Four rabbits, three chipmunks and a squirrel
Spoiler alert: This is not a cute story about animals.
Over the past few days there have been four rabbits, three chipmunks and a squirrel my cats have killed. And this morning I found another rabbit on our driveway. The cat I least suspected with this rabbit turned out to be the culprit.
Somehow, that rabbit lying on the gravel triggered a weeping meltdown. There’s so much grief, suffering, destruction, and death happening right now, not to mention the climate, what’s happening to our country, our natural resources, and of course the devastation happening in other countries around the globe. It felt like everything was falling apart and there wasn’t much I could do about it.
On top of that, in a matter of days I went to a fundraiser, an engagement party and a memorial.
The contrast couldn’t have been starker: the announcement of something hopeful, the joy in a soon-to-be union and the acknowledgment of a full, generous life now at rest.
Life. Death. Birth. Joy. Suffering.
And while the losses feel unbearable, all around me life is also unbearably beautiful: the roses are wild with color, new seeds are pushing up in the garden, the mockingbirds continue to sing even as the cat catches the rabbit. Tthe fireflies continue to blink, the woodpeckers continue to show up at the feeder.
Life goes on.
Life and death exist together, something I still find to be a challenge to accept. There’s only so much any of us can do to protect or save what we hold dear.
Today, I felt it all: birth, death, love, memory, decay, growth, connectedness, celebration, loss, birdsong. Everything was mixed together.
Norman Fischer wrote: “You don’t have to save the world. You have to love it.” I believe by that he meant the kind of love that sees suffering and still keeps an open heart.
As much as we try to ensure safety, control, and knowing, life happens. Everything is connected, something Thich Nhat Hahn called interbeing. Nothing stands apart.
I am experiencing the truth that the cost of perceiving this interbeing is that everything matters. But instead of turning away from it, it may actually be a gift. Being sensitive to life is an invitation to witness all that is.
After shedding tears for the losses that have a ripple effect on nature, other people and places, I turned to paper and pastels and drew my feelings. I let myself feel difficult feelings and express them. Not to create a work of art but to create a work of acknowledgement.
And one more writing I found especially helpful from Pema Chodron, the buddhist nun:
…things falling apart are often a kind of testing and healing. Not punishment. Not failure. But places where the shell cracks and something softer becomes available.
This must be what it feels like to be fully human.
Over the past few days there have been four rabbits, three chipmunks and a squirrel my cats have killed. And this morning I found another rabbit on our driveway. The cat I least suspected with this rabbit turned out to be the culprit.
Somehow, that rabbit lying on the gravel triggered a weeping meltdown. There’s so much grief, suffering, destruction, and death happening right now, not to mention the climate, what’s happening to our country, our natural resources, and of course the devastation happening in other countries around the globe. It felt like everything was falling apart and there wasn’t much I could do about it.
On top of that, in a matter of days I went to a fundraiser, an engagement party and a memorial.
The contrast couldn’t have been starker: the announcement of something hopeful, the joy in a soon-to-be union and the acknowledgment of a full, generous life now at rest.
Life. Death. Birth. Joy. Suffering.
And while the losses feel unbearable, all around me life is also unbearably beautiful: the roses are wild with color, new seeds are pushing up in the garden, the mockingbirds continue to sing even as the cat catches the rabbit. Tthe fireflies continue to blink, the woodpeckers continue to show up at the feeder.
Life goes on.
Life and death exist together, something I still find to be a challenge to accept. There’s only so much any of us can do to protect or save what we hold dear.
Today, I felt it all: birth, death, love, memory, decay, growth, connectedness, celebration, loss, birdsong. Everything was mixed together.
Norman Fischer wrote: “You don’t have to save the world. You have to love it.” I believe by that he meant the kind of love that sees suffering and still keeps an open heart.
As much as we try to ensure safety, control, and knowing, life happens. Everything is connected, something Thich Nhat Hahn called interbeing. Nothing stands apart.
I am experiencing the truth that the cost of perceiving this interbeing is that everything matters. But instead of turning away from it, it may actually be a gift. Being sensitive to life is an invitation to witness all that is.
After shedding tears for the losses that have a ripple effect on nature, other people and places, I turned to paper and pastels and drew my feelings. I let myself feel difficult feelings and express them. Not to create a work of art but to create a work of acknowledgement.
And one more writing I found especially helpful from Pema Chodron, the buddhist nun:
…things falling apart are often a kind of testing and healing. Not punishment. Not failure. But places where the shell cracks and something softer becomes available.
This must be what it feels like to be fully human.