Spacious Solidarity Blog: Day 72

Today is the first day in ages I have nothing in the diary. I had hoped to work on my book, a project that I started before coronavirus which came to a screeching halt at the beginning of the lockdown.

But when I get on my computer this morning, I have no energy for it. I open the document, go to the last section I was working on and wait but I’ve got nothing.

I know myself as a writer well enough to know what’s happening. Coronavirus has changed everything and I have a sneaking suspicion that the nearly 50,000 words I’ve already written are going to require a read through and partial re-write to make space for this new reality.

The good news is that the book was already an attempt to weave together a number of threads in my practice and teaching and that of my co-author. It’s mainly about meditation, and it’s also about what it means to be alive in the world right now from a deeply authentic, somatic place of presence and curiosity.

Because of who I am it is also about non-violence and social justice. It’s accessible and trauma-informed while also being challenging and at points possibly even controversial, depending on the reader.

I’m thinking because of coronavirus I also want to emphasise the importance of seeing loss, uncertainty, and change as gateways into deeper personal and collective transformation and liberation. The portal, gateway, bardo that is uniquely available to us now.

I don’t know how long this window will stay open and I fear the forces at work in the world also trying to take advantage of it with more menacing end games. For this reason, I have a sense of urgency about finishing it, but without the motivation to actually write anything down.

I’m much more interested in this daily blog. And there’s probably a book in this too, but it’s not the book I was planning on writing and not the one that I feel the world desperately needs right now.

I take a break to eat some breakfast. While eating I’m checking my email. A few weeks ago I signed up to a newsletter of an organisation in Oakland, California called Thrive East Bay. They are doing amazing work to bring together artists, activists, teachers, writers, healers, and others to create community around spirituality, the arts and social justice.

They are holding online events called Medicine for These Times and I’ve been meaning to attend some of them, although often the times don’t work for me.

Today their newsletter arrives in my inbox and it includes links to recordings of past events. I click on one of them, an interview with the executive director of a leadership development organization I used to train with when I lived in San Francisco.

The interview is exactly what I needed to hear today. The ED, Akaya Windwood, is encouraging us to stop planning. That now is not the time to plan. Now is the time to pause and feel into what’s here.

Now is the time to witness the death of the old and get ready to manifest the new.

She is speaking about the difference between preparing and being willing. That to prepare we need to know what we are preparing for. But we can’t know what’s coming next. We can dream, and imagine, but we can’t know.

She is encouraging us to stay with the not knowing.

She is using the metaphor of pulling patriarchy up by its taproot. And that when you pull out a root you need to let the earth heal, re-nourish itself, before planting something new in its place.

She is encouraging us all to work on pulling up the roots of patriarchy, and its handmaidens of racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, and all the other isms and phobias, in our own hearts and minds.

She’s asking if we’re up for it. Looking these demons straight in the eye.

My ears perk up at that. That is exactly what I’ve been doing and supporting others to do. Except it hasn’t been as explicit as that. Up until now I’ve framed it in the Buddhist language of poisons. The poisons of greed, hatred and delusion.

But how do these poisons manifest in this world, our world? The corona world, the 21st century, late capitalist, neo-liberal, patriarchal, racialized, ableist, heading towards hell in a handbasket world?

I think about the language of isms and phobias. That the words to describe these mental states and behaviours point to both views and biases based on separation and fear. Isms are practices or belief systems that separate us from others. It’s not lost on me that religions also use this language; Buddhism is also an ism.

Phobias are what we deeply and often unconsciously fear, don’t want to be in relationship with, wish we could banish from the face of the earth.

I take a deep breath. This really is medicine for me today. The interview has sparked something in me that feels real, raw and inviting.

Especially because today is also about what’s been on my Facebook feed which ain’t pretty. Forget Dominic Cummings and Biden in a face mask. The real story is a white woman calling the cops on a Black man in Central Park, NYC because he asked her to leash her dog. In an area that requires you to leash your dog.

The real story is the death of George Floyd at the hands of the Minneapolis police and the ensuing protests demanding justice. Again, people risking illness and death to fight for freedom.

I’ve been on the floor of my front room in semi-supine while listening to the interview. I get up and go to my desk and start writing. Not the book, but the blog.

I eat leftover gazpacho for lunch. I’ve tried to fix it by adding more cucumber and red pepper but it is still way too garlicky. I eat it anyways.

In the afternoon I have to go into the bedroom as my partner is leading a training on Zoom and needs the better WiFi connection in the front room.

I spend the rest of the afternoon writing, catching up on email and scrolling through Facebook. I come across a post from a friend who’s a yoga teacher. He’s leading a restorative yin yoga class this evening.

I’ve been wanting to do more yoga but haven’t yet found the space and inclination. Now I imagine what it might be like to take an online class. I decide I’d like to do that and book on it.

We go for our walk in the late afternoon. Back to Hackney Downs. On the way out the door I see my neighbour and her son moving slowly and quietly in her back garden. She’s got her phone in front of her and I can tell she’s either photographing or videoing something.

She looks up and says hello and I return the greeting and ask her what she’s up to. She says there’s a dragonfly and she’s trying to take its photo. She says she finds them magical and mysterious. I agree.

I love how everyone’s just taking their time now to notice the life unfolding in and all around them. And we’re not shy about it or apologetic. I can’t imagine ever having that exchange before coronavirus. In that world, we would have been rushing past each other on our way to or from something “important.”

If we’d wanted to stop and look and listen and feel we would have probably talked ourselves out of it or felt self-conscious about it. But not now. Now there is full permission to do the complete opposite of what was “normal” just a few short months ago. Now all that normal seems insane.

The park’s exactly as expected, lots of big groups of people sitting close together, eating and drinking. There are also your usual joggers, cyclists, people doing aerobics, playing ball games, etc.

There’s one thing I haven’t seen before, a live yoga class.

I wonder to myself about how it would be to try and offer an outdoor meditation class. I quickly decide Hackney Downs is not the right park. It’s too busy and noisy. Springfield Park might be better but I’d have to find the right spot.

I don’t even know if it’s legal or not. I can’t keep track of the changing rules which have always been vague.

A news article I read this morning says they’re going to let non-essential retail shops open by mid-June. This doesn’t include hairdressers and outdoor pools, the two places I’d like to be able to visit.

The schools debate continues. There’s no clarity and now schools are taking it into their own hands. Some will be opening and some won’t. Some may partially open, staggering the grades they allow back over time.

There are a lot of kids in the park and my partner reminds me it’s half term. I guess that means no home-schooling this week? And that schools are closed for the kids of essential workers.

We only hang around for a little while in the park, as I need to get home for my online yoga class.

I set myself up in the front room and get all the things I need piled up around me, blankets, cushions, a “bolster” which is really just my couch cushion.

I am surprised at how liberating it feels to simply be a participant on a Zoom call and allow myself to be led. I immediately surrender to the voice of the instructor, calm and inviting. We do three or four poses and before I know it the class is over and I feel good.

I’ve worked up an appetite so decide to make myself a beyond meat burger for dinner. Then we spend the rest of the evening messing about on our laptops and watching another couple of episodes of Little Fires Everywhere.

There’s a white, teenage, queer character, Issy, who’s taken a liking to Kerry Washington’s character, Mia. In one scene she describes to Mia that her life is like swimming in an endless sea with only horizon and water in view. She asks Mia how long she’s going to have to swim for.

Mia looks at her with determination and a clarity that you can’t not trust. She tells Issy she won’t have to swim forever.

I remember the older women in my life who were there for me when I was young and at my most desperate. These mentors played an irreplaceable role in helping me get through the hardest times of my life.

It mattered that they too were gay. It mattered that they’d struggled and made it through. And it mattered that they took an interest in me, threw me a lifeline, and refused to let go.

It’s touching and the kind of dynamic you rarely see on TV, and definitely not between an adult woman and a teenage girl.

Mia also points out to Issy the privilege she does have, how she’s benefited from being part of the very suburban, white, heteronormative community she loathes. At first Issy wriggles but then accepts the feedback.

Mia is both challenging and compassionate, bold and caring. That’s the way I’d like to show up in the world. That’s what the world needs now.