Intervention

 Those of you that know me may recognize that the art of noticing is a skill I try to practice. To pay attention to whatever internal noise arises and do my best to allow it, hold it, and not let it drive me. Today the world, the universe perhaps, offered up an opportunity for me to do just this. I'll refrain from telling the details of the story, in part because the story of what happened on the material plane is not the point, and I'm allowed to keep them to myself. I sometimes forget there is no shame in holding certain things close. And some stories have layers of complexity that are hard to communicate in a quick telling.

This was an event that stirred up a deep sense of self blame, shame and fear. I got home afterwards and noticed all of these feelings churning away and my sense of moral and ethical integrity buzzing like a siren. I also noticed that I immediately gravitated towards some things on social media which always make me feel particularly bad about myself. Like a punishment. I had a sense of what right action was but was kind of terrified by the prospect of that action and it's potential consequences. At other times in my life, I have sometimes struggled to come clean when I make certain types of mistakes, when there is an option to avoid detection and in particular when truth telling involves considerable effort. While I strive to meet things head on when it involves people I know or care about, in this case, it didn't involve anyone I know or would likely ever meet. I'm sure you're curious to know what happened, but it's not the point, so I'll continue. 

There are times when I've avoided uncomfortable conversations, when having the conversation was harder than not having it. I'm not afraid of confrontation, but I am afraid of strangers (true story and probably a throwback to being an extremely shy kid) and I'm most definitely afraid of making people angry or losing things that matter to me. Today I had to decide between staying hidden or stepping out into the harsh light of my own failures. And today the pull of my internal compass was what cut through the fear, shame and anxiety about an unknown outcome. 

Coming clean involved going to an area I am not familiar with to find someone I do not know. I had to extrapolate using Google Maps to find where this unknown person might live, brought along my mask and imagined ways to knock on a strangers' door in the time of Covid. But I did not want to be a coward, and I am driven these days to keep things as clean and in integrity as I can, to find the right path, whenever possible. To me the right path involves not hiding from my own mistakes, even when there is a cost.

On the longish drive there I noticed my mind wanting to explore various theories about what might happen, little vignettes involving forgiving kindred spirits on the one hand and gun-toting hotheads on the other. With every story that arose came a wave of anxiety, or hopefulness,  acute feelings in the body more than anything else. And each time I just noticed, and kept driving through the heart palpitations. I breathed into my belly. I told myself that the universe has a much better imagination than me (which it most certainly does) and that whatever happened would probably be something different than the various predictions my mind was offering up. 

As it turns out this was true. I'm trying to keep perspective and not have this be about ego, because to be honest an action I took today inadvertently caused a loss for someone else. But it feels like the universe had my back, and big time. As I drove down a road in search of my stranger I was intercepted - there is no other way to put it. In my search to find a human needle in a geographic haystack I had narrowed my search to a single neighbourhood. I was putting up a sign that would not be missed by the locals. A note to this unknown person in their unknown neighbourhood, taking responsibility, apologizing and offering amends with my contact information. As I started to drive away, a van drove up and someone got out to read the note. I felt the urge to drive off, but paused myself again, and noticed that through the clamour of avoidance there was something calmer. I opened my window and leaned out. A short conversation there in the road with the driver of the van meandered widely but also provided me with uninvited but informed counsel. Strangest of all I realized we had met before, although I did not know her well. As we parted ways my note came down and was tucked into the woman's pocket to be passed along if needed. And so the arc of this story may not yet be over as it has been entrusted to her. 

I can sometimes poopoo the idea of divine intervention, or of a kind and karmic universe. It feels cliche, and I often wonder if the reality is much more chaotic and nonsensical than we orderly little beings would like to believe. But I can't help but feel that what I was given today was protection from forces that could have harmed me. I followed an internal bearing along what felt like the best and most difficult line, and was met. Timing, fate, or something else did find me on the path of integrity and intervened. 

Descent

 There is something about this time of year. As the sun lowers itself across the darkening horizon, I am reminded of it. Suddenly this week I am feeling into the melancholic and reflective drift of fall. I have been so happy this past year, for many reasons - all of which are profoundly ordinary. There have been no lightning bolts of synchronicity, no mad love or material windfalls, just a slow unfolding of mundane and beautiful circumstances that have supported my wellbeing. 

This evening I sat in a chair on the driveway, three of us watching the sheep we had set loose to trim the grass on the edges of the pavement. Drinking beer and laughing about the personalities of our small flock. The small sounds of their grazing, soft noses picking out the best bits of clover, the quiet cropping of green grass. When they first arrived a few months ago the ewes shied away from us at the smallest movement, but now they will clamour and bleat at the gate for handouts and scratches. I give them the carrot tops my new horse friend won't eat.  

This year has been punctuated and populated by shed building, the arrival of 21 tiny chicks, 5 sheep, newly planted garden beds, first eggs, and a feeling of intense contentment. Over the summer I spent the better part of two months floating on the Pacific - a trip that started and ended at the beach at the end of my road. An adventure long anticipated that took a shape not quite so symmetrical as originally conceived, but still perfect in its own way. A gift of time and freedom in a strange year. I had to tear myself away from this new home when I left in June. As these things tend to work, I had to tear myself back out of the addictive rhythm of expedition life to return to this settled way of being. But now I am fully returned. Kimik the dog and I wander out the door in the mornings, out the back gate into a forested trail network that could take days to fully explore. 

I have frequently found myself looking around my life marvelling how nothing at all seems to be missing. There is no hole to fill. Even though I am on my own, I do not feel alone. I was struck by a feeling of belonging, community and connection when I returned home this summer. Loneliness is a feeling, not a true state of being, it is a trick of the mind. I sometimes catch myself wondering if there is something wrong with this state of contentment - is wrong to feel so fulfilled by such simple things? To be so intensely at ease and at home. 

And so the rains have come. Beating against the tin roof of my small bungalow, reminding me that with the slow descent into winter comes a comfort hard to find in the intense glare of summer. There are moments I can feel my body and mind rebelling against the lack of sun, the early darkness. But  I also welcome this quiet moody season, and I am not afraid of the dark.