Rest for the Weary

Coming to Ground #11

Dearest Fellow Earthling,

How are you doing? How is your heart today? These times are challenging, aren’t they? Every little bit of tenderness and attention matters. What are the moments that help you move through and live within this fraught world? How do you recharge when you’re feeling weary and tapped out?

I am lucky to have a paying job working for a local organization that supports habitat restoration for pollinators and other wild beings in a suburban area. We can see the fruits of our labor at the local level as lawns grow smaller, little by little, and more and more people are interested in engaging in restorative work around their homes. We’re just winding down after many weeks of labor to host the largest native plant sale that we have ever managed.

Recently, I said yes to serving as a member of the steering committee for sustainability and the environment for our local university. Last week at our planning retreat I agreed to take on a leadership role for a small group to articulate a flourishing vision for campus land that is in danger of being commercially developed. I said yes because I feel passionate about preservation and restoration in an area of burgeoning corporate development and too much concrete.

At the same time as all this, beloved people in my life are experiencing both very challenging losses, and the joys of big life transitions like retirement that need to be celebrated. I’m truly grateful that I have some flexibility in my mostly work-from-home job that allows me to travel and still work and to show up for them.

All of this is GOOD. I feel happy to be able to say “Yes”. But I am so tired and taut right now. I am bone weary from a lack of solitude for weeks and feeling all the shared existential worries about this fraught world growing within me. Yesterday, the news that a certain “Presidential Candidate” (who shall not be named here) has been found guilty of all 34 of the felony counts he was charged with, brought only a very short burst of celebratory excitement that was loud and intense within my car as I heard the news on the radio. Soon after, the dark, fairly realistic, cynicism came rushing back in to occupy that space. I value being informed, but the News is not a way to recharge, and my battery is in the red.

I’ve had very little time to do my own writing, here or anywhere, and I’ve felt nearly emptied of words. My daily journal, which has been a significant companion for many years, a fruitful and healing place to express and examine ideas and my life, is missing a lot of dates. Many recent entries have taken on the spare, utilitarian character of some of my Scots-Irish Presbyterian farming ancestors: sparse notes on the weather, lists of duties and appointments, and brief accounts of occasional visits with loved ones. In my current journal, these are occasionally interspersed with longer laments about my lack of time and how weary I am, a few very whiny entries that are very unlike the farm journals of my ancestor’s.

Early one morning this week I woke up before anyone else and heard the sound of a steady, gentle rain—the kind of rain that soaks down to the deeper roots and enlivens all the plants. I filled my cup with coffee and went to sit on our front porch to listen to the rain and the birds. The Robins were strutting around in the wet grass, stopping at intervals to listen intently for the sound of worms and to check the ground with their beaks. These moments of quiet solitude felt precious to me and I was restful among the busy Robins. I wondered what the movements of worms in the soil would sound like if I could hear them.

A couple of evenings ago I finished work and had time to go for a leisurely walk in the woods alone—something I hadn’t done for weeks. I was immersed in generous silence and could stop anytime I wanted for long swathes of time, noticing how much things have grown, saying hello to the woods and creatures--and to myself. I sat on a log and wrote freely in my journal with no worries of time. Wow, did that feel good! I felt cleansed and rested after a couple of miles of meandering on a familiar path, surrounded by the living.

I named this Substack publication “Coming to Ground” for a lot of reasons, and one is to draw attention to the need to tend to our own human creature health and wellbeing. In this human-centric world we crave connection we often cannot name or recognize. We need to come down and plant ourselves on the soil that sustains us. To take even a few moments to connect with our own self as a living creature, and honor our needs for movement and air and light and green things and rain, and rekindle relationship through presence with other kinds of life.

To stop and notice other creatures going about their lives is a kind of grounding, a coming back to the community of earth which is our home. When things get so busy and full, if I can stop, even for a just a short time, and remember I am a part of a much larger living world, I am restored.

As human creatures, I believe that we are truly at our best when we tend to the fullness of our relationships: not only with our beloved people, but also with ourselves and with life and spirit beyond the technology and machinations of people. To live within the living world of all beings and to tend to your inner knowing that you are one among them.

If you are feeling weary, I hope you can find some generous moments of recharge. May you find a little time to sink into the treasures of rest and recharge like a walk in the woods in solitude, or listening to rain and bird song. Let your mind and spirit meander and fill what feels parched and empty.

Love, love, love.