Outside my window,  the aspen leaves have transformed into gold discs that tremble in the wind,  the cottonwood trees are  limned in yellow, and the geese call to one another in the open sky as they fly overhead to their winter homes. While in the world of humans we are suffering through a global pandemic, political upheaval, and ongoing reminders of division, degradation, and deceit, the trees and birds   remind me of the inevitable turn of the seasons and the cycles of change that continue according to the deep instinctual wisdom of nature as opposed to the laws of men.  

I have been busy in my own season of change— our house is under contract, we have been donating clothes, furniture, and books to the local thrift store in an effort to shed some extra weight, and we are making plans for a move to the Pacific Northwest. All the while, the rest of it continues— online classes and workshops, podcast recordings, writing group, and the various  interactions that make up my life these days. This cycle of change comes with both loss and anticipation and equal parts relief and anxiety.

I suppose both/and is the message of this time for me and so many others with whom I am in relationship. On the one hand, I am enjoying more time at home after years of life on the road,  and on the other hand, I miss seeing my friends, students, and teachers in workshops, classes, and travels out-and-about. On the one hand, I love seeing everyone on Zoom, and on the other hand, I miss being in the same room with each other.  On the one hand, people are amazing, precious, and inspiring, and on the other hand, we are problematic in ways too numerous to name. in the same way, nature is both beautiful and ruthless, tender and fierce. 

I used to think that equanimity meant a state of calm where I would be unruffled or somehow unaffected by the tension inherent in this world. The older I get, I see that equanimity is closer to some state of creativity that lives in the midst of that tension without insisting  on relief, happy endings, or easy answers. Don’t get me wrong— I love a Hallmark ending, a simple solution, and I prefer pleasure to most forms of discomfort. I would prefer that we all get along, manage our disagreements with respect, and that everything stayed the same until I was good and ready for a change and then, I would love it if I could orchestrate said change according to my exact wishes.

But, as we all know, that is not life, or at least not life as I have come to know it. Life as I have come to know it has taught me that   equanimity is the capacity to live in the middle place— with beauty and heartbreak in equal measure, one informing the other through the various contrasts and distinctions that make gratitude and appreciation come to life. And, lest I sound too dramatic on this chilly autumn afternoon, I think that living in the middle place is made possible by regular visits to the Ocean of Grace, or what we have been calling the Field of Love in my podcasts lately. 

Dogs are a good way to practice, if you don’t meditate, pray, chant, or otherwise invoke the transcendent realm.

My neighbors recently got a puppy and since they work all day away from home and I work all day from home, I have inserted myself into the puppy’s life as a caregiver. I walk over around lunch to let Scooter out of his crate and take him back to my yard where he scampers about, drinks water, pees, poops, plays with Locket’s toys, and inevitably falls asleep in my lap in the Colorado sun. Meanwhile, I know that I need a good offer on the land I am selling, I am not sure how the move will all work out, or how I am going to get all my shit into a van and up to Bellingham, Washington. And while I worry, the puppy snores on with  little puffs of contentment and peace. I know our Supreme Court stands on a precipice that threatens hard-won and yet-to-be-realized-fully equal protection under the law for me as a woman, for people of color, for immigrants, for my transgendered brothers and sisters, and for  my married gay friends. And so on. And the puppy romps through the grass, chews on flowers, and chases the big dogs as best he can. 

So, the puppy doesn’t fix the fear, but offers a reminder of what else also exists— love, beauty, hope, and the ever-present capacity of Love to teach us to Love. I think those regular dips into Love— be it puppy love, a sunset, a flock of migrating birds, a great piece of music, or the gift of any practice that sustains, empowers and uplifts— isn’t about escaping the realities of suffering and injustice, but is a way to make the tension of this realm creative, inspired, and infused with depth, meaning, and purpose. Far from a quick-fix, this kind of equanimity offers those of us who feel broken-hearted the strength to act with courage, to serve with compassion, and  to face another day without succumbing to despair. 

Onward we go y’all. 

And, please vote.