On Ash Wednesday, if you were in church, the minister would invite you to the observance of a “holy Lent” and mark your forehead with the ashes of repentance.
Let me be very clear about this: I love you so much. I delight in you. I cherish you. For ever.
Here are a few more things I want you to comprehend. Despite what you’ve been taught, “holy” does not mean pure and unearthly. “Sin” does not mean breaking my rules and making me mad. “Penitence” does not mean listing and wallowing in all the ways you’re wrong and bad. “Repentance” does not mean promising to do better to stay out of trouble.
Please think about these words a new way, on Ash Wednesday and every other day going forward.
What if you only sin when you refuse healing and cling to brokenness? When you use those sharp broken edges to hurt yourself and others?
What if holiness is when you choose to be whole, even though you’re terrified? When you embrace and enfold those pieces of yourself you’ve lopped off to fit into others’ molds?
What if penitence is when you see yourself clearly, and know, speak, and live from your heart?
What if repentance is returning to your true self in all her messy glory?
What if, this Lent, instead of focusing on the ways you’re not good enough and the ways you fall short, you commit to your own healing?
I was there at the Big Bang, enlivening every particle, atom and molecule. You are made of me, and through me you are connected to everything and everyone. I am everywhere, my love. You live in me and I live in you.
This means, my dear, when you let yourself be healed, your healing heals the world. And when you cling to your brokenness, the world stays a little more broken than it needs to be. Your healing is important and necessary.
You think your healing is selfish. That’s incorrect. On the contrary, your healing is crucial. I’m using that word deliberately, sweetheart. Your healingis the crux – where you and I come together.
This Lent, the only fasts I want from you are these: Fast from distractions that allow you to stay wounded and broken. Fast from believing you’re not good enough. Fast from making yourself small, and nice, and silent. Fast from all judgment, especially of yourself.
This Lent, make space for me to flow into you and through you.
Befriend your fear, your anger, and your sadness. They are a deep source of nourishment and strength.
Let your love go free.
Let your joy be unconfined.
Sweetheart, healing isn’t complicated, and it’s always here for you. All you have to do is tap into it, like a springtime maple tree or an aquifer of living water. You know this. But it’s so easy to forget, isn’t it? All you have to do is let me clear out the dams and the trash, the resentments and identities and old, too-small skins that keep you stuck and stagnant. Open your heart armor just a little. Let go, child. Breathe and soften. That’s all you have to do. I’ll do the rest.
This Ash Wednesday, let those ashes symbolize our unending connection, a connection so easy to forget and so simple to strengthen. When the priest wipes those gritty ashes on your forehead and says, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” celebrate your elemental oneness with this dear, dirty earth, and with me. I am in those ashes, in the dust, in the stars, and in you.
I need you, my daughter. You’re the only you I created. Please, let yourself be the creation I made you to be. You don’t need someone outside yourself telling you how to live. Trust yourself. Trust your heart. Trust me. I’ve got you.
All my Love,
God
A Lenten gift for you: two printables of this post are downloadable here.
“We’re supposed to feel like toddlers in Square One, not knowing what the hell is going on half the time, and needing lots of naps. If you’re completely bumfuzzled and often tired, you’re doing it right.”
That’s what I wrote in last week’s post about the Change Cycle and how this global pandemic has smacked us into our next metamorphosis. We’re all preschoolers again.
It’s an uncomfortable feeling, this not knowing what the hell
is going on. I’m finding it easier to stay in the present moment, the only
refuge from what we can’t control or predict, when I care for myself like I’m a
three-year-old.
You know how to care for a toddler. You give that child a structure that keeps them safe and supports their toddler work.
Here are some concrete practices for being simultaneously three years old and that three-year-old’s caregiver.
(Do you have a photo of yourself as a preschooler? Put it where you’ll see it often. Do the same for the other adults in your household, as a reminder that we’re all preschoolers now.)
Sleep when you’re tired. Nap early and often.
Draw something. Scribble and doodle, then add color. Finger paint. Mess around with clay.
Go outside. Sit in the sun. Plant seeds. Take lots of walks. Stack rocks. Make a nature mandala. Pay attention to birds and flowers. Lie on your back and watch clouds. Gaze at the night sky. Cuddle with a warm, furry animal.
Put yourself in water. Splash your feet in a river. Wade in a creek. Swim in a pool or lake. Take a bath
TL,DR: We humans, as members of an always-changing Universe, are subject to repeated cycles of death and rebirth. COVID-19 has pushed us into change. Change follows a predictable pattern. Understanding this pattern helps us ride the “Change Cycle” with more ease and better results. The first phase of the Change Cycle as described by Martha Beck is Square One, characterized by death and rebirth. Your job right now is to let your old pre-Coronavirus identity dissolve. This will probably feel painful and scary, and the pain is made worse by resistance. Care for yourself and others as though you’re in active grief, because you are. We are held in Love as we do this holy work.
The Change Cycle is a foundational component of Wayfinder
Life Coach Training. I think it’s a necessary archetypal pattern to understand,
especially during times of transition. And boy, howdy, are we in a time of
transition right now!
Everything in the Universe changes. Every single thing. We
humans are members of the Universe. So change is built into our DNA, however
much we try to deny or resist it. The Change Cycle, as taught by Martha Beck,
is initiated by a catalytic event and has four phases.
Here’s a short overview, followed by a deeper dive into
Square One.
The Change Cycle: Martha uses the metaphor of a butterfly when describing the Change Cycle.* Imagine a caterpillar melting down in its chrysalis. That’s Square One, the phase of death and rebirth. Square Two, the phase of dreaming and scheming, is when the former caterpillar, now “caterpillar soup,” begins to reform and coalesce as a new creation – a butterfly. Square Three is a Hero’s Journey, when the new butterfly does the hard work of emerging from the chrysalis. This is arduous work for the butterfly, and it can’t be short-circuited. Finally, our caterpillar, after going through a lot of acceptance and hard work, flies freely as a butterfly through Square Four! Square Four, because everything in the Universe is always changing, doesn’t last forever. Along comes another catalytic event, and bam! On to the next Square One! Every time you ride this cycle, you get bigger and wiser and more yourself. Unlike our caterpillar, humans ride the change cycle over and over again until we die, unless we resist it.
Martha Beck’s Finding Your Own North Star, p. 245
Caterpillars naturally enter their metamorphosis. Human
beings usually need something to push us into change and transformation,
because most of us resist. The catalytic event that pushes us into the Change Cycle
may be something we longed for and planned for, like getting married or having
a baby. Or it may be something we don’t want and didn’t plan for, like
COVID-19.
Deeper into Square One: My friends, we are in a global Square One. This global lockdown accompanied by instant internet news is unprecedented. Coronavirus has forever altered our world. Remember that Square One is characterized by death of old identities. This pandemic has destroyed our identities as people who get to go where we want, do what we want, and control our own destinies.
Square One is painful, and it cannot be rushed. This square is overflowing with grief. Just like your grief when a parent or a spouse or a dear friend dies, this grief simply must have its way with you, and the best course of action is to accept it. As Tara Brach and other Buddhist teachers often say, “Pain x resistance = suffering. Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.”
When my mom died, I felt like my world had altered
irrevocably. My life had slipped off the rails. I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel
anything but pain again – joy and happiness seemed like they had fled and would
never return. I know you’ve felt this grief, too. You’ve known the deep sadness
of missing someone or something so much you’re afraid you’ll never recover.
The only thing to do when you’re grieving is to grieve. Grief can’t be rushed. It can’t be sidestepped. The dissolution of Square One simply has to happen. Just as the caterpillar turns to caterpillar soup, we become “person soup.” We have to let our former identities dissolve when the new identities aren’t yet clear. The imago cells that coalesce to form the new creation will only find each other when the old creation is completely fluid. Completely disaggregated.
This is how this has to go. Death and rebirth is how our
world works. It’s the story of winter’s death and the rebirth of spring. It’s sunset
and darkness preceding sunrise and a glorious new day. It’s a waning moon
followed by a waxing moon becoming full and illuminating the night. This is how
this has to go. It’s okay. You’re okay. Let go. Let death have its way with
you.
The only way to come out on the other side of this process a realer, bigger, more present and authentic you is to let the Change Cycle have its way.
These days, just like after my mom died, I’m moving more
slowly. I’m tired and inefficient. I’m forgetful and a little fuzzy around the
edges. I’m craving several hours each day just to be with this new reality. I’m
praying, walking, moving my body with love, sitting in meditation, while
working harder than I ever have before. I’m being really gentle with myself –
creating a cocoon for this metamorphosis. I suggest you do the same. Treat
yourself as though you’re in active mourning, because you are. Life as you knew
it, before the pandemic, is gone. It will never be like it was. Grieve the
loss. Give yourself all the time you need.
If you don’t take all the time you need, if you push through
or avoid or try to step off the cycle, you delay rebirth. I know this to be
true. After my mom died and after other catalytic events in my life, before I
knew about how change works, I resisted, sometimes for years. Resisting the pain
caused me to suffer and stay stuck, completely unnecessariy.
How can you tell you’re resisting the death of Square One? Some classic symptoms of resistance are keeping busy all the time, indulging in addictions, numbing, dissociating, avoiding being in your body, obsessing and worrying, and saying things like “Why me?” and “This shouldn’t be happening.”
We’re supposed to feel like toddlers in Square One, not knowing what the hell is going on half the time, and needing lots of naps. If you’re completely bumfuzzled and often tired, you’re doing it right.
If you take all the time you need to dissolve, to grieve,
to become “person soup,” one day you’ll feel a lightening of that load, and
maybe just a glimmer of hope. You’ll catch a flash of light in the distance. That’s
a sign that you’re moving onto the threshold of rebirth. Those holy imago cells
swimming inside you are beginning to find each other and coalesce. A new you is
beginning to form. And just like the caterpillar, your chrysalis will have done
its work. You will be ready to do the hard work of emerging and flying. And we
will be amazed by your beauty!
The Change Cycle is a holy cycle. Although you may not feel like it, although you’re hurting, know you’re held in Love as do this holy work. You will be okay. You will emerge from this experience – COVID 19 or any other catalytic event – as a new creation, and you will be okay.
Contact me if you’d like to delve into this further. I’d love to talk. Consultations are offered free of charge and obligation.
Here are four things I’m remembering now. I hope they help.
1. Change and transformation are how nature works. Nothing in the natural world is immutable. Even rocks change. We’re part of nature. Earthlings are designed to change and transform! Expecting stasis, and equating falling apart with failure, will only make you crazy.
Every thing arises and passes away. That’s always been true. Nothing is fundamentally different now, except that we’ve had our illusions of control ripped away. The caterpillar in its chrysalis has to completely dissolve before the imago cells begin to coalesce into a butterfly. Why do we think that we, with our conscious worry-prone brains so afraid of dissolution, should find this fun??
2. We’re all connected. Elsewhere I’ve written about the moment on the Camino de Santiago when I viscerally knew what science and faith had been telling me all along. That moment on the rainy Meseta, when I felt the presence of the deep heart connecting me to everything and everyone around me, is one I’m rooting myself in these days. I’m sure you have those moments, too. Re-member them. Just as trees in a forest feed each other through their interconnected roots, our rootedness in love and peace feeds our neighbors and our world.
3. We’re all grieving right now. You might have lost someone to death. You might have lost your job. You might have, as I have, lost your freedom to go where you want to go. We’re all grieving the death of our sense of predictability and safety. (See #1, above.) So be gentle with yourself and others. Treat yourself as though you’re in mourning, because you are.
4. Presence is our only refuge from what we can’t control or predict.* You can’t control the past or predict the future. The only thing you’re in charge of is how you show up in this present moment. Viktor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor, has this to say:
Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.
When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.
Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.
Let’s look back at Frankl’s middle sentence above: When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves. I’m reminded of this version of the Serenity Prayer used by Twelve-Step groups: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”
Here’s a “Serenity Practice” to help calm your worried brain:
Write down the things you’re currently worried about.
One by one, ask yourself if you can and want to do anything about the thing, whatever it is.
If so, and you choose to take action, make a to-do list or a checklist. Identify the first step, and calendarize it.
If you’re worried about something you’re not in control of, find a way to begin to accept it. You might try RAIN, or prayer, or a ritual of giving your worry to the universe.
Finally, make a habit of connecting to your Wise Self during this time of intense unpredictability, in whatever ways work for you. Breathe. Walk outside. Do yoga. Call a non-anxious friend. Make something. Help someone.
I’m here if you’d like to talk through this practice. I’m here if you want to talk about anything else on your mind unrelated to COVID-19. I’m here if you just want someone to talk to, especially if your mind is losing its shit. Contact me if you’d like to schedule a free, no-obligation conversation. I have time for you!
Be gentle with yourselves, my friends. Be gentle with each other. Be present to the miracle of this moment.
We won’t be the same when this is over, but we will be okay.
