A Gentle Touch..

When my first meditation instructor asked me if I had “peace in my heart”, I almost bust out laughing. I honestly thought it was a joke. No one I knew would have answered in the affirmative and I was no exception.

But the question stirred me.

Why didn’t I have peace in my heart?

Am I supposed to?

Is it a realistic goal?

How could I go from being neurotic and frenetic to completely at peace?

It was the beginning of my meditation journey and something I have been working on for years. And I will be working on it for years to come. I’ve learned that, like meditation, getting there is a practice, achievable in fleeting moments, through intentional acts of quieting down and surrendering.

But in this climate, it is more challenging than ever to feel that peaceful quality.

And truthfully, maybe we shouldn’t. We need to be more on edge, ready to stand up and be counted.

We do, however, need to take care of ourselves these days so I am asking my clients and my self on a daily basis, “what do you need right now?”

That question is one I’ve grappled with these past ten years, finding it irritating and challenging that I should be in touch enough with myself to know what I need in any given moment! And yet, I know that asking oneself the question and wrestling with it is a valuable step in the right direction.

So, right now, what do we need?

What do I need?

I need gentleness.

It feels like the world is too harsh, too violent, too hateful.

There is a soothing quality about the word gentle; it’s soft, malleable, cozy.

But my brain is also conditioned to think of it as a bit weak, mushy, perhaps passive.

And so, the inner battle rages. If I move to closely towards gentleness, am I giving in, not demanding change, becoming too accepting?

Tina Turner comes to mind and her powerful singing of Proud Mary; there’s something so intense when she starts off with the line “we don’t do anything nice and easy; we do it nice and rough.” She is so damn alive and passionate and fierce and she dances without holding anything back. I believe in her completely.

But then I remember about her life and what she endured in her marriage to a brutal man and I wonder whether her fierceness was just a defensive stance, a way to hold the sadness and fear, a reaction to it, and not the claiming of a bold attitude.

It makes me wonder about gentleness as well; whether gentleness may not always be what it seems. Maybe gentleness is really a type of controlled strength.

Either way, I am drawn to gentleness right now. I want to hide in it.

It is a gift that brings to mind a warm cup of tea with milk and sugar, a sweet melody that might put you to sleep, a baby’s body, soft, pliable and pure, being held in your arms, an unspoken commitment to hold, love and protect this newborn from all that life will throw its way, the unexpected calm that can sneak up on you while seated under a huge magnolia tree, breathing in the sweet fragrance of its flowers.

It is good to be gentle; to handle life, people, things, with care and appreciation.

But it is also important to teeter on the other side, to be strong, even rough, when need be. Too much gentleness can sink us; too much roughness can fundamentally alter us.

Watching the events of the world unfold this week has been disheartening, enraging and painful. As I watch the thousands and thousands of Americans standing up to the horrors and inexcusable acts of this administration, I am buoyed by the strength, the determination and the grit of everyday citizens protesting in the unbearable cold, demonstrating that what is happening in their state, in our country, is more unbearable than any individual’s discomfort. The rage is electrifying, necessary and truthfully, came just in time.

But the gentleness is equally satisfying to watch, to see, to hold dear; their arms around each other, helping each other, the people sorting supplies and delivering them, the faith leaders from every religion praying together, the beautiful singing and deep community expression.

I have cried a great deal in the last few weeks; the harshness of this past year and the beginning of this one has worn me down, fear for the future, uncertainly of what’s to come, where we will be personally and as a society, how my kids will come through this continued trauma, whether I will stay sane and be able to weather a loved one’s health challenges.

I ache for my parents to be here, to support me and remind me of my inner strength, but they are not coming back and it is my turn to be the matriarch, with everyone looking at me for guidance as to how to keep going.

It may be that it is the co-existence of hardness and softness that will carry us through; the see-saw of gentle and tough.

In my quest for more gentleness, a respite for the cruelty in the world, I cut fruit; cantaloupe, oranges, apples, strawberries, watermelon, directing my hands to chop slowly, deliberately into perfect bite sized pieces, breathing in the smell of the individual fruits, stirring them together in a bowl, the juices dripping and coming together to create a unique tasting liquid which I take a spoon of and feel comforted. It brings me a modicum of joy.

Fruit Salad, Trees, Music, Babies.

Gentleness is more available than we realize; the unnerving, angry energy I feel can melt away if I allow it to..

I look closely at a rare picture of my family of origin; the six of us standing on the steps of my childhood home. I must have been 15 or so; my sister 17, my brothers 13 and 8. We are not looking at the camera. Each one of us is looking in a different direction; a unit but one with many perspectives. It is in black and white and could be an ad for a Robert Altman film or a play about a family you thought you knew but didn’t.

It is my dad’s arm resting on my mother’s shoulder that I can’t take my eyes off.

It’s not a big deal, just a simple act, a gentle touch that grounded my mom when everything changed and addiction, depression and other disturbances arrived, but it was equally my father’s strength and toughness that helped her endure the unfair harshness of life, the roughness of watching people you love struggle.

It couldn’t stop the avalanche of sadness, but I believe it made a difference. Perhaps that is what gentleness offers; something to hold on to and believe in, a lifeline when the world is spinning out of control.

Isn’t that what we all need right now?

So reach out and provide a gentle touch to someone and allow yourself to be cared for as well. Maybe then we can feel a little peace in our hearts. Maybe then we can continue braving the world.