This painting is several years old, but eerily it makes me think of the virus, its stealthy infiltration of our systems and our cities.
The last week has been a hard one for me because I have been awash in fear and grief. Not because of the virus directly—working creatively at home is my norm, and beyond precautions I can’t control whether I get sick—but because of how social distancing affects my self-care. For months I have had chronic pain in my hip, knee and jaw, and I have been doing all I can to help (stretching, swimming, acupuncture, osteopathy, massage and other kinds of bodywork). Now I can’t do any of that except for stretching. Suddenly my months-long sense of control—believing that if I diligently worked in these ways my body would quickly heal—dissolved, and all the suppressed fatigue, grief and fear (about whether the pain will flare up now, and whether I will actually heal at all) came gushing out.
Touch any grief or fear and all those waiting for expression will grab their chance.
But they do move through, given space and air. If I can’t rely on outside professionals, I need to remember to soften, soothe and mother myself, open my heart, marshal my own healing ability and ask for spiritual help.
Better, but I don’t seem to be at the end of those feelings yet.
I never know what form the spiritual help might take.
Maybe an protector from folklore or an animal ally.
I’m also finding wonderful resources online, more and more every day, it seems! Almost too much at times.
So I’m being extra careful not to destroy the sacred spaciousness of my days.
So that I can continue to listen to my heart. She knows what is true, right now. Trying to let her lead, even when she drags me through dark places. That path opens into my depths, into my connection with you and everything, and then into spring, within and without.
How are you? How are you being tender with yourself and others these days?