Quarantines, Earthquakes and Compassion

This morning as I sipped my coffee, wrapped in my robe and watching the world wake up from my living room window, I surveyed the imperfectness that is our front yard and driveway.

Weeds, half cut shrubs that my son started yesterday (a project he promises will be done in stages), empty landscaping spaces from a driveway wall repair we had to hastily start months ago, bags of grass with no trash men to collect.

But somehow it’s all okay. With this pandemic and quarantine, I’ve lowered expectations. We are just living, without concern for appearance or approval. There’s no rush. And I don’t think anyone else cares, either. With this collective fear and panic and lack of control, we’ve all gotten a bit more forgiving, haven’t we? With ourselves and with others.

Perhaps we’re a bit more patient if we need to wait in line to get into the grocery store, or pick up take out, we give our family members a break if they’re, well, annoying, we are quick help those who are more vulnerable and less fortunate with food, time or money.

I listened to a talk today from Tara Brach and a phrase she said spoke to me: Vulnerability is the doorway to compassion.

That’s what this pandemic has done: created a collective vulnerability. We are all feeling more connected because of it. But the sad thing about this is that we are ALWAYS connected, always have been, even before our C-19 friend showed up. We were just too preoccupied with ourselves to notice.

Brach told the story about Dorothy Day, journalist and activist, who was 8 years old during the 1906 San Francisco earthquake and admits that the experience shaped her life from that point onward.

“In the aftermath of the seismic shock [with the eyes young child] she watched as people reached out to help each other — pitching tents, giving clothing, making food. ‘While the crisis lasted people loved each other,’ she wrote in her autobiography. ‘It was as though they were united in Christian solidarity. It makes one think of how people could, if they would, care for each other in times of stress, unjudgingly in pity and love.’”

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could care for ourselves and one another unjudgingly, in pity and love, when this is over? I pray it’s one of the lasting effects of this challenging time. What a burden to be lifted if we all cut ourselves and one another a break. All the time.

Because, let’s face it, my front yard is never going to be perfect, and neither will I.

Learning a New Mantra

I guess I would consider myself an experienced meditator, only because, like yoga, meditation can never truly be “mastered.” You don’t get a certificate when you become a “Master Meditator.” It’s a lifelong journey. I’ve been meditating every morning (well, practically, barring sickness, and oversleeping, and the occasional hangover) for the past seven years. My meditation practice has become the single-most thing that keeps me grounded in this life. When I miss my meditation practice, it’s noticeable.

Sometimes when I meditate I use a mantra. Sometimes I don’t. Mantras are a lifelong lesson in themselves (far too deep to get into here), but suffice it to say that during meditation, a mantra is typically used to anchor the mind. Mantras can range from simple, like the sacred “Om,” to several lines. They each have their own energy and meaning and they affect each of us differently. It is said that the benefits of practicing a mantra include greater clarity of mind, protection from negative thoughts, and clearer perception of our deeper connection with the omniscient power within the universe. Most are in Sanskrit, not English. The meaning, however, is not as critical as the sound and the vibration it creates. Even if you don’t understand it, it has the same power and properties.

This past week, I stumbled upon a guided meditation using a mantra I hadn’t heard before, repeated 108 times, an auspicious number in the yogic tradition. I was feeling overwhelmed with the sadness and heaviness of our current situation, and the mantra was dubbed a “Mantra for Healing.” Sold. I needed me some healing.

The mantra follows: 

Om prabhu deep niranjan saba dukha bhanjan. 

Kind of a mouthful. And challenging to learn. Even after hearing it 108 times. 

I’ve since practiced this meditation three additional times since that first time. And today, as I continued to try to commit the sounds to memory, I realized how this situation we’re in is just like learning a mantra. 

Suddenly, the universe presents you with a new mantra. You didn’t ask for it, you were just minding your own business and there it was, demanding your attention. And it seemed so daunting. So much to take in all at once. There’s no way you will learn this new “normal.” 

But then you start to relax around it, you take one word at a time, or two, and master those. You don’t get attached to the getting it right. You’re gentle with yourself. Then you add on. Just a little. Soon you’re into a rhythm, of sorts – it starts to sound like something, but you need to work on the pronunciation. Then, seemingly randomly, it all clicks and the mantra settles within you, and something you thought was incomprehensible becomes a part of you. 

A few weeks ago, who would have thought we would still be quarantined in our homes (and another few weeks of it left, to boot), seeing friends only via video, working from home, discovering this new “normal” together? But we’re doing it. We’re relaxing around it, taking it one day at a time, and being gentle with ourselves, and each other. Each day we may have to endure a little more. But we’re okay because we know the end justifies the means. And we know there really is no “end.”

Once we we learn this, our new “today”, we’ll be presented with a new normal, but we will always have our old mantra in our back pocket, a reminder of that time we were sure we would never be able to get through it, but with patience and love, we did.