From the tree in her yard, an offering brought by a student coming for house yoga practice.
I woke up violently beset with cold/flu symptoms on Tuesday (fortunately, I’d voted early). I hardly got out of bed for two days and while I was able to work some from home because there were deadlines that needed to be coordinated, I ‘m days from being better. Instead of being out this week bearing witness, I’ve contributed extra to support recount efforts and am glad for the steadiness of committed monthly giving. I am concentrating this long weekend on recovering because this is for the long haul. And look at this beautiful tree, which clearly has enjoyed the overly wet autumn.
Are meaningless without engaged conversation and action. In yoga practice terms, if you’re living in and enjoying the world, practice includes service and giving. Prayer alone is for those who live naked in a cave subsisting on alms.
I was volunteering today at William Penn House, which was providing a comfort station for marchers during the day, as well as being full to capacity with guests.
I was doing some work in the office when a woman who looked about my age came who was in town with a group of women from Long Island for the March.
She came in to William Penn House for a bathroom, not because of any connection to Quakers or the house. But while she was waiting in line for the bathroom she ended up in conversation with the executive director, who said that the board member volunteering downstairs was also from Long Island–perhaps she knew me. It turns out that we went to the same elementary school and lived near enough to each other that we rode the same school bus.
It is just one of the reminders I’ve had this weekend of how connected we are.
Yesterday, the first of the year, I pulled off the shelf and opened at random Anne Lamott’s “Bird by Bird.” I’d found it used some time ago and was interested, but other things got ahead of it on my reading pile. The page to which I opened seems highly topical for what is coming this year:
For instance, I used to think that paired opposites were a given, that love was the opposite of hate, right the opposite of wrong. But now I think we sometimes buy into these concepts because it is so much easier to embrace absolutes than to suffer reality. I don’t think anything is the opposite of love. Reality is unforgivingly complex.
May we find enough love to suffer well the complexities to come this year. For me, I know that deepening and recommitting to my practice will help me find what more I can offer.