These are the times... ~ Saundra Shanti

(Artwork by Saundra Shanti)

These are the times…

…of polarity, of fracture, of rants and tears.  I don’t know sometimes if I am feline or human. What kind of bones are in my body? Are they so different from the bones of my neighbor? For me personally this is a time of rest, recovery, reflection, spacious exploration or indulgent non-doing. I get to wander and wonder and admittedly this can digress into puttering and squandering and then the guilt from the question that towers over and asks, “What are you doing with this one wild and precious life?” scolds me.  Bad girl. Not serving, not learning, not giving, not offering, not sharing, withholding, withdrawing. Much was given you and what are you doing with it?  It is a voice, but not the only voice.

There is a more compassionate, curious, calm voice that turns toward me. One that empathizes with my experiences and offers a warm towel for my face.  Wool socks for my feet. One who makes room for walks and phone conversation with friends.  That voice is less concerned with production and more interested in digging up the grave, turning over the soil, setting the captive free. For that voice there is no time, no rush, no deadline, no need for approval. That voice draws a bath and adds epsom salts and cedar wood oil. That one says, “Take your time, dear, we have all of infinity.”

These are the times where the outside-my-home world swirls with vitriol, hatred, angst, stress, worry, pressure, lies, cruelty. Where powerful men and grasping women shout and pout and accuse and excuse themselves from love. So much hate. So many plans to control, to dominate, to cast away anyone other than them.  The god-fearing bullies. The angry bible bashers who have yet to read any book by a dead person. I grieve this time. I hang my heart on the towel rack as it drips with sorrow for the suffering that is to come.

These are the times when families divide because there never was enough there to hold them together in the first place. Principles bulldoze over questions so the tender ones, the sensitive flower devas are crushed while the rats laugh together in satisfaction. I grieve and limp slowly toward the ones who are wounded like me. I look for the leaders in these spaces and read words of hope. And I ready myself to brew potions and cast spells and mix remedies so I am prepared to heal when the war gets worse.

These are the times that older friends wilt with pain and illnesses and regrets. I listen to some of their stories, take them to the plant store, witness the dismantling of their lives and stories and bodies, knowing there is not much else to be done. Wondering when my time is coming or if I’ll do it differently or with more ease because I’ve experienced so much healing of late.

These are the times when young people can’t find each other with a committed gaze that says, “I choose you, let’s get our wands and our rain boots and start down the path into the forest of adventure. Let’s face the rivers and meander in the meadows and make up names for new butterflies while readying our garments for winter storms. We’ve got this because we’ve got each other.” They are tentative, careful, uncertain, tenuous. They try and they love and then they cut their paper contract into a snowflake and let it drift away.

These are the times of physical comfort for some and desperation for others. Of so many questions that waft without answers. Of helplessness because we’re tired or afraid or just baffled as to which way to turn, and while we know there are others like us, they live on the other side of screens not screen doors nearby.

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In deepest gratitude for your wisdom, heart, and ongoing presence in the countless ways that you show up to honor and companion women. I know this firsthand, because I am one of them.

One can discover more about Saundra here: https://www.saundrashanti.com