Why am I here?

So I've been on the land here at the Fr Charles Brandt Hermitage in Oyster River for a week.

It's beautiful.

I hear the river all the time. I've met a whole new community of birds, thanks to Merlin (a bird identifying app).

I happen to have family just down the main road, a totally unintended reality. My cousin's husband grew up a neighbour to Fr Charles.

The last week, I've shopped, and cooked and cleaned, and cooked, and cleaned, and cooked, and done laundry, and cooked, and cleaned. I've read another novel, and played an embarrassing amount of a mobile game. But I have turned off most of my news feed. I've played a little with my art supplies.

All of which, I could be doing from home.

Why am I here?

The first response I heard was, “I'm here to deepen my connection to the source and ground of my being.” But I can do that at home, too.

Back home, the joke, “my need to be informed is in conflict with my need to remain sane,” was getting too close to home. My grief for the world was becoming overwhelming, and I need more space to process, to grieve, to let be, and eventually, maybe a little, to transform.

So I'm turning the news feed way down, and making space to grieve what I love, the world. A world in deep distress. A world of climate crisis, and mass shootings, fascist dictatorships, and political violence, housing crisis, toxic drugs, a mental health crisis, and general human inhumanity to other humans.

I grieve surrounded by great beauty. I grieve with a handful of beloved companions who are accompanying me digitally. I grieve, surprisingly, with family down the road.

On Saturdays from 10am to 11am, I will be hosting a meditative sit here at the Hermitage. My hope is that some local community might form from that practice.

So it's fair to say that I grieve with joy, gratitude, and hope.

I'm experimenting with substack to see if I can remain a little plugged in and a little more in control of my feed.

Next week, I will exercise actual silence. I've shopped and cooked enough for a week, anyway, I won't need to shop. I will listen. I trust that the source and ground of my being speaks. I trust that the source and ground of all being has capacity for all grief. I also trust that what will there is, is a will for resurrection, transformation, and renewal.