Holding It All In Compassion

Late last summer, when Tiger first showed up in the forest by Pudding Creek, I was excited for the possibility of a pet that I could cuddle and love. I began feeding him in September and he started coming inside in October for the clear frosty nights. He loves climbing apple trees and scampers up the fir trees as high as he can before jumping down. Yesterday he wandered around in the woods with Joe and I, looking for mushrooms and early spring wildflowers. He cries plaintively when we get too far out of sight. However, it turns out that things are different than I had originally imagined. He does not cuddle very often and prefers to sleep in the closet to on the bed. Sometimes he even bites! I am learning about him and how to love him just as he is - a wild Tiger cat.

More than two years ago, in pre-pandemic times, I planned and imagined opening a small retreat center. Which has happened, but just like with the cat, it is not quite what I imagined either. The drought continues, the climate crisis seems more and more dire, and there is now war too. My personal concerns amplify and mix with the uncertainty in the broader world. The problems of finding a place for our well (we may have to build a road?!) and filling the Spring retreats somehow glob onto my grief for the people of Ukraine and the fragile ecosystem.

I find myself in need of practice. It takes practice to hold it all in compassion, but the other options are to collapse into fatigue and hopelessness or press forward in denial. In the same way that I let go of needing Tiger to be different than he is, I am practicing seeing the world (and myself) for what it is and showing up anyway with an open hearted responsiveness.