I can’t speak for anyone else, but these freezing gray and stark days in the North East are starting to take a toll on my spirit. Or I should say, historically they have. I studied in Ithaca, NY as a college student and I recall there being something like 45 days with no sunlight. It brought my mood down then, and now I strive to keep that from being the case. But I can’t wait for Spring!
There are a few benefits to the cold and dark days we are stringing together here in the DC/MD/VA region. For one, everything is sort of quiet. I can still hear the birds, watch the squirrels run around wildly, and observe a deer or two crossing through my backyard. But there are few signs of life beyond the critters who don’t mind the cool air.
Another benefit is that somehow expectations of anything seem to be lowered to an almost passive state. Yes, we are working, going to school, meeting for dinner and walking outdoors. But these things seem to have a relaxed flow about them when the sky is dark and the air is chilled. We do them, but we are not pressuring ourselves to overachieve or solve world problems when the temperature is in the teens and there is no sunlight.
Recently, I noticed something else that seems to be of benefit to literally everything around us being in a state of non-aliveness. Without the leaves on the trees, we can see for long distances. It’s something like being able to access and observe the “beyond” only when everything is dead or dormant. I will tell you what I mean, and share a practice that may help you experience this for yourself.
But first let’s talk about object permanence. As young children, we are said to have acquired the concept of “Object Permanence” when we begin to grasp the idea that just because we can’t see something doesn’t mean it is not there. This can be especially important for children when they are separated from their parents. Just because they are not in front of us doesn’t mean they cease to exist.
Ever been around a child who hasn’t mastered the understanding of object permanence? If so you may have noticed the panic and terror they experience when Mom and Dad drop them at pre-school or try to leave the house without the child. They believe if they can’t see their parents, they are no longer living. Talking a kiddo down from such a tantrum is no easy task. They fear for their safety and literally believe the parents are never coming back.
Enter Object Permanence. Once we grasp this concept we begin to relax a bit. We know things don’t disappear just because we can’t see them. We don’t worry about things like Spring not ever coming, because we understand that even though we can’t see the sun, it’s there. And we are all spinning around together on our own axis points until the dark sky clears and once again Spring and all of its glory rise right back out of the dead landscape. Reminding myself that all things are part of a season, and that seasons can’t stop from changing even if they tried, is a comforting thought when I don’t love the season I am in.
The return of the sun’s light and warmth are not are not things I hope will happen. They just happen. And they are miracles every time. But there is another benefit of being in this season of barren life. It is simply this: When something dies, or ceases growing we can sometimes see beyond the landscape that normally limits our view with massive trees, flowers, and life blooming everywhere. When the leaves disappear, we notice things beyond the trees that we couldn’t see before.
Here is an example: There is a back road I have driven on for years, mostly taking Zachary to and from his caregiver’s home. I have driven this road hundreds of times. I always enjoy it because there is a certain long bend of the road in between two neighborhoods. When I am in this little stretch of natural land I have felt like I was transitioning back into, or out of my Mommahood role.
Sometimes I had to force my mind to get over the fact that I had to leave my son so I could work for the next 12 hours. The short stretch of rustic drive where the road curves often served as a space to switch gears. Often when I was going to pick Zach up, I had to remind myself that the workday was over and I’d given it what I had, and it would have to be enough.
I didn’t want to carry in the corporate stress I’d been doing jumping jacks with all day. It wouldn’t have been fair to Zach to have me in that mode when I picked him up. Plus he was too young for a PIP (“Performance Improvement Plan”) or any other managerial tactics I sometimes employed in the work place. “All done (with paying job) for today” I would tell myself, time to be a mom to this special needs creature who I often took for granted despite trying to appreciate him, and my role as his Momma.
But just this season, for the first time in hundreds of drives along that path, I noticed something new. All the trees were bare, and as I was driving slowly enough, so I could see beyond the gray terrain. I realized that there was a large body of water that was simply stunning, hiding behind the leafless trees I normally glanced at while driving through.
I wondered: What is that? Who goes there? Is it a park? Or a reservoir? Is it public? It’s just beautiful! I can’t believe I never noticed it before.
Which brings me to the point of today’s post (to the tune of the great song by Johnny Nash we know and love:) “I can see clearly now.” When we cultivate our observations to notice what is really happening, even if has been hidden for years, we suddenly realize that things may not be what we thought at all. We may come to terms with some agonizing truth we have been avoiding by only looking at the fully alive and fervent trees. Or, we may discover a treasure trove of goodness in the form of a lake, a relationship, or a new understanding that brings us closer to the person we are meant to be.
Seeing clearly is not about looking on the surface. It’s about going beyond what we used to see but didn’t pay attention to. It’s about noticing that when the trees are bare, we are cold, and we are in Winter. But that just as every season brings its own unique harvest, Winter (aka all things dead) is sometimes the only season where we can see the beyond. Whatever awaits us there is patient. Sometimes decades patient! Will we try to see what is being revealed to us? Or will we get under the covers and wait for Spring when everything is pretty again?
Grief is this way. When a loss is new, we must make a choice to survive or not. In the first months and years we may not have the gumption to see what is beyond our loss, which in my case was two of my young children. We may not feel inspired and we may even want to die ourselves and that is ok. We are in Winter.
But somewhere beyond that time frame, be it years, or decades, I myself have realized beyond all of the loss, the dead weight, the pain and the sense of complete aloneness, there are new things to discover. Some of these new things are miracles and some will break our hearts. But what a travesty my life would have become, had I never tried to look beyond.
TRY THIS TODAY:
Purchase or gather a small bunch of flowers or a plant. Place them wherever they will live out their last days as the flowers begin to wilt and die. Behind them, place some small symbol of hope. Could be a picture or a particular stone or even a letter from someone that was comforting to you at some time. The flowers or plant should completely block any vision of the item behind it. With object permanence, we know the item is still there.
But try not to think about it, and instead just observe. As the flowers wilt and bend and eventually lose their pedals and life’s energy, see if you can notice the slow but consistent view that reveals what is beyond the dying flowers. This is not a quick experiment, and there is nothing fast about healing from grief. It is more like a gradual willingness to keep looking, and cultivate curiosity about what else may be there beyond just the wilting flowers.
Day by day, you will be able to see past the dying beauty of the flowers, and identify something unique, special or miraculous behind them. If you can do this in the same way that I was able to notice the “not-yet-seen lake” you will be part of a process that is critical to healing after the death of someone we love.
Questions like “What else might be there?” Start to arise. If we can look ever so delicately beyond our pain when it feels like WE are dying, we may just see the answers to our questions starting to appear. Alternatively, if we don’t ask these questions, there will be nothing beyond what we feel right now. And if you’re feeling as bad as I have, that’s not a great or a safe place to be.
We have to be willing and courageous enough to get curious. And we will still look forward to Spring, but we won’t miss what’s right here in front of us now: Our surprising ability to survive and even thrive in the face of profound loss and grief.
Let us know how your experiment goes!