A time to mourn, and a time to dance

In a clergy video chat this week my good friend and colleague, Dee, quoted one of her favorite poems, which happens to have been written by the accomplished poet and author of last week’s reflection, Judith Sornberger:

WHAT I HEARD THIS MORNING

FILLING THE BIRD FEEDER

You thought I said dominion?

Oh dear, Let’s backtrack 

here a little. As each bird

flew from my fingers,

each whale and finny thing

swam from my tongue,

each beast of the earth

crept into being, I remember

quite distinctly saying,

Welcome to your domus.

They all seemed to get it

and set out to find their rooms.

I greeted you with the same words.

Could it be that you misheard?

Or were you already

too big for your fig leaves?

Or did the error come

when I whispered your mission?

That’s always the trouble

with translation. Listen,

If I’d made one creature

king, wouldn’t I at least

have installed wings?

Dee says she thinks of the poem each day when she spreads birdseed and peanuts on the ground outside her cabin, hidden within a blanket of forest, for “the creatures,” as she calls them. Those feathered and furred critters spend their days scampering around, beaks and noses to the ground, filling their gullets and cheeks with her gifts of nuts and seeds. 

She has often recited this poem to me, but it has never sounded quite as poignant as it does under with most of the world sheltered in place, in lockdown or self-quarantined, as the case may be. 

In the face of a devastating pandemic, we begin to fully understand the delusion that we have entertained on multiple levels, consciously and unconsciously, that we individually and collectively hold dominion over anything in the created world.

With most every corner of the world increasingly affected by the global pandemic, we wonder, how did this happen? Whose fault is it? And increasingly, the language of battle. Perhaps, you too may be influenced by the politicians and the pundits and believe that we are at war.... with a virus. I’m sure that for the hospitals that have been the most impacted with overwhelming cases of illness and such a high death toll the wartime analogy is an easy reach. 

As of this writing, worldwide there are 1,076,017 confirmed cases of the Covid19 virus, with 73,858 added today; 58,004 deaths, 6519 added today. It seems the virus is out for us. Except that it doesn’t have it out for us; it isn’t even alive. It is just a bit of genetic code. That’s all a virus is. It isn’t thinking or plotting or planning. It hasn’t waged war on anyone. It’s just doing what viruses do. This particular one happens to do what it does very efficiently with very unfortunate impacts upon many who contract it. The truth is, we live in a world in which illness and death are a part – its built into the system. And when death happens, especially on the scale we are experiencing it, when we rub up against something, accidentally or otherwise, that causes cataclysmic consequences for the collective human population it feels devastating. When it upends our entire life and our collective way of living it is disorienting - for everyone. But it isn’t war. The language of war is the language of dominance. 

How then do we speak of a pandemic? How do we address with words the present circumstances?  How might we dip our buckets into the deep well of wisdom and not the hollow tribal language of victory over an enemy. Let us begin with these very old words:

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: 

a time to be born, and a time to die; 

a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; 

a time to kill, and a time to heal; 

a time to break down, and a time to build up; 

a time to weep, and a time to laugh; 

a time to mourn, and a time to dance; 

a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together; 

a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; 

a time to seek, and a time to lose; 

a time to keep, and a time to throw away; 

a time to tear, and a time to sew; 

a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; 

a time to love, and a time to hate; 

a time for war, and a time for peace.  (Ecclesiastes 3:1-14)

We are in a season. It is a very different season then we were in just a few weeks ago. Many of the times noted in this sacred text are times we are living now. But the others times will come again as well.... a time to mourn and a time to dance. Knowing this; knowing deeply in our souls that all seasons come and go, that there is an ebb and flow to life that is part of the fabric of all life helps us to cope with the time we are in presently. Inevitably, this season will fold into the one to come.... and then another. It is the way of life on this planet.

Postscript:

Do you want to improve the world?

I don’t think it can be done.

The world is sacred.

It can’t be improved.

If you tamper with it, you’ll ruin it.

If you treat it like an object, you’ll lose it.

There is a time for being ahead,

a time for being behind;

a time for being in motion,

a time for being at rest;

a time for being vigorous,

a time for being exhausted;

a time for being safe,

a time for being in danger.

The Master sees things as they are,

without trying to control them.

She lets them go their own way, 

and resides at the centre of the circle.  (Tao the Ching: #29)

I do not subscribe to war speak. I am not at war with the creation or any single part of it, or by extension, the one who created it. 

I am saddened by the reports of illness and death each day.  My heart goes out to those who are separated from those they love and thankful for a compassionate medical staff who ministers to the dying. I pray with regularity that you and those you love may be safe and well. 

Like you, I am making the best of being homebound and adapting to challenges and blessings as I settle into a new routine. Each day I catch glimpses of the birds eating thistle and black oil sunflower seeds at the bird feeders outside the windows; the morning doves pecking the ground, the woodpeckers devastating the suet. I contemplate the folly of my illusion of dominion over anything. 

Sometimes this makes me feel anxious. 

Sometimes this comes as a relief. 

I put peanuts and corn in the squirrel feeder and try to avoid stepping on the delicate little purple flowers in the grass. Today the sun was more warm then the wind was cool and I sat outside to meditate. When I opened my eyes I saw the cat several feet in front of me eating a freshly killed chipmunk. 

I am not at war with the cat. 

This weekend the Trillium bore upright its sleepy head to greet the sun's spotty patches coloring white the dead brown leaves on the forest floor. Like the water in the creek running over the rocks on its way to where it is going, this season is moving toward its completion. Knowing this, I let things go their own way and find my way to the center of the circle.