Feeling into the Mystic
Feeling into the Mystic
Seeking a renewable calm and wonder
A warm welcome to all of the new subscribers to What the Day Holds. A special hello to those who have joined me from Parkinson’s Society of BC. It is wonderful to have you here!
In this newsletter I write about being a caregiver to my husband who has Parkinson’s Disease and about the ways I am learning to tend myself as I care for him. The journey is a challenging one, that is often not talked about.
So I share these (almost) weekly poetic ruminations to show you how I summon strength, reap joy, muster courage and bolster my resolve to keep on living and loving.
I hope they inspire you to do the same.
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly
Into the mystic
Van Morrison
In last week’s newsletter, I shared some words and images about five archetypes I have identified as parts of me I pay attention to that support me to care for myself in my daily living. These archetypes have emerged out of my listening to my needs, moment to moment.
Today I offer you a deeper sense of one of these archetypes: The Mystic.
Imagine for a moment yourself as a mystic. One who likes to meditate, contemplate, ruminate. Who is interested in exploring the different dimensions of their experience. Staring out at a moonlit sky, or a calm harbour view, or anything that catches your attention and inspires awe and wonder. Your mind is quiet, you feel your spirit connected to the family of beings. You open your heart and speak your truth and listen within.
Full Moon, Bright Shadows
When I awoke this morning at 2am, the fear was there. I felt it as a clutch in my chest. There were thoughts too, about what will happen to us as the disease progresses. Where we will live when Gregory can no longer drive or walk the steep driveway to the house. How we will pay for the care he will need when I am out of the house working.
Lured by the uncertain anxiety of these words, I leapt out of bed, walked across the dark cold hall into the study and put the heater on. Surprised by the bright shadows on the floor, I pressed my face up to the window. There, shining above the trees of the farm beyond our backyard, a full moon glowed like a galactic snowball. Sitting down on my meditation cushion, I wrapped myself in a soft wool blanket, dragged my laptop table around to the space between me and the window, and began to write.
Last evening my husband was sad, so sad. And angry. I think it was the Child in him (another of the archetypes) who was feeling these things. As he shared those feelings across the kitchen table, I listened, making room in this heart and body for it all. Holding myself in a place of calm attention and non-resistance, so I could hear his words and not react. As his rage filled his bowl along with the potato kale soup he’d made a few days before, I looked across the table, my gaze a foot above its blonde surface tattooed with scratches and a few faint stains.
We purchased the table from Ikea a little while after our move to the farm in the Fall of 2007; its solid birch wood was like the soft skin of a newborn. New to us, we welcomed it into our home, not knowing it would still be here with us sixteen years later. Still holding us in our new home as we dine together, discuss our days, dream of new adventures, dialogue on challenging issues. Still serving us as we participate in this daily ritual: eating, talking, sharing, feeling, empathizing. This table, like the grey felt couch and the white chair-and-a-half, feels as much a part of our marriage as the rings we had made a few years after our love story began.
An illuminated conversation
As I listened to his anger, I felt the sting of his words weren’t against me, but against the difficulty of this disease.
“Everyone has a piece of advice, often unsolicited but always so eagerly given: well-meaning friends, books and online articles, doctors and podcasts, all providing information on what to do, how to eat, when and how long to exercise, which medication to take. It’s exhausting and overwhelming.”
“It’s understandable that you are angry, Gregory.” As the words left my mouth, I was grateful they were sounding soft and kind. I had my own frustrations, but in that moment, I was making space for his.
On the table, a single beeswax candle was burning a soft orange flame. Another part of the familiar ritual, although its holder is new. Handmade by a dear friend who, upon leaving behind her own 15 year stint on a farm, offered us some of her beautiful pottery to lighten the load to their new house.
I have been learning for years how to listen with lightness. My husband’s load is so heavy, so burdened with uncertainty, insecurity, tremoring. The symptoms, as much as he tries to lose them with some of the ways he has been told will be helpful, keep finding him.
And so I meditate, center myself on the breath, or the felt sense of the space in and around my body, or on the sounds that keep coming and going. For as little as a few moments or several minutes, I close my eyes, and ground in my sensual, physical presence. Whenever I notice thoughts arise or sensations, I bring myself back to these anchors.
This is the practice of mindfulness. It is simple and very difficult. It can be learned and there are probably ways you are already practicing it in your life now. Moments when you are entered into an activity that calls on your full attention, and you feel calm and spacious, unhurried and unworried. It might be cooking, knitting, walking in a natural place, doing yoga or listening to a favourite piece of music.
This is the nourishment provided by the archetype of the Mystic. When you are feeling overburdened, frightened, or unable to listen without judgment or reaction, that’s the time to remember to let the Mystic in.
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly
Into the mystic