Pandemically Speaking…….

“The sneaky and myriad ways I withhold love from myself……..”

I was three-quarters resting with my eyes opened, mostly/somewhat participating in my 7:00 a.m. zoom 12 Step meeting, when these words penetrated the fog of my being.  I swear, I sat upright, looked around, held my breath.

The sneaky and myriad ways I withhold love from myself!

Who said that?
Who knows me so well?
Another participant,
Of course.

I will add, I believe our tendency of self-withhold is exacerbated by this unprecedented (there’s that damn word again) situation we are in.

Pandemically speaking, that is.

Exaggerated.
Magnified.
Intensified.

The blocks that keep me from taking care of myself intensified—and intensified—during these past months.  Spending time alone, lost behind my own fear, clouded with anxiety about the future, lack of regular structure……as externals changed, as things continue daily to unravel…….

A perfect storm.

Self-care?

Self-care pandemically, speaking for me, does not mean a rigorous workout plan.
It just cannot.
I cannot.

It cannot mean for me clean and sparkly riverbanks of whole food.
It just cannot.
I cannot.

But it can mean—it must mean—
Kindness.
Me to me.

What brings me solace?
What comforts?
–
When I was a little girl growing up in the 1950’s in Northeastern Pennsylvania, disguised to myself as a child, with my speech impediment hobbling me, wanting to kiss Natalie Wood (all the time, one giant and never-ending kiss), I knew the answer to all of my problems.

I knew the answer.

I was positive that
Becoming a cowboy
Would make
It
All
Okay.

Thinking cowboy,
I coerced my parents into guitar lessons.

My first guitar was a rental,
Made
From an
Undefined
Wood-like
Perhaps-plastic-like
Material.

It had
Stenciled
Upon it
A
Cowboy
On
A
Bucking
Bronco.

Oh!

It rocked.

How I held that guitar close to me.

She comforted me.
She brought me solace.
She eased my frightened heart.

By holding her close,
By her association,
I rocked,
Too.

And I played
And
Played.

Never successfully for others,
Anxiety too-too
Strong,
Its own rhythm.

But for me,
With me,
About me,
How I played.

Probably nothing
Has been
So about me
In my life
As playing
The guitar.

Then
At 17,
I stopped.
I
Just stopped.
Cold turkey.

Why?
Too much?
Too much what?
Pleasure?
Expectation?
Anxiety?
College?

Who knows.

Life continued,
As
It
Does.

Throughout,
In
And
Out,
And
During
Different facets,
Phases,
Iterations
Of my life,
I would
Play
My
Guitar.

Wildly and gloriously
For a few months,
Weeping
With
Joy.

And then
I would stop.

In last year’s
Iteration
Of
My
Life
(2019?  I wonder who I thought I was then?)
I took classical guitar lessons,
A silent, forever-desire of mine.

Life gave me the perfect teacher,
A kind and funny Englishman.
A recovering hippy/folk music dude
Like myself.

I adored it.
It was
Both
An old,
Ancient
And
Deep knowing,

And new!
All new!
Strumming and picking,
All different.

Elegant and efficient,
This
Ancient system
Of creating
Beauty
With
Sound.

And then
There was
A pandemic.

And then
I developed
A trigger-finger.

(left hand, ring finger, anular, in classical guitar parlance—same finger as my mom’s trigger-finger, hum.)

And then
I stopped.

I just stopped
Giving myself
This kindness
This solace.

My guitar sits here.

Simply living with her
Is a comfort.

(Isn’t she beautiful?  Check her out.  What a looker.)

Oh!
How I want to hold her.
OH,
How she wants me to do that.

The sneaky and myriad ways I withhold love from myself!

Amrit Desai, our former Kripalu guru, used to talk about bliss tolerance level, a brilliant term.

Is it just too much pleasure?
What would happen
If we gave ourselves
What we want,
What we need?
What would happen
If we blessed ourselves
With consistent,
Tiny
Yet
Massive
Actions
Of
Kindness?

I must say, in my own behalf, that I am doing well enough with self-care; I’ve initiated rituals, consistent prayer, walking daily, zooming Twelve Step meetings, fully savoring the making of my bed (hard to explain the joy of this), eating well enough, mostly.

But,
Oh,
How
The
Child
In me
Longs,
Aches,
To hold
That
Guitar.

We’ll find
Our way
Back
To
Each
Other,
She
And
I.

We
Always
Do.

~~~
Six months ago, I would have talked long and hard about five pillars of self-care.  (nutrition, movement, stress-reduction, sleep, connection).  Today, I talk about kindness.

Some simple considerations for your self-care, pandemically speaking:

What is the kindest, simplest gift you can give yourself, with ritual and consistency?  What would self-care in this moment look like for you, today?

~~~
Dear Friends, please consider.  Let me know.  What kindness, what simple gift of care can you give yourself?  Speaking it aloud, emailing another, always deepens practice.  I am right here, supporting you as you support me.

All blessings,
Aruni