Without mud, there is no lotus. Without suffering, there’s no happiness. So, we shouldn’t discriminate against the mud. We have to learn how to embrace and cradle our own suffering and the suffering of the world, with a lot of tenderness.
Thich Nhat Hanh No Mud, No Lotus: The Art of Transforming Suffering
If you, like me, are feeling like you have two boots stuck in the mud in this season of mud and transition on this little Island, I offer you care. If you feel caught by the strangeness and confusion of covid restrictions lessening while covid rages madly on here, I feel with you. If you feel tangled by the terrible between-ness of it all; caught like a sneaker on the mucked up trail of life and everything feels messy and you need someone to take you by the hand to help you out; I understand. I feel it too!
And because I understand I am here to remind you that in this season of mud and ice and dirty snow and wind and cold there are miraculous moments of newness. Yes there could still be another snow storm or minus twenty with wind chill but it could be ten above freezing and sunny and a crocus might pop its pretty face up from the ground and make you smile. Not just it could but it will. I want to remind you that the glorious return of spring migrants like Grackles and Merlins and Purple Finches has begun! That the Apple and Magnolia blossoms will soon erupt in fragrant white- pink blooms! And that maybe something is greening in the front garden where the giant bank of snow is slowly receding from the foundation.
If you need all this more badly than you ever have before you are not alone friend; I need it too!
And so I am sending you this love letter/mini meditation (to you and me and the mud) to tell you that I think you are wonderful and that I am glad that you are present in this world. I want to say that I've missed you like I miss green grass and summertime wildflowers and cabbage white butterflies. That while often I need my distance, this distance is just too much!
I want to say that it has been too long since we’ve spoken face to face and my memory of your voice is like the sound of someone shouting in the fog; I can’t really hear or see you anymore and that makes me sad. I also want to say to friends both old and new that I would be so glad to lay my eyes on you for the first or many-th time. That I want to welcome you to my home with open arms, with eyes of love, with a heart that’s freed from fear and questioning.
I want this for you. I want this for myself. But this is not for now and being a cautious person I need to take my time as restrictions lift. I need to walk more carefully than some. But I will find my way there and so will you.
So in the mean time, I welcome you to offer this kindness to yourself. To offer it the way you would welcome the flowers of May and all the while acknowledging the mud because it takes the winds of March and April’s showers to bring forth May flowers… and this, dear friend, means more mud.
To the mud and yourself, make an offering of kindness; an offering that acknowledges to yourself that it’s been hard this past long while. That the pain you feel is real and not at all foolish. That the tiredness is what everyone is feeling right now.
With one hand on your heart and one on your belly you could say: “Oh, self. This hasn’t been easy this whole second long winter in pandemic thing."
With a slight smile at the corners of your eyes and with an upturned mouth you might offer this:”Sweet self, I offer you so much care.” while sighing out those too big feelings of sadness and loss. And breathing in again you might remind yourself that you are safe within this present moment. That breath is your anchor to the seabed when the seas of life are choppy and all the trails are ice or snow or mud. Not easy walking friend.
And then I welcome you to offer kindness next to whomever is near to you this moment. Or if you are alone to the next person you see at the intersection. At the grocery store. On the sidewalk. At the beach. Or to the person who annoys you who walks their dog on the muddy trail. Be kind for their journey isn’t easy either.
Imagine that person is someone with a heart that longs for human connection but isn’t sure how to reach out to another. Imagine that you cast your eyes to them and your eyes meet and then your heart leaps in a little moment of joyous connection. Or imagine perhaps that they cannot make eye contact because it is too hard but they need to feel acknowledged just the same. Imagine that you honour their darting shift in focus away from your glance and all the while your heart is offering care.
Imagine the universal desire for feelings of safety and belonging and acceptance. Imagine the good- hearted desire for non-violence. For non-harming. For peace.
I wish this for you. I wish this for myself. I wish this for all persons the whole world over. I wish this for the cursed, blessed mud because the mud is Earth awakening from winter’s slumber and this winter is not an easy one to wake from.
Imagine now, that the other person isn’t a person at all but a skunk or a moth or a crow gathering nesting material. Imagine that this creature is alive and needing food and shelter just like you. Imagine that they desire to live free from harm. Imagine that, like you, they desire to live free from judgment of how they live their lives. Imagine that with the power of kindness in your heart and mind you can offer these beings goodness. In this moment. In this very moment. Goodness.
You can wish kindness and safety and ease for yourself and for all beings.
You can wish for peace.
And if it feels more identifiable to you, you can pray for these for self and other.
You can pray for peace.
You can be willing to bear witness to the difficulties in your own heart. And if the mud is the hardest thing in your life right now be thankful for **pavement. Be thankful that you are not in the cold and muddy awfulness of war. This is truly something to be thankful for. Then bless those who are stuck there. Bless those who are fighting and they can’t escape the god-forsaken violence. Wish for love in every heart.
Bear witness to the ways that your very human heart might be stingy with love. Or the ways that you might be in need of more love yourself. You can choose to not turn away from the suffering in the world. You can walk in the mud and not become stuck. You can train your eyes to see that the mud is just earth mixed with water. You can see that you are merely human with feet of clay and that sometimes just trying to make it through the day produces tears. Honour this friend and then welcome yourself to change.
You can change your suffering with this training too. You can begin to see joy in the midst of the difficulties. You can become the peace you seek when you are fortunate enough to live in peaceful territories. You can welcome your heart to soften to the challenges at hand. You can be kind to your own dear self.
Change requires kind action. And the place to begin kindly with, is you.
Disappearance reminds us to notice, transience to cherish, fragility to defend. Loss is a kind of external conscience, urging us to make better use of our finite days. Our crossing is a brief one, best spent bearing witness to all that we see: honoring what we find noble, tending what we know needs our care, recognizing that we are inseparably connected to all of it, including what is not yet upon us, including what is already gone. We are here to keep watch, not to keep.
Walk with tenderness friend and know that you are loved.
May you be filled with lovingkindness.
May you be happy, healthy and peaceful.
May you be free from all suffering.
May you be at peace.
And from my notes Feb 24th 2022
This night I wish for peace and goodwill to prevail in the world.
I wish for freedom from fear.
I wish for wellness.
I wish for safety.
I wish for ease.
I wish this for all beings.
Blessings of peacefulness.
Xoxo
Jill
And finally...
Vietnamese monk Thich Nhat Hanh writes:
"Our true home is in the present moment. The miracle is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on the green earth in the present moment. Peace is all around us--in the world and in nature--and in us--in our bodies and in our spirits. Once we learn to touch this peace we will be healed and transformed."
What might the future world look like if we could mindfully and imaginatively transform how we engage with the here and now?
The gift of each new moment offers us the potential to make such transformation a reality.
In peace and wellness.
Thanks for reading!
Jill
**I dedicate this post to my dear mother who grew up in rural PEI prior to pavement. In the spring of grade nine (1961) her dad walked her on red mud roads from their home in Monticello to the train station in Selkirk. From there she took the train to Souris so she could continue going to school while the roads were largely impassable. She had her new white knee high, twister bobby socks on prior to heading out. They were not white anymore when she arrived at the convent where she stayed with the nuns for three weeks. Spring is almost here, Ma!