fallen by the wayside.  We used to buy coffee gift cards and write handwritten notes. Then we'd hand them out,  leave them in flower pots, and tuck them in library books. 

It may not make a difference. But I'd like to think we left a little light in the world. 

***

I've had this blog for ten years now. And haven't written much as of late. But the voice inside my head has been telling stories lately and I'm here to translate.

It's weird to go back and read old posts. I've grown a lot. I'm calmer now. Less angry. More understanding. We all have the capacity for change. 

Love and light.