We spent the day connecting today. We didn’t watch the news, scroll the internet, listen to news in any way. Yesterday, as shown in our blog, we were filled with anger, pain, despair, and felt overwhelmed. Today, we knew the day before had left us spent, empty, and ever so sad. We made up our mind to connect with what would replenish us, make us feel something good, wholesome. Having to return books to the library spurred us into movement.
We dropped our books into the drive-up bin. The parking lot, usually full, was empty. We pulled into a parking slot, and just sat and looked around, listening to our Simon & Garfunkel cd. As the music washed over us, we took breaths and listened to the words. We started to look at our phone, picked it up, then put it on the seat beside us. We listened to all the words of “The Dangling Conversation,” and picked the phone up to text our dear friend we would be off line for a period of respite. She responded with a smile emoji. On the way home, we continued to listen to the cd, traveling slowly on nearly deserted city streets. Stores advertising insurance, phone service, others–closed with empty parking lots around them. We thought, dystopia is here. Slowly, watching, looking, we made it home.
When we got home and in the house, it was quiet and empty except for ourselves. We pulled out our favorite book of poetry–poets of Britain and America. It fell open to our favorite poem of all time. We will share the first stanza of it here: “The Second Coming” by W.B. Yeats. “Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.” Pretty heavy and prophetic for something written in 1919, 1921, isn’t it? But oh, so profound!
We read it in its entirety, then read it again as we listened to one of our favorite classical pieces of music. We went outside. To connect. First, we looked at the sky, the clouds, the hills in our line of sight. Then, we waited for a sign that this is where we should be and what we should be doing. Ah! Two crows cawed and swooped, letting us know this was good. Three more joined them and they were so close we could hear the swoosh of their wings as they dipped and dove around the yard we stood in. We began to feel more confident. It had rained last night and the grass was wet, heavy, that we stood in. We reached down and awkwardly removed our socks and shoes around the bulkiness of the jacket we were wearing.
Our feet felt the cold, wet grass. We began to feel grounded. We looked inward as we let our toes search for the earth holding the grass. Soon we could feel it. We dug them into the grass and ground and we could smile again. Here, here was our connection. The crows remained, quiet now, and a breeze came up. It was soft, sweet, like the damp grass and earth we kept our feet on and in. The blue sky was getting gray again, but now, we were connected to the earth, the sky, the creatures that lived in it. We raised our arms, stretched our palms upward to let the breeze play across them. We connected more and more, deeper and deeper. The feeling was so deep, so complete, that we dared close our eyes, discarding vigilance and wariness. Our body felt lighter and lighter and we felt our spirits floating upward, connecting not only with the earth, but with infinite eternity. We let ourselves, our body, just BE. No words, no pain, no anything except being. We filled our entire being with this, all of it. We were connecting with the earth so we could soar with the crows in the sky, into the ether.
The screen door slammed behind us. People were back. At first we were sad, then we pushed it aside. What we had experienced was in us, a part of every cell of the body, every feathered wing of each spirit. It was our connection, unseen by others, felt by each of us. It was ours. Ours alone. We slowly came into the house again, reveling in the ineffable beauty of what we had experienced. Did we really fly? Was what we felt real? Our feet were wet, cold, dirty— and yes, we had flown. Our spirits soared as the body let us connect with the earth. And now, now we had connected. We had regained the ceremony of innocence Yeats spoke of. We did not lack conviction. We were at peace. We would once more hear the falconer. Our centre would hold now.