May robust possibility and livingness rise up through the chaos for you and all you love in this wild season and tender earthly time. While so much is in growth and action here at PrayerFarm this month I feel compelled to speak of death… Many of the people I spend time with, especially those beginning their walk of “adulthood” are describing this time as a loss of innocence—a shattering of their hope that against everything they know and feel, life may just carry on in some “normal” way…this slow and painful death of magical thinking comes by way of experiencing how our communities have split over differing beliefs about right and wrong, how our government has failed us, how the media continues to try to feed us lies and distracting storylines…how fear of death has debilitated us in a 1000 ways. Fear of death.

Where are we in time? To me, it seems that we are either at the beginning of some significant changes for the better (though this is only likely via miracle, alien intervention or the profound benevolence of our planet), or at the end. We may be at the end—we may, as a species, be going into hospice; when exactly death shall arrive remains unknown, but that it shall, is clear. Hospice.

If we are dying, which we are (either just each of us day by day or all of us as a species) how then do we live? 

If the rest of our lives could be about dying well, how then shall we live? 

If recognizing what is precious, tending what is possible, and grieving bit by bit, was your assignment for the rest of your life, how then would you be living—right now?
 
If what you recognize as precious is community, is connection, is union, with whom then are you called to be?

If what is possible is depth, truth, creativity, reconnecting to our earth, loving more fully, how then will you spend this day?

If tethering your heart to love and grieving all you, we, are losing, is a path to take, what right now needs to be watered with your tears?

These are the questions we are immersed in as a community here at PrayerFarm and in our current “virtual” communities. I hope you’ll join us if your own inquiry aligns with these questions and knowing you are not alone in the layers that are arising would feel supportive–there are so many ways to connect.

My promise to Life: I will not look away, requires that I spend much time still and slow filling my eyes and ears and heart with what is. What Is, right now, is also so much aliveness and birth, so much wild and enthusiastic creation—the wrens making their nest, the lilacs and laurel bursting with fragrance and the buzz of bee, the apple blossoms-every color of pink, every layer of tenderness and flutter. 

Ahhh, Life, I repeat my promise. I will not look away.