Both my youngest daughter, Rara, and myself stared at her. We were in the vast emptiness and quintessential Western landscape of Joshua Tree. Staying in an airbnb that is a run down old house with a coat of paint and made habitable with stuff from Walmart.
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| Rara by the pool |
The roads are dusty and designed for the occasional pick-up trucks that speed down them. The sun is hot and harsh and the open spaces are dotted with Dr. Seuss-type "trees," cactus and shrubs. Rabbits hop in and out of view. In the rare but wide-spreading trees, birds cluster and chirp at the top of their voices.
Standing in the reflected glare of the concrete pool, I felt a sudden ease. A weight lifted off me.
I said, "Wait, what?"
I don't even remember if Rara said anything. Sasha turned around and wrinkled her nose. squinting in the sunlight at us. She said, "April fools."
We were all silent.
In the desert, the massive sky weighs more. In the cold night, it is heavy with sparkling stars. It is easy to feel connected to the breath and rhythm of nature here.
Nature is recalibrating us. It is reminding us that we are all connected to each other. That borders, races, faiths, beliefs are human-created separations. We are just one of the species or families of living beings who rely on this planet to feed and shelter us. In order to survive, we must rely on each other. We must learn to respect not only every human life but every other kind of life.
What's interesting to me about the new social or physical distancing rules is that it forces us to see other people as few humans. To step off or on the sidewalk or out of a supermarket aisle to allow someone else their 6 feet of safety means that you must acknowledge another person's presence. One can't just pretend that the other person is an object.
On our video conferences, we see into other people's living rooms. We hear their families or pets. In some ways, we become even closer even as we crave the touch and scent of other humans. We are social animals and this is a deeply difficult exercise for us.
I have moments where I find having to stare at a screen, whether to shop, connect or learn, irritating and unsatisfying. The wrong medicine for me. I don't answer texts or emails sometimes because I can't bear to look at my phone or my laptop. I don't want to talk on the phone, I want to have a cup of tea or a drink with a real person in a different setting.
On April fools' day, I considered the idea that this state is the new normal. That life for the next month or several months involves little to no social interaction, except for trips to the supermarket or for me, the cold-pressed juice place I love. (Fortunately, food shopping no longer turns into panic buying of things one doesn't need. While most stores are sold out of many things - toilet paper, paper towels, cleaning products - there is lots of fresh produce. Most places have re-stocked their soups, beans, rice and pasta.)
As incomes dip, we are all learning what we don't need. Learning to make do with what we already have. And as the Native Americans or many indigenous peoples teach, we are learning to leave something for others.
For me, the exercise of Metta meditation is a powerful way to remind myself of my connection with others and myself. As an intuitive, I already know that we are all connected - that physical distance and time are also constructs.
Metta, if you don't already practice, is translated from Pali (the original language of the Buddha) as "loving kindness." In today's world, that translation feels saccharine. A more palatable translation might be compassion. A compassion that is neither pity nor selflessness because it includes yourself in the process.
It is also a great meditation for busy-mind non-meditating people. People who say, "I'm a do-er. I can't meditate." Or "As soon as I start trying to meditate, my mind just goes crazy." Metta works for us because it involves bringing images to mind and repeating phrases. It basically gives your overactive mind something to play with so the rest of you can spread out into the spaciousness of meditation.
Different teachers and practitioners have different variations on the four phrases but here are the ones I like the best:
May I/you be happy
May I/you be healthy
May I/you be safe
May I/you live with ease (or be peaceful)
Finally, a Metta meditation is a revitalizing experience. It makes our connection with the life force in all beings into visceral reality.
Here it is. Feel free to listen as often as you like and/or share it with others.
Again, I thank Jackson Nazario for his help with the recordings.
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