The daffodils are blooming and the fig tree is liberated from leaves. The landscape is offering me an invitation to see co-existence. My emotions are at war. There are days when I cannot reconcile or integrate memories and feeling for the future, without sadness and re-wiring.
In a week with plenty of ups and downs, that included tyres on my car being slashed, I find coexistence an act of self-compassion. With the tyres unable to hold the air, the car needing to be towed, new tyres needed and a whole re-adjustment and realignment for the vehicle, the irony was not lost on me! It is not so easy with a human body, as it is for a mechanical one to transition. My friend tells me mercury is in retrograde, and a young woman I encounter tells me the Lion’s Gate is open – both with equal confidence to help explain these set of circumstances. I totally accept the cosmic drama surrounding me and operating with no regard to anything I am, or am not, doing – the daffodil flowering is enough evidence for me.
Buds are detailing the fig, and visible life will burst forth when the weather agrees and accepts the kiss of the sun’s rays, life was always there though, whether or not I could see it in the empty branch. The wild winds of winter and crashing broken boughs in the night in the garden leave some creatures homeless and foraging quickly for new places … they just get up and move on … an easeful response to the disruption that leaves me envious. I long to have a tow truck come and pick me up, take me for new tyres, leave the slashed parts behind for recycling that I have nothing to do with, and send me on my way slightly renewed and with confidence of being able to stay on the road safely. Instead, I meander and get lost in my thoughts, speed through intersections I should stop at and take in the view, get distracted and go down rabbit holes instead of focussing on what is right in front of me – spring getting ready to show herself.
I have emotions of grief finding themselves alongside excitement and potential; moments of paralysing fear alongside epic bravery; occasions of emptiness as deep and hollow as anyone could endure alongside enriching and broad expressions of generosity. In this field, trying to integrate is not working and the landscape is inviting me to respect and allow the diversity of states to co-exist. Integration is not possible. I am not even sure integration is desirable, allowing all the feelings to be respected and have their own integrity, without having to vie for a place in the emotional landscape may end this interior civil war.
Letting my emotions co-exist instead of them trying to organise them or unite or harmonise them, is an act of self-compassion. They all have a right to be there, all have their place in this field I am in right now, each have to find their own way to loose their leaves, bud, regenerate, fall in the wind. This calls for mutual inclusion and dignity for all the feelings.
I am reminded of Rumi who writes of the rumour of winter being over. While it is not over for me, I am beginning to lean into the possibility of spring.
For the music we are – Rumi
Did you hear that winter’s over?
The basil and the carnations
cannot control their laughter.
The nightingale, back from his wandering,
has been made singing master over the birds.
The trees reach out their congratulations.
The soul goes dancing through the king’s doorway.
because they have seen the rose naked.
Spring, the only fair judge, walks in the courtroom,
and several December thieves steal away,
Last year’s miracles will soon be forgotten.
New creatures whirl in from non-existence,
galaxies scattered around their feet.
Have you met them?
Do you hear the bud of Jesus crooning in the cradle?
A single narcissus flower has been appointed
Inspector of Kingdoms.
A feast is set.
Listen: the wind is pouring wine!
Love used to hide inside images: no more!
The orchard hangs out its lanterns.
The dead come stumbling by in shrouds.
Nothing can stay bound or be imprisoned.
You say, “End this poem here,
and wait for what’s next.”
Poems are rough notations
for the music we are.