Sylvia's Journal

This is a line from David Whyte’s poem by the same name. I am listening to an interview with him in which he speaks to our current experience of uncertainty. There is much that resonates with me. I know that everything is waiting for me, to step up, to take a stand, to participate actively in creating a better future. As a small, though not insignificant gesture, I filled in my absentee ballot today – I haven’t decided whether to drop it off at the town hall (no, I won’t use the USPS) or vote in person at the local school on November 3, but just the blackening of the dot next to the Biden/Harris line made me feel better.

Whyte is reminding us about the importance of silence. To create it, to seek it, to turn our hands and eyes away from the screen, up to the heavens, or birds or the flaming foliage of our trees. That is exactly what I am going to do as soon as I have posted this writing.

It take skills and courage to seek silence. I meditate 20 minutes every morning and try to engage in short mini-mediations during the day (failing most of the time), as a shield against the  relentless, noisy and incessant chatter wherever we turn our ears and eyes.

I often invite this chatter into my life by not being able to say no to yet another invite for this or that intriguing, appealing, inspiring course, this or that meeting on Zoom. We can now say ‘yes’ all the time because there is no getting into cars or planes, most of the time no money to pay – we can participate in everything.  

And so I found myself on two Zoom events at the same time, one coming softly in through my hearing devices and the other through my computer audio. When a Facetime call with my husband and daughters announced itself on my two screens, a third input, I realized the folly of what I was doing. I left all the meetings, to find out that the call was a pocket dial – sent to me by the heavens via my granddaughter who pressed against her grandfather’s back pocket. I turned my computer off, and my head towards the late afternoon autumn sun. Silence at last.

It is probably also not a coincidence that I am being asked to become the next clerk of our Quaker Meeting. Quakers know a thing or two about silence, being comfortable and fully present in the silence, where everything is waiting for you. If I was somewhat reluctant to even consider the request yesterday, I am now thinking about it, because, I suppose, the heavens spoke to me by whispering into my ear that phrase of everything that is waiting for me.

I am enrolled in  bunch of initiatives that are all converging towards a seeking for a new Operating System (OS) for our societies, now that the previous OS is no longer working. Otto Scharmer and his Theory U, accompanied by tens of thousands of his team’s disciples (I am meeting more and more online through the free EdX Ulab course) comforts me, knowing all these people are also laying the groundwork for OS 4.0.

I am part of another (worldwide) group, Upcreators in the Americas, Asia and Europe. My fellow Upcreators are also a force for change, maybe on a smaller scale, but every scale helps. I meet people everywhere who are experimenting at a global, regional, and (sometimes very) local level, with amplifying the conditions for creating OS 4.0 and challenging the assumptions and mental mentals of the previous OS. They too are laying the tracks for OS 4.0. And then there are my fellow coaches around the world who I meet through a variety of events (all online); they too are full of hope and energy and resolve to co-create this OS 4.0 for the society. Like a baby in its final days before birth, something is kicking hard and ready to be born.

I am inspired by all this learning and conversing and experimenting and innovating. Something has ignited in me and I have started the first hesitant steps to do my own experiment, very locally, in the town I live in – to come up with a set of initiatives that will help us, resilient New Englanders that we are, to get through our first ever pandemic winter. No one here has experience with a pandemic winter, so that’s where I’ll start – after 40 years of very global, this winter I am turning my energy and attention to my very small town.

Our neighbor Charlie died. He was 97 years old. He was born in Croatia in1923. I turned to Wikipedia to understand where Croatia was on the political map at that time and found a confusing description of allegiances and annexations and nationalist fervor that make it hard to say he was born in Yugoslavia. But what I was able to discern is that Charlie’s parents had been, for most of their life, citizens of the Ottoman empire. This is a good illustration of Elize’s Boulding phrase that the present spans 200 years: from 1920-2120 (the year the oldest person on earth was born in and the year some of those being born today will pass on).

This realization is a good antidote for the impatient all-or-nothing-thinking of the immediate now that dominates our media and, often, my own thoughts. Giving rise to panic and a lot of anxiety.

I don’t know how Charlie came to US, whether he came alone or with his parents, but what I do know is that he enlisted in the US army to fight the Germans in WWII. He was a gunner during the second world war, sitting precariously atop a fighter plane under a glass dome, shooting at German planes. It’s a miracle that he survived this profession with its high death toll. He lived another 75 years after that, first as the neighbor of my in-laws, and then being our neighbor as we moved into Axel’s parental home.

Charlie and Axel have known each other for 58 years. It was a sad day for Axel and Charlie’s current housemate and his brother, old men themselves. They valiantly cared for Charlie in his last precarious months, acting like home health aides, calling 911 more than once over the last 6 months.

Death bring with it a flood of memories. It was Charlie and his fellow engineers who lived next door and exposed Axel to strong liquor and the manly companionship that he missed as an only child. They’d go fishing in their aluminum boat with much alcohol on board.

Charlie was a survivor. What finally did him in was a double pneumonia, sometimes referred to as ‘the old man’s friend.’ I like to think he is now in a better place, maybe in the New York section of heaven where he is undoubtedly running in RBG. I wonder what they’d be talking about. May be I can guess.

The undercooked mushroom toxins that completely floored us a month ago have long since gone. That part of my body is back in good shape. But hamstrings and abductors and laterals are not. I seem to tear anyone of these easily, small mishaps in everyday life. It’s a pain, and it costs me a fortune every week for body work: chiropractor, massage therapy and physical therapy. Navigating stairs up and down has been painful.

The good news is that our bedroom move from upstairs to downstairs (a significant construction project) is moving along at a good clip. During the week our yard looks like a truck sales lot when the various tradesmen are at work, all masked and with a limited number of people working inside. I am so excited about the new bedroom suite that sometimes I cannot sleep, my brain picturing myself in our new room. We are intensely grateful that we can do this and, hopefully, age in place with comfort and ease.

Aside from mushrooms, muscles and construction, I am using some of the time that is left as a volunteer with EthicalCoach. I recently acquired a new coachee in west Africa and continue to support the organization in other ways as well. It has been a wonderful experience so far. I developed new friendships with some extraordinary people all over the world in the process.

Although there are a few potentially interesting assignments on the horizon, for the moment my income producing coaching practice has dwindled to just a few people; some of my clients have decided that it’s time for them to fly solo, and I agreed; no more need for our calls. I will miss them as I have gotten to know them well and grew fond of them, learning as much from them as they from me.

The word ‘solo’ reminded me of my first solo flight. When my flight teacher told me to drop him off at the traffic control room – I knew what it meant: it was time for my first solo flight. I remember the moment well: I was both scared and excited – scared because being by yourself in a plane without your instructor is just that, scary, but excited because we both knew I could do it. The experience of after my third takeoff and landing was close to ecstasy (I’d done it!), affirming and validating all the learning I had done.

And speaking of learning, I am part of all sorts of learning communities, some of which I wished I had encountered earlier, but no regrets. There too I am connecting with people around the world, having conversations with someone in China, in Senegal, in South Africa, in Lesotho and Angola. Again, I am so grateful that I have a good computer, electricity and a fairly good internet connection, and, as one new friend called it, an ‘enriched’ environment, which means that I am surrounded by people I can trust and call on. Blessed I am indeed.

Some weeks ago (when it was still summer), a few humpback wales showed up at Singing Beach and even gave a full breaching show. We missed it but saw it later on the news. Axel and Sita had detected something that looked like fins in the distance between Lobster Cove and Baker’s Island, but I didn’t think much of it. Waves often look like fins.

Sita had been scouring the horizon for Great White Sharks – they are present up and down the east coast of the US, further south, but there are a few near the Massachusetts coast according to a shark tracking app.  A woman in a wet suit was killed by a Great White, not that far off her home’s pier near Harpswell, in Maine. As the crow flies (and the Great White swims), it’s not that far away from us.

I have tried to convince our daughters that a Great White Shark (some are over 10 ft long) would risk getting beached in Lobster Cove at low tide. But they are cautious and don’t like it when I swim out to the mouth of the cove and back.

I wonder if all these sea creatures are coming close to the shores to check out whether we are still there, what with the havoc created by the novel corona virus (is it still novel I wonder?).

The deer and bunnies are also out in great numbers and eyeing our juice greens. We bought some dome shaped plastic cups on sticks made by the Have-A-Heart company that act as a repellent because, the product information says, they give the animals a whiff of blood from another animal (one of their own maybe?).  It worked for the beans, but not for the lettuce. Peter Rabbit could have told us that.

The summer is racing by as it always does, but this time it feels even more as if this was the summer that wasn’t. Not for the weather, we got two heat waves, but for the absence of events that mark the summer weeks like open air concerts, sport events, parades, celebrations, wedding and other parties, etc.

We can count ourselves lucky to be living in a place that would be a summer vacation destination for many: a house on a cove with its own beach, kayaks, a surf plank, and place to start a summer evening beach fire (with or without s’mores). Instead of going out for dinner, we cook gourmet meals and do not skimp on the wine. In the morning we have breakfast just above or on the beach as we see fit, depending on the tide. And Axel’s dory and lobster traps provide us with the gifts of the ocean (not all the time, but enough to bring the cost of the permit and bait down to something reasonable). Although we worked hard for our (nearly complete) retirement and are plucking the ripe fruits now, we also had an enormous amount of luck that got us to where we are now.

For the last 36 hours my body has been fighting the toxins that came from undercooked wild mushrooms. I lost about 5 pounds and didn’t sleep much. I also couldn’t get comfortable no matter how or where I would sit or lie down. Suffice to say, it was a miserable time.

I thought much about people who experience poisoning of any kind and live in a refugee camp, are on the run, and have no toilets or washing machines. I thought about people who share toilets with countless others. Amidst the bodily turmoil in the midst of a crisis, I counted my blessings and surrendered.

It occurred to me that we are in a similar planetary turmoil and fighting the turbulence. But the fighting doesn’t work, has never worked in the entire history of mankind. Fighting delays healing. One can try to fight one toxin with another – “I’ve got to have that cup of coffee or glass of beer when the body yells ‘no, no!’, and the misery is prolonged.

I see toxins all over the front page of our Sunday New York Times this morning. Greed is fueling unsavory practices in the pharmaceutical industry as there are great harvests to be reaped from pandemic cure-alls. Who would not want to buy the wonder drug? People’s stock portfolios are skyrocketing on the mere suggestion that a wonder drug is around the corner, so better take advantage of that and accumulate more riches.

It’s probably not a co-incidence that someone put the book ‘The Soul of Money’ by Lynne Twist on my path. It showed up on the Miro board we are creating in the Upcreate! project. I could have picked any of the 50 or so books that are on our virtual bookshelf.

I don’t think I would have bought a book with that title. As I was curled up in a ball while my body was busy getting rid of the toxins, I couldn’t put the book away. I learned that Lynne has a long association with The Hunger Project (THP). It is probably no co-incidence, again, that I applied for and have just been accepted as a volunteer coach for a yet to be determined senior staff member of THP in West Africa.

The book is timely in other ways as I work with teams and individuals in the US and in South Africa who are struggling with all the things that are missing. Lynne writes about the lie of scarcity that she claims is at the root of the toxins that have invaded our minds and from there leaked into our bodies, our communities, our countries, the soil, and the air. Today’s NYT magazine (the climate issue) bears witness to what our lie of scarcity has done to the land we rely on for our food and our livelihoods.

The lie of scarcity has focused our attention on everything that we don’t have, as opposed to what we do have. “No matter who we are or what our circumstances, we swim in conversations about what there isn’t enough of.” (Lynne Twist, 2017:43). Not enough time, not enough money, not enough sleep, not enough food, not enough respect, not enough love, not enough support…the list is endless. Yet, no matter who we are or what our circumstances, we do have a lot. And I am deeply and gratefully aware of all that I have enough of:

• a body sufficiently fit to fight the toxins
• a garden and nearby farm stands with fresh vegetables
• a loving family
• an extended circle of faithful and caring friends
• a beautiful and safe home
• a place to be cool in the middle of a heat wave 
• and so much more.

I have enough.

If one didn’t know about system dynamics or complexity, this is a good time to explain what these words mean. We are always in flux, and all part of countless dynamic nested systems – nothing stable even though they may have looked that way. Hopefully everyone now does see how everything, and everyone is connected to everything and everyone, except maybe for the people who ‘don’t believe in masks.’  I watched a lovely video (the Egg) that culminates in the realization that we are all part of each other, all the good parts and all the bad parts.

The pandemic system dynamics play out in hugely complex ways from the macro to the micro.  Because of my travel I have always known that if some policy gets enacted in one part of the globe, people we cannot see or hear and are continents away, are impacted. Unless the media put a spotlight on one of those occurrences, we could be blissfully ignorant. No more.

We had hoped to celebrate our granddaughter’s 5^th birthday tomorrow here at Lobster Cove. All the presents are ready, wrapped and all and the decorations impatiently waiting in a drawer.

Since we are all in overlapping pods, we have to make rules about what we can and cannot do and what our various pods are OK and not OK with – there is accountability on all sides. We are learning to redefine risk. In the pandemic the threshold for unacceptable risks is very low for some and high for others. Negotiating these different thresholds is extremely challenging. When there are infractions, there are consequences. This Boston Globe article shows that many of us are struggling with this reality.

As a result of a few ‘above-the-threshold’ encounters in the last few days, Saffi’s party has been canceled. We are both sad and disappointed. At the same time, we are also relieved as it would have been the largest gathering of people (outside, but nevertheless) since the pandemic started.  We were never totally on board with the size of the gathering, but family dynamics about inclusion and exclusion came into play and we left the decision making to Saffi’s parents. For us it was one of those ‘above-the-threshold’ affairs. Now we don’t have to deal with 5 grandparents, 8 aunts and uncles and 6 kids under the age of 8.  We are going to have a quiet weekend and sing happy birthday over Zoom. It won’t be the first time we miss being physically present during a grandchild’s birthday party. 

The disappointment is placed in the basket with the others (our wedding anniversary in Holland, my planned travel, a wedding in Colorado, our annual Easter party, the Memorial Day celebrations and visits to the ancestor graves, etc.). 

The ants continue to show up in my life. If they are messengers, something I like to believe, then I have to work on my patience. This morning I nearly ate one. It had joined my thyroid pill in the tiny Chinese cup that sits on my bedstand. I take the pill before I have my glasses on. That’s how it landed in my mouth. I spit it out and it scrambled – we had the exact same intent. I squished it and I won. Life is a power struggle.

David Attenborough’s must-see documentary (available on YouTube and Netflix) has a scene in it from a floor of tropical forest that shows how the larger ecosystem keeps populations that get too dominant in check. The scenes are rather gruesome and hard to describe dispassionately (but Attenborough does). Two remarkable quotes, spoken in his soft soothing voice: “The more numerous a species is, the more likely it is to fall victim to the killer fungus.” And: “Checks and balances like these mean no one species can dominate.” Replace fungus with virus, and there we are.

There are also checks and balances in my own head: the daily news headlines and our president’s desperate attempts to dominate the narrative of life amidst Covid-19 drag me down. I feel it in my insides, a knot in my stomach. My body’s telling me something is not going well. But then I am lifted up by the new connections I am making with people from all over the world who I meet in various conferences I have been and still am participating in: The Gaia journey that culminated in the 2 day Global Forum of the Presencing Institute, The Wise Democracy group that my daughter Sita introduced me to, and the UpCreate! Journey that has just started me on 7 months gathering that will take place every month on the day of the new moon. Three overlapping cohorts (Europe, Americas and Far East) are playing on a virtual field (powered by Miro), thinking together, encouraging each other, learning how we can best take advantage and bend the course of history away from greed and selfishness towards caring, nurturing and creating environments in which all can thrive.

I am turning the short breakout conversations with interesting people into more lasting and deeper conversations. Yesterday Maty, from Senegal, and I spoke for an entire hour about our lives, our hopes, our tests and tribulations, and most of all our resolve to make something of this moment in time. We agreed to talk every first Tuesday of the month. On Friday I am meeting with Ying from China – we discovered we do similar work in a short breakout session during the Global Forum. I am so very excited about all of these encounters. Paradoxically, the familiar parental phrase (“go to your room!”) has liberated us and connected us in ways unimaginable even half a year ago. 

True, a stable internet connection and electricity are critical ingredients, and thus make us vulnerable to serious isolation if these ingredients disappear (or, as for some, were never there in the first place). But these are technology problems (complicated but not complex) and I suspect that somewhere, someplace, there are smart people trying to figure out new technology constellations that do not harm the earth and bring us together. On a human level (complex certainly), all these thousands and thousands of people who are connecting with each other, are weaving the great web of life. Those who dominated will be caught in the web or consumed by a fungus. If you don’t believe that, watch the Attenborough clip. 

Our grandson and two ants found their way into our sugar pot. We knew about ants liking sugar. And we are more than a bit amazed that these two enterprising ants were the first two to have found the pot since we moved in here 27 years ago.

That our grandson (8) found it is no surprise as it is a bit below eye level for him (and he has known about its existence for at least 4 years). Faro is attracted to sugar like an ant. His parents have put him on a low sugar diet (not because he needs to lose weight, he is thin as a reed, but because they are convinced he should not be eating much sugar). My parents did the same with me, but I managed to find sugar anywhere, knew exactly which of my friends had candy jars or mothers who were less strict about sugar. I ate more candy than anyone I knew and still have a sweet tooth. My 123&me genetic profile claims my haplotype prefers sweets. This is not a surprise.

We are taking the ants outside where, as our granddaughter remarked, the ant’s family resides and is waiting for the return of their curious son or daughter. I like the idea of a family reunification.

We are not killing the ants. For one, as someone told me, when you squeeze them to death, they leave a scent that bring out the burial brigade. I am not sure whether this is true or not, but I like to imagine the ants outside sniffing the air and knowing one of their own has died and needs to be taken care of.

There is another reason. Ever since I learned (from Jamie Sams’ Animal Medicine) that ants carry the message of patience, I stopped squishing them. I say a brief thank you and then take them outside, where they belong, so they can carry the patience message to others, since patience is a hugely important quality these days. 

Aside from the patience we need to have with things unfolding in the age of COVID-19 (can’t travel, can’t go to visit my relatives in Holland, can’t do this, do that, yet), we will also have to be patient with a major renovation that starts tomorrow with the demolition phase. We have decided to ‘age in place,’ and in order for this to work we are reconstructing a fully equipped bedroom downstairs – fully equipped meaning that I won’t need to get up and down stairs to go to bed, to brush my teeth, to do the laundry, etc.

The demolition crew arrives tomorrow. I am a bit anxious about it, but also very excited – we have been planning for this to start for over a year now.