Sometimes

Sometimes they never stop.

Sometimes I pop out of bed,
Readied
For
Whatever.

Sometimes—more and more—
Getting up
Seems
Unusually
Futile.

Then I do,

And I do
The
Day
With
Gratitude—
Eventually.

Sometimes I push
Through
And I
Am
Able
To
See

The beauty
The sun
The birds
The grace.

Sometimes
The jumpstart
Into seeing
Is just
Harder.

Sometimes
I can let go
And it is
So
Beyond-easy.

Sometimes
I
Struggle
And
Continue
To
Struggle.

It’s all true.
It’s all inevitable.
It’s all sacred.

~~~
I am all parts of this equation.

I am
The one who struggles,
And fights inside,
And
Wants
IT
(the moment!)
To be
Different.

I am.
Also…
I truly am
The one who trusts
Beyond-trust.

Truly,
I am such trust,
Such grace,
Such
Evidenced-based data
That
Blessings
Are
Upon
Me.

It’s all true,
Ridiculously
True.

It seems
The only
Commitment
Needed
On this journey
Of healing
Is to
See
All parts
Of me.

To see them,
To honor them,
To allow them,
To befriend them,

And to lean
Into
The
Grace.

The only keys
It seems
To unlocking
This bazaar
Gig
Of living human
We
Have
Chosen

Is…

To be willing
To look
To practice not judging
(except when we do),

And to keep
Coming
Back.

To
Breath,
To
Prayer,
To
The
Tether
Of
The
Moment.

Keep coming back
To the moment.

~~~
Allowing the fear is
The doorway
To a faith
That works.

Abiding our humanity
Is
The doorway
To Grace.

~~~
Inspiration?

This has been a week of somewhat limited inspiration for me. I’m not sure why, better news does hover on the horizon. The possibilities and realities of a vaccine?  The inevitability of an inauguration?  The futility of a phony coup?

All good.  Yet—oh!  I remember: this time is unprecedented.  I never lived in a spiraling and exploding pandemic before.  OH!

Maybe that’s why my inspiration level has been a bit tapped.

Here is a lovely, lovely thing, from Carol in Canada, and the piece that her social justice choir is working on:

 

Exactly What are These Turkeys Communicating?

Photo by Moose

 

I hope to be grateful,
No matter
What 
I
Am
Feeling.

Not matter
What
I am
Thinking,
I hope 
To remember
That
JOY IS A REVOLUTIONARY ACT,

Not as a way of
Transcending 
The difficult,
The scary,
The dark,
The cold—

But as 
A way
To 
Keep 
Going
Through
It,

May
Gratitude
Be
The
Flashlight
That 
Guides
Us
Onward.

I choose to imagine 
The highest unfolding
For this country,
Our country.

I pray 
That
Our 
Many 
Shitty 
Options
Might
Soften
 Into 
Sanity,

That
Our riled up
Hostilities,
Softened
Into 
Community.

I choose to 
Lean
Toward
Gratitude
As we enter
That
Slippery
Slope,

The
Beginning 
Of
The 
Trifecta 
Of 
Self-care
Challenges—
Thanksgiving,
Christmas,
And
New Year’s.

With so
Much
Happening,

With
Not
So much 
Happening,

There continues
To be
Plenty 
For
Which
To
Be
Grateful.

I choose to 
See 
the squirrel,
Giant nut in mouth,

The dog
Across the way
Napping
In the sun,

The wind
Dancing
In the branches 
Of the trees.

I pray 
To keep 
My eyes
And 
My heart
Open,
that
gratitude
might 
fill 
me.

~~~

Friends,
Here is a story from my first book, Recovering My Voice, that I always read aloud to somebody, to anybody who might listen, on Thanksgivings.  It is the story of a political action in which I participated, Thanksgiving, 1979.

The story is entitled, Sorry We Stole It.

Disclaimer #1—it’s about 17 minutes long.  I almost want to apologize for that.  But I won’t.

Disclaimer #2—If you hear squeaking in the background, that is simply Niki B the Dog, wanting attention, not a random cat holding me hostage in my home.

Disclaimer- #3—I wrote this story probably twelve years ago.  Although I am a beginner in understanding my privileged perspective in matters of race, class, and societal inequities, LORD KNOWS I was even more of a beginner in 2008.  Apologies for my naivete and lack of insight.  I hope not to offend.  My intention is to represent myself as a thirty-one-year-old, struggling to align my feelings and my actions.

 

Thank you for allowing me to read this story, which continues to crack me up, to you.

 

“Obonato”

 

 

It was a long, long time ago, in Scranton, Pa.

Time with my dad was 
Always precious.

He worked
So hard
All the time
In his
Grocery
Store.

He worked.
He slept.
He worked
Some more.

But it was Thanksgiving.

And he was taking me
To our 
Traditional
High school.
Football game!

I was young,
Much younger
Than
High
School 
Age.

Being with my dad
In sports,

Watching,
Talking,
Sitting
On the couch
Was bliss.

In real life?

Unbelievable.

Strangely
I don’t remember 
Anything
Of the game—

I do remember:

The layers and layers
Of clothing
Bound around me,
Smothering
Me,
Hobbling 
Me.

This was,
Of course,
Pre-polar-tec,
Pre-down,
Pre-the 
Technology-
Of-
Outdoor-clothing.

That’s how old I am.

I might
Remember:

Hot chocolate,
Its color,
Dark brown muddy,
The paper cup,
Chewed around
Its rim?

Maybe not.

But clarity returns,
In sharp relief
When I remember
Coming home:

Our house,
207 Arthur Avenue

Opening the heavy door
Walking in,
Bulky 
With 
the
Cold,

Filled
With
Dad-
Bonding.

Descending
Into a warm cloud
Of deliciousness.

Everything 
Seemed
To stop,
As I stood
In the middle
Of the
Living
Room.

Every Thanksgiving smell,
Turkey
And
Pumpkin
And 
Stuffing
And 
Excitement
And
Heat
And
Safety
And
All
Of 
It.

Enveloped me
In a warm cloud
Of love.

The memory fades.
The love remains.

My parents—

Her quiet strength,
His warm and kind heart.

They loved me
So good,
In their way—

It took me
Forever
To not be
Focused on
What
They
Were 
Not
Able
Give me.

It blinded me
From seeing 
What
They
Did
Give 
Me.

They allowed me
To become
Who
I 
Am.

From the black high-top
Boy-sneakers in 1958
That I demanded,
That I needed,
More than
Life
itself,

To joining the ashram
In 1989,
Leaving my
Contracted 
Teaching job,
Turning 
My 
Back on
Building
My pension–

To all the times in between—

I stretched their picture
Of acceptability.

They did their best.
They loved me good.

Their love
Remains.
~~~

From a post on Facebook

Joy!

Niki becomes Niki B

Dear friends,
Hold steady.

Dear friends,
Keep breathing.

What are the words 
For this moment?

How do we do this?

Dear friends,
We just do it.

One step at a time, 
That’s all life 
Asks of us.

Dear friends,
Hold steady.

Dear friends,
Keep breathing.

Right here 
And right now,
Let us live.

Dear friends
Hold steady.

Dear friends,
Keep breathing.

We know how 
To do this.  

We notice,
We practice.

Dear friends,
Hold steady.

Dear friends
Keep breathing.

Invite joy,
Pleasure,
Connection.

Dear friends
Hold steady.

Dear friends,
Keep breathing.

Outside circumstances
Do not validate us.

We are equipped
And we
Are 
Able

To find our way forward.

And whatever happens
Out there…..

In here,
We
Are 
Safe 
And
Whole.

Dear friends,
Hold steady,

Dear friends, 
Keep breathing

~~~

 

• Get outside!
• Breathe air.
• Move your body.
• Pray and pray some more.
• Release your attachment to the outcome of your prayers.
• Rest and nap and cuddle with consenting animals.
• Manage your intake of news.
• Savor really bad movies.
• Rake, oh, do yoga, rake some more.
• Dance with yourself, consenting or non-consenting animals, and/or with another.
• Dance with strangers.  Just wear your mask.  (ya think?)
• Indulge your intake of streaming, surely life’s best invention.
• Be oh, so kind to yourself.
• Hold gentle riverbanks of care with such love for your human, human self.
• Take care of yourself.
• Be there for another.
• Eat as well as you can, without meanness.
• Be gentle and softly strong with self-care.
• Proclaim on your lips and with every beat of your heart: 

COUNT EVERY VOTE
so that the wind carries it
the birds repeat it, 
and the heavens open to our righteous request.

• Count every vote.
• Count Every Vote.
• COUNT EVERY VOTE.

And if you choose, please do vote for your favorite/and/or/most effective mode of seeking equanimity in the middle of This Time.  Feel free to add your own suggestions.  YES, send them into me!!

 thecoacharuni@gmail.com.

 Results of this election, at least THIS election, will be released with next Sunday’s blog.
~~~

Dear friends,
Hold steady.

Do whatever you need
To do
To find your way.
~~~

How have I found inspiration, wise hope, and patience?  Here are a few of my supports this wacky and wild week:

Valarie Kaur is an American activist, documentary filmmaker, lawyer, educator, and faith leader.  Her words woke me up a bit, clarified, allowed, helped.  What do these words mean to you?  Where do they touch you?

~~~
And to soothe our hearts, this oldie-but-goodie from Kander and Ebb: