sheltering while the world burns
The stepping stones to the retreat centre are well-worn after a decade of pilgrims, penitents and petitioners having walked this path as an act of intentional withdrawal.
During my stay, the skeletal schedule was based loosely around meal times. An opening circle time set the tone with ritual and respect, offering space for each person to share what they needed most from their time on retreat. It was up to each retreatant to resource themselves, to direct their own experience, and to give or accept support as desired. There was freedom to engage in solitary or group practices of rest, contemplation, reading, writing, outdoor exploration, quiet conversation and shared meal times.
My aging memory continues to drop stitches so I may be off-base with this, but it was the first time in my life that I can recall coming home from any weekend away from home more rested than before I left.
My nervous system responded well to how the lack of structure honoured my need for voluntary withdrawal in the midst of a supportive community. With space to attend to my own needs, I felt safe, soft and settled.
I wanted to pack up that gentle, under-programmed energy and bring it home with me.
As the bitter winds of the season blow in, I realize that I have home field advantage when considering how to shelter in tough times. With a roof of privilege over my head while only blocks away, I witness others who are sleeping rough under makeshift homes of tents and tarps and discarded furniture. And, around the world, others are living in a constant state of dread and absolute despair as war ruptures any sense of safety they may have once known. Knowing how to help anyone is a full-time job in itself.
Compassion is a strong, yet tenderhearted kindness that cannot exist in a vacuum. Our cup must be filled before we can support others.
Filling our cup can look like:
Compassionately resourcing ourselves with rest when we need it, hydrating when we’re thirsty and engaging in times of solitude when we need to be recharged.
Choosing to participate in seasonal events that offer a generosity of space and enough respect to honour our needs.
Juggling when to sit on the sidelines of divisive conversation about fiery world events and when to engage with justified rage and sadness and supportive actions.
Pulling into the harbour of despair when considering the state of the world to allow our compassion to rise out of the ashes.
David Whyte suggests
“We withdraw not to disappear, but to find another ground from which to see; a solid ground from which to step, and from which to speak again, in a different way, a clear, rested, embodied voice we begin to remember again as our own.”
May your times of withdrawal and shelter this season liberate you to engage in nourishing compassion for yourself.
May your rest be restorative.
May you anticipate having the renewed energy to allow discovery of ways to show supportive, tender sharing of your resources with others.
