It is nearing mid-May, which seems bizarre, since I think it was just March five minutes ago. Time feels different in the time of coronavirus; days blend together in a way and fall on top of one another rather quickly, though I’ve heard that for some individuals that are caretakers, the time feels drawn out and endless.
In the therapy room, we talk about the virus, and we talk about other essential and important things – many of us are still focused on the Self-work that we were doing before the pandemic, and that we’ll likely still be doing afterwards. I’m inspired and encouraged by the clients that continue to share their stories with me as our whole planet changes around us.
Stories are prayers, I’ve heard.
There is a tree at the Cumberland Farms near our home in New Hampshire that is distinctly gorgeous, despite it’s unfortunate location. It’s pursuing its bloom in radical pinks and greens that I would never put together, but that turn out to be surprisingly harmonious. Each time I see it it’s changing, and I expect something gutsy and riotous to burst forth any day now – as in the therapy room, small surges of self-expansion that are breathtaking in their boldness.
Looking around, all around us, the trees are wearing their pinks and their greens. I think that’s something worth paying attention to.