As November begins, my thoughts turn to inner strength. I sense that those of us in the northern hemisphere are not only entering the coming seasonal winter but also a winter of the heart. Wherever you live, in whatever hemisphere, you’ll undoubtedly be affected directly or indirectly by natural disasters, illness (yours or another’s), death of cherished persons, or fearful concerns regarding the future of country and planet. I carry my own personal and global concerns, and almost everyday I receive emails from people I’ve never met who tell me of theirs. I believe now is the time to remember that we have a profound, inner resilience waiting to be remembered, recovered, and reinforced.
I’ve learned to trust my spirit’s resilience from observing how people whose lives become ragged and torn find their way back to a smoother, hope-filled existence. This return often requires a significant amount of patience, reflective time, and daily trust but eventually the way opens toward restored peace. The poet Rainer Maria Rilke viewed his resilience this way: “like a ship that carried me when the waters raged.”
Another metaphor for resilience derives from deciduous trees and fields of grain here in Iowa. Trees stripped of their leaves will stand with barren branches for at least four months; fields of shorn grain will lie fallow until spring planting. Summer light that radiated intense power for growth will grow dimmer each day. Fullness slips into emptiness, activity into stillness. All becomes frozen and mute, turning not toward resignation but a quiet receptivity, an intuitive knowing that accepts the ending of summer’s abundant energy.Trees signal to their vital nutrients that it’s time to travel to the roots, entering winter’s storeroom to regain their strength. For us, too, we receive a gradual restoration of our resilience as we deliberately slow our pace and return to our spiritual roots.
November opens with All Hallows Eve, All Saints and All Souls Day, drawing our attention to the ancestors, both personal and historical. This is the time of year when native people sense the veil between this world and ours to be permeable, allowing contact with those who went before us. The ancestors act as comforters, protectors and guides, providing a circle of safety and calm assurance. They bring us strength to go on. We gain courage from knowing of their enduring resilience.
In Prayers of Boundless Compassion, I included a meditation titled “Four Guardians Prayer.” I introduced it this way: “… it is possible to remain united with the people we respect and admire, those who have died and now reside in another realm of life. Indigenous communities refer to these persons as “the ancestors.” Christians call them “the saints,” those officially recognized for their goodness, and …the un-canonized saints who also gave witness to living virtuously. Whether in the church’s “Litany of Saints” when we respond “pray for us,” in the spirits referred to as our “guardian angels,” or in our personal prayer of calling on good people who left their mark of graciousness on our lives, we have the ability to turn to these deceased, blessed ones, and invite their presence to be with us.”
Who are the ancestors you will call upon to strengthen your resilience?
Abundant peace,
Joyce Rupp
