Valentine’s Day dawned overcast and cold and damp. No matter. Because since June, every Sunday morning, you’ll find me outside on farmland bordering the Sacramento River. Music radiates from my trusty old Mackies and a hardy group spreads out all over the property to dance. We have now moved through three seasons together, missing only four Sundays due to rain, smoke, extreme heat.
I sat by the fire on Valentine’s Day and thought of the morning ahead. I had some music pulled but my heart felt foggy as my window view. What was this day about…really? What measly words could serve as inspiration in such dark times? And what’s love got to do with it? My meandering mind pivoted to the previous night and the cat Zoom phenomena:
I was cast by the spell of this ridiculousness Saturday night. Played it five times over. Ended up in a floor heap, out of control laughter and tears. What was that about? Why did this video go viral? Right now? Why are people multiple watching and sharing? What deep longing does it evoke? Then it registered: in these estranged times, when solitude can overwhelm, this crazy video connects us. Laughter connects us. Tears connect us.
Feeling connects us. Everybody knows frustration and worry. Each and every one of us experience moments of gutsy courage. We get pissed off and we forgive. We have moments of tenderness. We know how it aches to care. To be cared about. You get my drift. When we climb inside our own vulnerability, when we sense that everybody feels, we touch our common humanity. We remember we are not alone.
And there is certain comfort in that. Every time we laugh at the cat filter saying “I am not a cat” we re-connect with each other. And here’s the thing. I may not spontaneously trust that connection to another, someone unknown, someone seemingly different. Gender, age, politics, color, economic status. All these qualities of human being that superficially separate us. But everybody laughs. Everybody cries.
Separation is a lens we choose. When I remember that you also laugh, when I imagine your tears, I soften and open and the yawning expanse between us fills with possibility. With a merciful lens, the space between us morphs into a bridge. A bridge we can learn to navigate, to negotiate. To maybe even cross over. Each step buoyed by remembering that we all laugh…and we all cry.
We danced open our hearts and eyes, felt into that bridge Sunday morning…on Zoom, in the garden. And this was the one-class-a-month fundraiser, all proceeds donated to a local cause. The river property we’ve been moving on is slated to undergo big levee reconstruction changes. This community raised $950 for tree restoration. Wow. I am in a state of stunned gratitude. Thank you.
Any community practice, whether on line or live, puts us squarely in the presence of that bridge. We can choose to ignore that. Eyes closed, in the comfort of our familiar skin bag. Now we can even turn off our video. There are times that is exactly what we need.
But we can also open our eyes, be curious, track our desire to hide out, reach out, space out. Tap the universal sensation of vulnerability. Trust the space between, knowing we all feel variations on this thread. What’s love got to do with it? Writer Sue Jaye Johnson in telling a story of my fellow teacher Peter Fodera said, “Life is not a spectator sport. To know love, you first have to be present for it.” That presence begins on the bridge.
I have a hankering to create some bridges in the alternative Zoom universe this Wednesday. Johnson also said “You can’t get to love by reading about it or studying it. You have to throw yourself in the pool.” Throw yourself in the pool, take a walk on a bridge…plenty of opportunity this week. Come feel. ❤️Bella
All links to these sessions:
9:00am &/or 6:30pm
Thursday February 18
Friday February 19
(916) 267-5478 for appointment
Sunday Sweat Your Prayers
February 21 10:00-11:30am
Zoom in your home
Live in the garden
Saturday March 13
Saturday January 30