We humans have a propensity for reshaping the landscape to suit our needs and wants. Even in harsh and extreme environments we use our ingenuity to make ourselves comfortable. I've often wondered how much our skill at creating convenience and comfort feeds our illusion that we're at the top of the food chain.
Spend a little time in a serious desert and that notion begins to erode. After a day in Joshua Tree I got it that virtually everything else in the Mojave Desert is better equipped to survive here than I am.
Except for the lizards and quail, the beasties hide out in burrows during the day. Silly me decided to go for a walk mid afternoon. After fifteen minutes a whopper sun and heat headache chased me back inside. The desert beasties have the right idea. Explore in the evening and early morning, hole up during the heat of the day.
In this new place I am practicing flexibility and letting the environment teach me how to move. Flexibility is the willingness to adapt and meet the present moment rather than clinging rigidly to my idea of "should", want or comfort. Yes, this is uncomfortable because it stretches me. It also circumvents the pressure I create for myself when I try to force the moment to fit my idea.
On a biological level, human beings are pretty flexible. Our bodies are in a constant state of flux. Each cell of us has its own life span. Some cells reproduce constantly. Thoughts and nerves fire. Chemical messengers zoom. Our strongest muscle, the heart, beats on and on even when we're still.
We are adaptable, flexible by nature. But in our beliefs, wants, ideas, preferences and "shoulds", we can be intensely fixed. We want what we want. We hold to visions of how our lives "should" be even when those ideas grate against now. Given the constant motion in our bodies, this is rigidity is in conflict with our nature.
Being in all this new, I am seeing my preferences and what I think I need to be comfortable with new eyes. Some is merely habit and convenience. I can shed those. Other things, like morning quiet time, is more a need that comes from my natural rhythms. Each morning I slip quietly into the house, make coffee, take it out to my travel trailer bedroom and watch the sun rise over the desert. The early morning stillness here is unlike anything I've experienced before...ancient, expansive and deep.
Like the other desert beasties, the people I've met here are adept at adaptation and being flexible. The friends I came to be with are riding the currents of a life changing year. These women are an exquisite portrait of heart strength, courage and willingness to adapt to circumstances that would have shattered most people.
These life altering, "no going back from here" events crash into lives like crazed tornados. They promise only destruction and an extended sojourn in the unknown. But in the wreckage there is an invitation to step forward and be our best selves. This community that has welcomed me with curiosity and hugs accepted the invitation.
Each day people come bringing care, support, hugs and home cooked meals. With each offering chaos and destruction are transformed into something holy. The ripples from this unfolding miracle are so tangible I see them spreading out to nest in the hearts of people who've never heard of Joshua Tree.
Sacredness like this is not built on level ground. It comes from caverns, pits, sharp edges, broken seams and turning ourselves inside out to find the best of who we are. In such a fecund environment, how can I not do the same?
(Myshkin and Jenny, this one's for you. Thank you!)
Spend a little time in a serious desert and that notion begins to erode. After a day in Joshua Tree I got it that virtually everything else in the Mojave Desert is better equipped to survive here than I am.
Except for the lizards and quail, the beasties hide out in burrows during the day. Silly me decided to go for a walk mid afternoon. After fifteen minutes a whopper sun and heat headache chased me back inside. The desert beasties have the right idea. Explore in the evening and early morning, hole up during the heat of the day.
In this new place I am practicing flexibility and letting the environment teach me how to move. Flexibility is the willingness to adapt and meet the present moment rather than clinging rigidly to my idea of "should", want or comfort. Yes, this is uncomfortable because it stretches me. It also circumvents the pressure I create for myself when I try to force the moment to fit my idea.
On a biological level, human beings are pretty flexible. Our bodies are in a constant state of flux. Each cell of us has its own life span. Some cells reproduce constantly. Thoughts and nerves fire. Chemical messengers zoom. Our strongest muscle, the heart, beats on and on even when we're still.
We are adaptable, flexible by nature. But in our beliefs, wants, ideas, preferences and "shoulds", we can be intensely fixed. We want what we want. We hold to visions of how our lives "should" be even when those ideas grate against now. Given the constant motion in our bodies, this is rigidity is in conflict with our nature.
Being in all this new, I am seeing my preferences and what I think I need to be comfortable with new eyes. Some is merely habit and convenience. I can shed those. Other things, like morning quiet time, is more a need that comes from my natural rhythms. Each morning I slip quietly into the house, make coffee, take it out to my travel trailer bedroom and watch the sun rise over the desert. The early morning stillness here is unlike anything I've experienced before...ancient, expansive and deep.
Like the other desert beasties, the people I've met here are adept at adaptation and being flexible. The friends I came to be with are riding the currents of a life changing year. These women are an exquisite portrait of heart strength, courage and willingness to adapt to circumstances that would have shattered most people.
These life altering, "no going back from here" events crash into lives like crazed tornados. They promise only destruction and an extended sojourn in the unknown. But in the wreckage there is an invitation to step forward and be our best selves. This community that has welcomed me with curiosity and hugs accepted the invitation.
Each day people come bringing care, support, hugs and home cooked meals. With each offering chaos and destruction are transformed into something holy. The ripples from this unfolding miracle are so tangible I see them spreading out to nest in the hearts of people who've never heard of Joshua Tree.
Sacredness like this is not built on level ground. It comes from caverns, pits, sharp edges, broken seams and turning ourselves inside out to find the best of who we are. In such a fecund environment, how can I not do the same?
(Myshkin and Jenny, this one's for you. Thank you!)
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