The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Mary Oliver

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It’s been a difficult time for me. I’ve spent 6 months asking and running from the question “what do you want to do next?” Last year, I enjoyed 10 months at Esalen surrounded by beautiful souls and endless inspiration. I matured and grew in powerful ways. I wrote about what I felt was an effort to reclaim my soul and my deepest truest self. I also fell back into old habits, hiding and numbing and seeking escape from what my body and spirit ask of me. I’m home now in Connecticut, surrounded by loving family and missing my grandmother who passed away recently. I’ve been struggling to remember what I know she saw and loved in me. Nani was 91 and she lived a life that anyone would envy. She took nothing for granted. She saw the best in others. She was humble and kind. And she believed in me. She inspired me with each warm smile and kind word she shared. I miss her. And I miss my dog Ella, who passed soon after, also 91 (in dog years). Nani felt that their fates were tied. “When I go, she goes,” she said. 

Spring has sprung. Change remains unceasing. And I’ve made important progress. I’ve proven to myself that I can stay sober from weed and alcohol. I’ve also struggled with new ways my addictive tendencies take over, as I scroll mindlessly on my phone and distract myself from what I feel life is asking of me. I don’t exactly know why it feels so hard. I don’t know why I continue to run and postpone. But I do know my resistance and struggle is teaching me something important. Something that I want to confront, and heal in, and help others navigate. Something that I want to learn to love and accept – because there is no light without darkness. As Carl Jung famously said, “No tree can reach to Heaven unless its roots reach down to Hell.” 

When I resist what is asked of me, when I think I can reach to Heaven without first rooting in the dark depths of being, I continue to feel stuck and lost. When I lean into the darkness, when I let myself feel my pain and anger and shame and longing, I come home to myself. I open to important parts of me that I’ve denied and suppressed and forgotten. I’ve realized I have to stay in and embrace the initial discomfort. If I want to make it light and easy, I have to start with how it feels now – heavy and hard. It’s a muscle I can strengthen. And even as I keep waiting for the perfect answer to find me, the practices that feel aligned and clear, I know that what I really seek is already here within me. There’s no shortage of people selling answers and telling others how to live a meaningful life. But I want to find and cultivate my unique way – so that I can help others discover theirs.

So what is it I plan to do with my one wild and precious life? I think I’ll rephrase the question – what is my one wild and precious life seeking to do through me? Deep down I know the answer. It’s asking me to find my breath and align my body. It’s telling me to square up and show up, to pay attention and be where I am, as I am. To assume the posture and find my solid place to swing from. It reminds me that my presence matters and my voice is needed in the world. I have nothing to fear and everything is still here waiting for me. I can set down the weight of my aloneness. I can smile and come home to myself. “I’m on my way,” I tell myself. And I hear the reply: “We’ll leave the light on for you.”

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The old Motel 6 commercials always ended with the same slogan:

We’ll leave the light on for you.

Life, depression, anxiety, grief, trauma, addiction, numbing, and avoidance are all more complicated than a motel slogan. But I do believe that when we feel far from home, when we are wondering, who am I and what the hell am I doing with my life, there is an eternal light left on within. It may feel faint, it may feel nonexistent, you may need help finding it, but it’s there. If your road has been long and you are in your darkest hour, close your eyes, put your hand on your heart, and say to yourself, I’m on my way. Hear the reply: We’ll leave the light on for you.

Cleo Wade – Remember Love

Reclaiming Our Soul