We are constantly changing. Life is not stagnant. In life, we can be brought bare by storms that we never had a part in until it hits. Covid is our threatening skyline right now. But, within this huge storm, are many other little personal storms, whirling around like leaves falling from a fall tree.
In the last few days, I learned about losing two friends. Kathy, one of our besties, was one. In fact, I read about her passing in Face Book, in a post I happened upon. We had spent years sitting together at least once a week. There were four of us who commiserated on life, children, food, laughing and connecting in deep ways. She was such a gregarious woman and we loved her being in our group of friends. We talked about our children, grandchildren, our partners, and life in general. She was much younger than the rest of us. She was never negative, ever, nor did she ever complain. Her husband died and in three days, she sold the house and moved to a further city to live with her daughter. We tried to stay in contact but suddenly, her phone calls were not going through. We did not know what was happening, so unlike her not to stay in contact with at least one of us. She died three months after her husband. No one told any of us. It was devastating to read. I contacted her daughter, through FB and got the message back that she got cancer and died within a month and a half. We did the usual phone call thing, and I phoned the one on my list who would phone the other. We were all in shock. She had died April 9 and now it was October 9th. And, then, oner of us went to a small-town store and saw a death announcement. Another younger friend had died and we never were contacted. Again, the telephone tag. Again, each of us became in touch with our own fears, our own losses, our own tsunamis, that come when there is shock and loss. In the midst of it all, we were given reason to contemplate our own lives, to deal with the unknown factors. Change. It is frightening to start losing friends, especially ones younger than us. Storms create change and within that storm are little storms.
Life is not predictable. We can only believe or wish or dream that there is some great hand in change of all this. Yet, that does not stop the storms. When you are standing, or bowed, by a storm, you are in survival mode and most of our reactions are impulsive. We tend to be triggered and then move into dealing with such in ways we are conditioned to react. Once the storm passes, we tend to move into gratitude and changing ourselves to our new reality. We are never unchanged by a storm. We are forced to consider, in the case of our loss of friends, our own aging and death. We sit in the rubble and feel feelings of loss, a sense of betrayal at not knowing, and consider our relationships and what they mean to us. We then move, it seems, into a type of gratitude for all they meant to us and how much so many can mean to us and how to deepen those bonds.
Our ‘new normal’ is one of constant threat and change. We do not now who to trust, we do not know what information to trust, conspiracy theories abound and we have to sort through it all to come to some sense of ‘knowing’ what is going on. We are confused because life is not as we think it should be. The only truly safe place is in our homes, with only a few people coming into the house. We are forced to find new ways to be busy. We are behooved to find peace in our isolation. We learn new ways of trusting others to keep us safe, as well. It is all we have any small bits of control over.
We seem to have to change our known reference points. We are out of balance. We find ourselves standing on the edge of known versus unknown. Once the storm is over, there is a sense of shock, at some level, and we have to recoup our equilibrium. We seek shelter. We seek a sense of calm and begin to integrate new ways of being into our lives that gives us a sense of home as a safe harbor. We have gone from life being the search for more, for bigger, for better, for more and more. Now we have cause to pare down. What we did to deflect the storms no longer work. Punching at dark clouds does not work either. So, since we cannot depend on anyone or anything but ourselves, best we build ourselves an inner fortress to help us weather it.
For me, following The Good Red Road and living the First Nation’s Way as I understand it, helps me weather almost anything. It helps me with understanding and with strength. This does not mean I do not get weakened, nor downed from a storm, it means that I have something inside me, in the area of my spirituality, to help me rise when rising is next. I do not pray to Creator to take away the storm. Storms have reasons for being. I pray to Creator to brace me through it. When storms get deeply personal, it takes deeply personal work.
I understand storms as a way of knowing that we do not control anything but ourselves, and, even that, when we are aged, we can lose some of that self-control as well. Storms teach everything on earth that this is not our permanent home, that we are merely squatters, and temporarily so. Preparing ourself through letting go of things we have no right to try to control, in grace and dignity of letting go of things that are not as important to us after a storm, and learning about surrendering and standing firm at the same time, all are part of preparation for future storms. We can prepare. Sometimes we are preparing without even recognizing that we are. We cannot live in fear, we need to accept storms are part of this life, and then making sur that we find a way to grace despite what may come.
©Carol Desjarlais 17.10.20
**done in lesson with Melanie Rivers
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