After 25 years of living five miles outside town, in a house where the late afternoon sun shone through the redwood trees with a cathedral effect of light, I knew we had to move. Living there, as much as I had loved the sanctuary of quiet, was over. I didn’t understand why. I just knew this phase of our life was done.
My husband agreed, and we moved closer to town. Now, years later, after yet another move with my daughter and granddaughter, I am in a house even closer to town, with a fire station nearby. Daily we hear sirens from the station as fire trucks and paramedics respond to calls. I also listen to the sounds of woodpeckers on telephone poles, and each evening, to the doves calling softly after dusk, when I take my walks.
Now I understand. To be in service to life, I had to leave behind a certain way of hiding from life.
I had to learn to listen inside, while living in the unfamiliars of Life, the unknowing, which is where we collectively find ourselves today.
Last month a fire tore through a remote area of the Sonoma Coast, an hour north from here. Being in town was no protection against the dense smoke that quickly filled the air. A few days later the air quality index returned to green, and we could open the windows again. I rose early that morning after checking the air quality, and stood outside before sunrise, breathing deeply of this cool, clear air. I said a silent prayer in profound thanks for the air we breathe.
Staying connected within through times like these is so essential. How else would we know how to live, how to respond to the needs of our time? It is different now. We need to listen.
I recall a time when a dream helped me in the early days of being a grandmother, which demanded a lot of me. During the day I did what I could to help out. But in the nights – and perhaps you might know this too – in the night was when my heart cried out, silently: How can I continue?
Then came the dream. Listening to its wisdom showed me a way to be in a time of need. It reminded me simply to breathe.
In the dream, I saw a woman deeply devoted, who lives a feminine way, a way that is so powerful, even while she herself is unassuming. This woman communicated to me in silence. She just tapped her finger lightly on her nose, pointing to her nostrils.
This woman was a Sufi. She simply reminded me that through the breath—our connection to the Divine, I could help in a different way. Joy returned with this dream.
Returning to a deeper way to live is an inner response to the overwhelming needs of our world. For me, it is this link of love—through the breath and through our awareness—that opens us to the “extraordinary embodiment of the ordinary.”