Take a deep breath!

Like most of you, I’ve spent the past two years tending to the urgent and uncertain. It’s felt chaotic. Like I’m racing around breathless trying to get somewhere other than here. Because let’s face it, here can be hard. These days can feel extremely uncomfortable, unsettling, scary, even infuriating. The hostility in the world that always felt like it was “out there” now feels like it’s right here. Like a dispute between neighbors or a mishap between drivers could easily escalate. It’s like there isn’t much room to be human these days. Do you feel that? When I need her the most, my sacred center, my spiritual source, feels like she’s suffocating underneath the weight, the noise, the too-muchness of this moment.

Yet I know when I’m able to take the time to commune with my sacred self, I feel a little more space, grace and perspective. Like she’s able to tilt my head just so, pointing me back to my internal north star.

How then do we reconnect with our sacred self? With that unshakeable place in each of us that is compassionate and curious, calm and clear? Maybe you call that place Soul, Higher Self, Universe, Energy Source, Intuition, Wise Woman, Divine Dude, or God. I've got a new name for mine: spiritualicious Self (check out my new website content to learn more)! It’s that place in us that always has our back and never leads us astray.

Reconnecting with our sacred selves is exactly the work we do in spiritual coaching. One way we can awaken to our spiritual source is with our breath, and so I begin our coaching sessions with a guided breath meditation. I'm offering it now as gift for you! Download the 10-minute breath meditation below. Keep it close. Use it to start your day, or listen to it before transitioning from work to home, or let it lullaby you to sleep.

The breath is magical! Any time someone says, “Take a deep breath,” and I do, I instantly feel this reconnection with my body and the moment. No longer am I in my head, somewhere in the past or future, but right here and now where my spiritual power and wisdom resides. I feel more calm, grounded, and expansive. Take a deep breath! Do you get that feeling?

Of course, the breath is also ancient. Here in the very beginning. From dirt and stardust we were created, but it was Spirit’s breath that gave us Life. Our bodies can live without food for weeks, and without water for days, but without breath, life ends in a matter of moments.

In many faith traditions and cultures, the word for breath is synonymous with spirit:

In Sanskrit, it’s called prana;
In Hebrew, ruah means spirit and breath;
In Greek it is pneuma, and in Latin spiritus;
In English, to inhale means to inspire—that is, to take in the spirit, and to exhale is to expire—to release the spirit;
The word conspire literally means to breathe together, in unison, in one spirit.

To connect with your breath, is to connect with your spiritual power.

The gift of breath is that we don’t have to do anything—it moves through us on our own behalf. However, the more attention and intention we give to it, the more we can access its full life-giving power. When we consciously deepen our breathing, things start to shift. Our body begins to relax. Our mind starts to calm. Our emotions can be held. We create space to slow down, and tune in. The breath leads us back to our spiritual source, in the here and now, where the conspiring can commence...

DOWNLOAD BREATH MEDITATION NOW!

Entering a new era: a solstice sermon

December 21st is the winter solstice, the longest night of the year, after what might feel like the longest year in our life. It’s a profound night: astrologically, a new era is coming to light. A once every twenty-year Great Conjunction between Jupiter and Saturn will light our sky—some liken their bright, combined planet power to the Star of Bethlehem. This cosmic phenomenon collides with the solstice and her change of seasons—a season that welcomes more and more light.

Everywhere we look: more light. And with more light, comes greater ability to see. For those with eyes wide open.

When meeting with a client recently, she described this image that came to her during our guided meditation: radiant light pouring into an old, dark and dusty room. I asked, “What happens when we pull back the curtains and open a window to a room that has sat dormant and dark for so many years?” Dust kicks up. We start to see the stacks of whatever we’ve left behind, buried, forgotten. The greater the light, the greater the shadow.

Our wondering tapped into a deep truth of what she was experiencing on a personal level, and what we are experiencing on a collective scale. Light is pouring into our darkest corners and deepest crevices illuminating our losses and our longings. Long lost chambers of our hearts, minds and bodies are seeing the light of day, and starting to shine forth. In this emerging era, we can no longer hide from our woundedness or our worthiness—there is too much light.

As important as this illumination is, it can be hard to look at. It can be painful, even paralyzing. It’s tempting to tuck it away in that dark room; and instead return to the stories we want to believe and the images we want to project. But therein lies the source of our deepest pain: we are never fully seen.

Take me for example. When I’m feeling lonely, sometimes instead of reaching out for connection and risk being rejected or misunderstood, I find it safer to hide behind self-reliance (I'll do it myself, thank you), perfectionism (must stay in control cause my chaos ain't pretty), and righteousness (being right makes life simpler, besides being wrong means I'm imperfect). The thing is, being independent, perfect and right leads to even more loneliness (not to mention, exhaustion). It also means I'm never wholly seen because I never let you see me whole.

But what if we could see ourselves through sacred eyes?

Behind every wound there is our sacred self that sees us with grace and gentleness. Not shame or should’ves. But with understanding. She honors whatever experience we’re having, no matter how intense, ugly, or socially-incorrect it is. She knows this wound has been waiting, likely for years, to be felt. Not to be denied, disgraced, buried: but to come into the light and be held in love.

Seen, finally.

Deep breath.

From this sacred seeing, we gather our strength because how we see ourselves impacts how we see the world. And we need to see the world through these same sacred eyes right now.

How we see ourselves impacts how we see the world.

People are rising up. Waking up. Shaking up the status quo. We are seeing more clearly, more acutely the brokenness and mayhem within our institutions: our government, healthcare, corporations, religions, schools. We are seeing the devastating division and segregating worldviews within our country, our communities, our families.

We are living in a time when we can no longer hide: We are seeing and being seen. Our false and fanciful images are being shattered. An image of our country and churches shattered. An image of our structures, strangers, and selves shattered. Shattered by the light.

The greater the light, the greater the shadow.

Individually and collectively, what lies just beneath our perfection, our pretending, our people-pleasing, our pomposity, our proclamations of right and wrong, is our pain. Our country's original sins, and our ancestors’ untold stories and unfelt wounds, are aching for redemption, repair and reconciliation. Through us. Today. Together. It's perhaps what we hold most in common: we are hurting and looking for our way home.

This is hard, hard work. Our ego is designed to protect us and do whatever it can to stop pain. Instead of feeling pain, the mind wants to quickly create a story that makes the pain go away (to tuck it away in that dark room). A popular response is to project our pain onto something or someone else (thus, creating “the other”). Robert Burton, a neurologist says that our brains reward us with dopamine (feel good drug) when we quickly create a story that can make sense of the pain. The story doesn’t have to be true; it only has to feel true. It’s why dogmatic beliefs work so well. It’s why some can’t be convinced with science. It’s not about the rational, but the emotional. Instead of feeling the pain or discomfort or uncertainty, we can quickly retreat to a story (or scripture) that ties it up in a more bearable bow. Our mind then releases the dopamine drug, and we can feel good and “safe” again.

"Of all you see, only love is infinite." —Rumi ... Art by Michal Madison

It’s tender terrain we’re entering. So much is being revealed: personally, politically, spiritually. As these parts of ourselves and our world come out of hiding, it’s essential that we remember: how we see is as important as what we see.  Do we see ourselves and one another through critical eyes, righteous eyes, shameful eyes, fearful eyes? Or sacred eyes? One of my favorite quotes is from novelist Anais Nin: “We don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are.”

What our wider world and inner worlds need more than ever is for us to learn to see our woundedness with sacred eyes. When we do, our worthiness can't help but shine and be seen. This sacred seeing can shift us from separateness and strangeness to deep connection and intimacy. It will lead us home. So how do we do that when our minds are hardwired to bury it? Here are three practices I use DAILY:

1. Slow Down. Moving at a fast pace is seriously at the root of so many problems. When we begin to slow down our lives, we slow down our minds. When we slow down our minds, we can create a gap between what we’re feeling internally and how we respond to it. When we slow down, we can stop instinctually reacting based on past wounds and old neuropathways, and start being in relationship with whatever is being illuminated. This is the practice of mindfulness, which leads to …

2. Turn your gaze toward curiosity and compassion. When we feel a feeling we don’t like (anger, sadness, anxiety, etc.), instead of letting the inner critic beat up on it and push it away, we can instead practice turning toward it with curiosity and compassion (courage too). Maybe place your hand on wherever that feeling is showing up on your body. Talk to the feeling—like you would a friend or child who is feeling a similar feeling. Turn the kindness you would give others toward yourself. Maybe the feeling starts talking back. So, then you can write about it, put it on paper, share it with a spiritual companion, and let it live somewhere other than inside you. It becomes an invitation to ask: What long-lost truth does it want to tell you? What woundedness and worthiness is it revealing?

3. Look for what is rather than what you think ought to be. Much of our pain comes from wanting things to be different than they are. When I look at someone who holds a clashing worldview and fight to make them agree with me, I miss who they are deep down—their woundedness and worthiness. The same holds true for ourselves. What are we missing when we expect ourselves to constantly be different than who we are right now (return to practice #2) Turn this phrase into a prayer or mantra. Go about your day and when you feel activated say: “I see this person as they are, not as I think they ought to be.” OR “I see myself as I am not as I think I ought to be.” This reframe is a practice of radical acceptance. Acceptance is not agreement. If you accept what is happening, then you stop fighting reality. When you stop fighting reality, you get out of your head and enter into the present moment—and tender terrain. From this sacred seeing, the most loving, efficient, fearless, and generous response can emerge within you.

We are entering a new era and this is the work we are called to do. This is the work we do together in spiritual coaching. After you go out and gaze at the Star of Bethlehem, please reach out or refer a friend, or share this message. I want to walk together in the light, and shadows, too.

COVID-19: remembering to grieve

Irritation, anger, then grief slapped me in the face last night. My 73-year-old father had plans to visit us from Indiana—a plan in the making for well over a year. One that had already been postponed due to two knee replacements. His wife of 30 years died just over a year ago—and understandably, he’s been struggling. This trip was a chance to step out of the greyness that ensues after your life partner is no more. Then on Friday, as life rapidly changed in our world, a new reality was slowly, painfully emerging—and today we were left with no other choice but to cancel his trip. All of us heartbroken. Dad’s chicken and noodles for my birthday not happening. Bucket list adventures, hikes under the Eastern Sierra sky, and a plethora of hugs all postponed.

I know each of you hold similar stories of loss, disruption, frustration, and fear—whether yours, your family’s, a close friend, a chronically-ill neighbor, a single-parent, an elderly grandparent or parishioner, an incarcerated pen pal—everyone is touched by this pandemic. Undeniably, intricately connected. One meme reframed social distancing as “physical distancing and social solidarity … we’re all in this together.”

Individually we are coping the best ways we can, while simultaneously caring for the ones we love. Many of you reading this post are generous givers and doers inclined to community care—to extend your love to those who are particularly vulnerable. You are a model for all of us to learn how we can better respond beyond our own walls.

My invitation to you is to remember to grieve. To take some moments to consider what has been lost, left behind, and left unknown in your own life. Standing in the Trader Joe’s line (because you know, long line), a woman told me how people she knew had to cancel their weddings, miss their medical school graduations—once-in-a-lifetime moments they may never get back. It’s easy to hear those stories and belittle what appear to be our seemingly insignificant losses, like a postponed trip. But your losses, your desires, your dreams matter—no matter the size. Talked to a dance teacher today whose classes are canceled—she was less concerned with the financial loss she would endure, and more concerned with the “loss of spirit” because dancing and teaching bring her alive. What are you grieving and how will you honor that loss?

As we walk around in this new reality, may we remember too that each of us holds different strengths, different resources, different capacities. My head has been raging with pain from information overload. Even in the midst of so much to do, my mind and body demands that I stop from time to time, to pull away from the screen—and even from the ones I love—so that I can close my eyes, quiet my mind and return to my center, my core, my deep down knowing that in this moment, I am safe. We are safe. In order to care for the chaos happening in others’ lives, I must continue to replenish my own reserve. What are ways you need to self-care so that you can collective care not from fear and reactivity but from rootedness and calm?

These are the questions we’ll be asking around our dinner table tonight: What do you feel like you’re losing and gaining because of these changes? How do we honor the losses and make space for the opportunities? What is your role in this crisis moment? What do we have to offer in way of family care and community care?

As we roll up our sleeves and get to work, remember to sit with whatever emotional, mental and physical sensations are showing up for you. Bear witness to yourself as you bear witness to others. If you are able, ask someone to see you, hear you, and hold you, too. I’m here if you need me. #COVID19

When funk visits

I am emerging from what our family has now named "funk." It comes and goes every few months, and stays for about 3-4 days. It’s a familiar guest, though a hard one to live with. Naming it funk helps me to let my family know when she’s back for a visit, and so they can give me the space needed, and the comfort wanted, in order to sustain her.

Funk isn't depression though it feels like it. Intense every time, and every time an eternity—at least to the ego’s eye. First arrives irritability—a meanness in my voice, an edge to my tone. Then comes extreme fatigue. Followed by profound sadness. Then all the stories of "not enough" come rushing in to give meaning to the pain. But what if the pain has nothing to do with my enoughness and everything to do with my aliveness.

As my husband left for work, he said, "Welcome back." And I said, "the funk is part of me too—it's the price I pay for feeling Life so deeply." These words fell from my lips as if a gift from the angels, holy revelation that awakened me to a new relationship with funk. It's a broken, hurting world out there, and our bodies hold that enormous pain, but our mind buries it … for it's often too much or too busy to bear it. But sometime and somewhere, the pain will need to emerge ... because pain demands to be felt.

Is it possible for me to reframe these funks not as an affront to my worthiness but as an opportunity to witness? As a moment to stop the spinning world, and sit and grieve. To weep and ache for the mass shootings, caged children, pets passed, marriages broken, crises of faith ... for the litany of pain in our world that needs to be heard, known and loved. What if I didn't make these moments [entirely] about me, but about me being a vessel for funk to heal? It's not masochism, it's midwifery. Because pain too needs to give birth, needs to emerge from the dark, watery womb, because it too is Life.

Wise Woman Within

Last summer I participated in a Wise Woman ceremony by the sea. There I was asked what image comes to mind when I think about my Wise Woman within—instantly, THIS image appeared (Can you find me in the photo?).

She always comes to me in a wide open field. She reminds me of my—and our—vastness. That we are more than this body, more than our thoughts and emotions that ebb and flow, more than our experiences—as real and significant as they are—we are still more. We are the wide open space that contains them, witnesses them, and chooses how to respond to them. We are Wise Woman who sees farther and wider and deeper than our little “I” can, and we need not be afraid. As my dear friend Rumi says it, “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.”

What image comes to mind when you imagine your Wise Woman? Where within you does she reside?

Life's enormity

At first I was resistant to watching Modern Love (TV series on Amazon Prime Video) because the characters don't carry over from episode to episode and I thought I'd desperately miss out on character development. But oh how I'm glad I gave it a try (thank you to sister-friend Beth for the recommendation!)! I found that with all the episodes (with the exception of the first with the dearly protective door man), I could find myself inside each of the love stories. Sometimes verbatim. Every time, even with the episodes I thought would not elicit any emotion, sure enough, usually near the end, my heart broke wide open, and tears poured forth. This gigantua emotional release had its way with me. Followed by an exhaustion like one feels after a satisfying workout. Then I began to realize, hey wait a minute, I don't actually watch love stories anymore—not since I got two boys who are way more into watching shows and movies about machines, weather, space, and war.

Then I remembered how much I fell in love with the arrival of our holiday Alexa. Why? Because at the drop of a Keller command, I could request nearly any song I wanted, and boom, instant music that filled, opened, energized, and soothed my heart. That then made me miss attending worship, where every Sunday, songs and singing and poetic liturgy were felt on our collective tongues, lungs and longing souls.

I noticed a theme. All these ways that once allowed for healing emotional release have been absent from my life. Even running had become absent—due to a hurting back—and wow what a release of fire that was for me!

It wasn't only the absence of emotional release, but the presence of deep, resounding feeling. This feeling—almost like heartache because it reaches so deep to the core that the heart might not be able to bear its enormity—this feeling that makes life worth living, that remembers our connection to all of life itself.

So it's decided, 2020 will be a year when I will reintroduce these elements that make way for this enormous feeling of life itself. Who's in?

Our Lives are Sacred Text

Our lives are sacred text

For thousands of years people have gathered around ancient stories in holy books to seek out the way, and the truth, and abundant life. Opening the text and revealing its Word is done with reverence — with careful hands, open hearts and clear minds. We lean in to listen, as if for the first time, in hopes that Mystery will wake us to our core, illuminating something not yet seen, not yet understood, not yet felt.

Making the unknown known
in our flesh and bones
is the act of creation,
the birth of holy meets human.
Heaven on earth.
Aliveness embodied.
Awakening realized.

Today, in less religious times, we go searching for this divine inspiration in literature, memoirs, podcasts, memes and Instagram influencers.

Searching and seeking wherever and however we can is as important as breath to those heart-wired for spiritual quests. Growing up, my family held little interest in God. I however was mesmerized. At six years-old I asked my father if I could go to church because apparently that’s where God lived. Dad obliged. The next Sunday, he dropped me off at the front doors of the local Presbyterian church. The doors were huge, I remember. Majestic. Like a divine threshold leading me to a magical place full of awe, beauty and a connection to something bigger than myself. Life at home was heavy, and my soul sought the light.

Perhaps this is where it begins for many of us —
the looking outside ourselves for the Sacred that lives within.
In childhood, in churches, in a culture that forgets
we’ve had the power, the wisdom, the magic all along.
There is no place we can go where Spirit is not.
Yet too often we neglect to search in the place nearest us — ourselves.

This is not to say we don’t need each other (and Instagram influencers) to see ourselves and the world more clearly, especially the best parts of ourselves, especially as women.

It’s to say, you are a one-of-a-kind wonder.
The keeper, curator, midwife to a unique unfolding of the universe.
You are your very own sacred story written in the stars longing to be sung in this life, in this time.

And so. What if? What if we gathered around our own stories as if they too were sacred? As if Spirit still speaks to us, through us, as us. What if your every thought, every feeling, every experience was held as holy? As something worth honoring.

What if you knew your fear, your shame, your rage, your sadness, your regrets were not feelings to be hidden and ignored, but clues to the answers you seek? What if the internal chatter, the inner critic is actually a guide leading you to your deepest wounds and greatest wisdom? What if you opened the sacred text of your life with careful hands, an open heart and clear mind? What if you courageously leaned in to listen, as if for the first time, in anticipation that Mystery will wake you to your core, illuminating something not yet seen, not yet understood, not yet felt?

What if your life with all its brokenness and beauty is actually a masterpiece? A sacred text, awaiting your gaze.

SACRED GAZING

At its best, spiritual coaching is the practice of sacred gazing. That is to learn how to look upon your life through sacred eyes. To study your life like you would any sacred text. To treat every word you speak, every story you create, every character you embody, as if there awaits a hidden wound to heal, a lost jewel pining to shine, a timeless wisdom ready to send you on your way. Meaning, values and purpose for which to stand.

Another way to think of spiritual coaching is learning how to be. Our work together is less about what you will accomplish or achieve or how to make your life better; instead, it’s about how to be in better relationship with yourself, and more attuned with your intuition and internal life. When you understand the heart of your sacred text, you are far more equipped and empowered to make choices aligned with your values and divine center.

It’s important to note that Sacred gazing is not spiritual bypassing (meaning: to avoid, suppress, escape unresolved emotional issues). In fact, it’s facing head on the hard, hurting, beautiful parts of your life with courage, curiosity and compassion. It requires the grit of a warrior and the grace of a saint (and you’ve got both). And a companion who will not leave your side.

A companion: that’s my job, and my absolute joy. Available for individual coaching and public speaking.

No matter our opinion

“There is no such thing as other people’s children.”

I love these words written by Glennon Doyle, author, blogger and activist. She wrote these words as our country began to learn about our government separating children from their parents.

Watch the full sermon (click image), or read the sermon below. 

Right there at the border, children less than a year old, no older than ten, are being torn away from their mother’s grasp and placed in a lonely, ill-equipped detention center.

This is trauma that will be imprinted on these children’s hearts and bodies. This feeling that they are not safe. This story that they do not belong. This terrifying anxiety, “Where did my mother go?” “Why did they take my daddy?” “And will they return for me?”

No matter our opinion on immigration, I know each of us feels deeply for these frightened children.

No matter our opinion on immigration, I know each of us want to spare these children this horrifying pain of separation—just like you want to spare your own child, or niece, or godchild, or neighbor’s kid.

No matter our opinion, we belong to each other.

Sometimes, though, we forget.

We forget because we get scared.
Be not afraid. We belong to one another.

We forget because we think there isn’t enough to go around.
There is enough. When we do it together.

We forget because we think there needs to be winners and losers.
That’s a boring old story that we are ready to outgrow. When you lift up another, you lift up yourself. Your liberation is my liberation.

We forget because we see skin, status, salary, sexuality or political party, and we stop looking, we stop seeing. 
Underneath all that, we long for the same. We want to feel safe. To feel free. To be seen. We belong to one another.

********

Then, there are the parents who have lost their children at the border.

In Glennon Doyle’s blogpost: Emergency Love Flash Mob for the Children (which raised $1 million in 9 hours to represent these children, and over $1.5 million total), I appreciate how she conveys a major shift in our government’s immigration policy. “Historically,” she says, “the government has treated immigration violations as a civil—not a criminal—offense.” What this meant was that families were not torn apart while the issue was resolved. That's changed.

Suddenly, these parents are seen as criminal, and treated harshly.

These parents, like so many of our parents, and grandparents, and great-grandparents, and great-great grandparents and so on, are risking their lives in faith for a better one, here, in the land of the free, home of the brave.

No matter our opinion on immigration, each of us can connect to that deep desire to live in freedom, to live in security, to live in hope for more for our children.

No matter our opinion on immigration, I know that if we as parents risked our lives for our children’s sake, and our actions were then deemed criminal, we would want to know our children are safe, fed and fairly represented. We ourselves would want to be regarded with respect, acknowledged for our bravery, understood for our humanity.

No matter our opinion.

********

But our opinions do matter.
I should know, I was voted “Most Opinionated” in my high school senior class.

They matter because they’re exactly what’s getting in the way of humanity.

Our opinions—as sound, brilliant and thorough as they usually are—can get in the way of us achieving whole and lasting transformation in our country.

Our opinions keep us in our head, not in our heart.
Our opinions make us certain, so we don’t have to feel uncertain or uncomfortable.
Our opinions protect us from being vulnerable, wrong, mistaken or incomplete.
Our opinions shut us down from curiosity, and compassion.
Our opinions allow us to be right—but not in relationship.

Sure, opinions can indeed change minds—but not if you haven’t first made an authentic, heartfelt connection, where openness and possibility reside.

My experience has taught me that connection and intimacy require spaciousness. Everything is moving so fast in our culture, that there is no space for Life to be felt. Or relished. Or enjoyed. Or appreciated. Like there usually isn’t enough space for the nuances, the complexities—in conversations, in relationships, in that moment—to reveal themselves, so we jump to these labels, these stereotypes, these opinions, these automatic, conditioned responses. We just start responding without thinking, without reflecting, without hearing, without pausing.

Pausing is where intimacy happens. Where connection happens. Where something other than what we’ve always known becomes possible.

If we want whole and lasting transformation in our country, we have got to learn to pause. To stop our mind from automatically responding with its opinion. Between that moment when we hear a person’s differing opinion and when we choose to respond, we must practice pausing our mind.

Create a space. A gap. A crack. A window. Where a new idea, a new possibility, a new connection can be born. Where humanity gets a little bit bigger, and a little bit closer.

It’s in those spaces, cracks, gaps, windows, pauses, that Spirit can be heard.
Where the us vs. them, the right vs. wrong, the good vs. bad fall away,
and we see each other as brother and sister.
We’re living in the same household, but wow, how we see things differently, right?

If you’re really courageous, in that pause, turn toward curiosity. Genuine curiosity. Heartfelt curiosity. Not the kind where you’re just gathering evidence so you can disprove their point. But genuine curiosity as to how this person with his/her life experience could hold this opinion.

Now, when we step outside our echo chambers, and engage someone with a different opinion, especially one as heated as immigration, remember you are brave. No matter the side you’re standing on.

It is HARD WORK to engage difference. To be open to something new and unfamiliar. Newness is scary to our mind. Its job is to maintain status quo. To keep things the same. If your mind is not well-practiced at listening, receiving, and wondering about our differences—then more times than not, it will shut down or fight back.

I read an article from PBS titled: “’Nothing normal’ about U.S. detaining immigrant children.” Hashtags followed: #NotNormal

100% I agree. This is not normal. This is not okay.

But to a person who passionately opposes immigration, when they read that title, perhaps what they hear instead, is some rendition of: “I’m a bad person.”

It’s likely they don’t hear those thoughts consciously, but rather, on a deeper level, their worth and personhood feels threatened. When that happens, his/her mind must defend. It’s what the mind does.

I know, I know, to someone who welcomes the immigrant, your mind might be saying, “They are a bad person.” Fine, that may or may not be true. What I’m saying is, it may not be effective. Nor helpful. Nor in alignment with who you say you are: a person who values the worth and dignity of every human being.

So, what if we gave as much care and attention to the person with whom we disagree, as we do the immigrant?

What if we set our opinion aside? What if we paused? What might be possible? We won’t know until we try.

I’m not saying stop. Keep shouting “This is not right!” “This is not normal!” All that needs to be said. Again and again and again. What I’m saying is it may not be enough.

There may be more we are called to do.
Especially for those of who us who are not in harm’s way.
Yes, send your money. Yes, write your representatives. Yes, share the story and shine awareness.
All of that matters. Don't stop.
And let’s not stop there. Perhaps an even braver, harder thing we can do is go to our neighbor. Go to our family member. Get out of our echo chambers and engage someone different than ourselves.
Create space between your thoughts and opinions.
Be open to intimacy and connection.
Let Spirit be heard.
Turn toward curiosity and compassion.
Imagine in this everyday, mundane moment, a new world is being born.