Despite a medical emergency and an evolving pandemic we have had a gentle time of it here in Molesey, UK. As a result of unexpected eye surgery, our trip home was postponed, for a month. At first glance this was an “impossibility,” but that’s the beauty of the no choice scenario. It has to work, and therefore it does. It’s a bit like “stay at home” for the indefinite future. The words are only inconceivable, the first time around.

Our friend drove our car and our two big dogs from Florida to New York, as taking them home with her was their only good choice. London colleagues offered support and creative contingencies, even as their own lives were turned inside out. New friends and old friends checked in on our progress. We were all stumbling into uncharted territories. Thankfully the intangible called Civility is still practiced here.

Yes, it had its dicey moments. Room service trays became suspect. Towels and trash were traded at the door to limit everyone’s exposure. Two of our hotels closed, the last literally locked the door behind us. Another was volunteered for medical workers. The need for all of us to “stay at home” went from unlikely to probable to imminent across a few days. We said, “Yes, thank you!” for the connection of colleagues and friends and the silver linings appeared almost before the cloud showed up.

We found an AirBnB, a small house with a patch of yard, a sunny kitchen and friendly neighbors. Interestingly enough just a mile or two from Henry the VIII’s former residence on the Thames, 12 miles upstream from our start in central London. A food shop was walkable. “Who sneezed on my food?” was no longer a concern.

The materials of a comfortable “exile” arrived; in the equipment of more convenient work space, a hamper of exquisite delicacies fit for “the neighbors at Windsor” and the makings of a very favorite cocktail. Each reflected a particular expertise, a personal choice, all steeped in thoughtfulness. Safety and gratitude go nicely with a crisp white wine and good olives.

We have found ourselves sustained in our brief moments of homelessness with graciousness and generosity from a value system that once ruled the world. This experience could have felt very different. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs were met beautifully, and with good humor. We have been held in practical, elegant and memorable ways and we are very grateful.

We are here in the UK, ready to go home to Florida, I hope. The world has changed so much since we boarded the plane six weeks ago. I’ve been given the opportunity to look at the reaction to this pandemic from another culture’s perspective and from an alternative version of myself.

I was at a workshop in Scotland when I heard the eye injury news. I was packed up and sent off to my personal emergency with warm hugs and promises of prayer and connection. I was worried, fragile as a cracked egg, and yet I was absolutely confident that all would be well in whatever form it would take.

My partner was alone in an Emergency Department scenario, in a foreign- to-him city, shocked by the loss of half his vision and facing surgery. He was supported by friends and colleagues, certainly a safety net and I was on my way. But it was very stressful for him to navigate Taxis and hotels on one eye. It was an all new experience, but there was an end in site. He had awareness of the events of the world, but Covid-19 was not at the forefront of his mind.

Yes, both of us were experiencing an awakening to a frightening new reality, but our perceptions were different, because our nervous systems were in different states. Contrast this with the experience of watching the CNN report in our hotel dining room when I got back to London.

Amongst the shocking headlines of March 12, 2020

“We are experiencing a worldwide pandemic and President Trump has suspended travel between the US and Europe.”

What?

We sat in the “still open” restaurant and ate the last dinners served there. The barrage from CNN on the wall was continuous, it could have been monotonous, had it not been so terrifying. Everything was repeated in a loop, over and over. For the first time, I felt the cold hand of fear on my neck and a cascade of “what if …!” possibilities rolled through my mind, courtesy of CNN US.

The Coronavirus pandemic will be a great teacher of many things, including what a steady diet of Fear will do to your nervous system. A daily or all day dose of manipulative Fear via news channels, and constant rumination on victim numbers and you will have fried your nervous system. You are awash in stress hormones and your immune system is stressed. Don’t take my word for it. Google: relationship, nervous system, immune system to find the expert opinion of your choice.

We need to evolve behind survival mode. I have seen smiling neighbors, friendly greetings from 2 meters, even openness. I like this reality better, the one that I can add to; the best that I have to offer.

It isn’t a question of who is right, as it is a question of what world do you wish to inhabit? What body do you wish to occupy? Perhaps the best motivator for coherent attuned action is concern for another, and the best antidote to fear is connection to others, without judgement. In this extraordinary time, this is my hypothesis and I am doing the research.

I’ve had a month to think about this. A quiet introspective month of “stay at home” activities in someone else’s home in a different town and country. There have been no overdue projects, no gardening or reorganizing the garage. It’s an extraordinary potential that I have always had, I just didn’t respect the concept of “being,” as much as I was aligned to “doing.”

We found an AirBnB, a small house with a patch of yard, and a good kitchen. It backs up unto a naturalized area called Molesey Heath. At 17.6 Hectares (44 acres), the entire neighborhood could go walking simultaneously and we would be barely within a “wave and a nodding” distance. Healthy calming activity for families and I have heard this questioned as “inappropriate or irresponsible in US venues.”

The Heath supports lots of sharp brambles and swarms of birds. Pithy Willows covered in thick ivy edge the ponds for ducks and visiting swans. Children and dogs remember their wild natures in open grassy meadows, as their parents follow along. It is well walked and very absorbent of excess anxieties.

And yet, the Heath has not always been so green. Its generative nature has suffered some hard blows and survived. In the past half century it was a quarry. That empty space was filled with people’s garbage, it was used as a landfill. Due to its continuing methane production, this land cannot be used for development. Its high level of pollution is what maintains the Heath as a green space. Walking this battle scared land gives a new perspective; it has been stripped of its structure, stuffed with toxic trash, and it still supports life. I believe the spirit of transformation has talked with me on my walks, and I have listened, I hope. “We are a whole lot tougher than we think.”

Our “keeper of the left brain” has an injured and malfunctioning right eye. His surgeon explained that visual improvement will hinge on the ability of his brain to modify the sight and his brain’s interpretation of this information from his formerly dominant right eye. It was a relationship that fit so nicely with his dominant left brain thoughts, like math and language. In order for vision to improve, a change in perspective must evolve. He will have to lean in to the right; into the land of creativity and expansiveness. I expect this means that I should lean to the left, just a wee bit.

After delivering this very mixed bag of information, his eye surgeon turned to me, “What do you think?” he said. “When the quarantine ends do you think it will go back to the way it was? When we were so busy all the time? I live out in the country and I am enjoying the time I can spend outside with my children so much. I don’t think I will want to go back.”

And there it is. This is someone whose nervous system is intact. He is able to ask this question because he feels safe and supported in his environment even though he is a “front line worker” standing in a hospital in London where any, or many people could potentially hold an illness that could harm him or his family.

How is it that he is able to experience an existential opening that potentially could alter his entire life, in the midst of this scenario? Because he recognizes that the illness is just the vehicle, for the inspiration. It is just the reason for change, we have to make the change ourselves. It is our job to be inspired to reach out and create a different life, if that’s what you want. If not, the elevator to normality is downstairs, on the left but the line is long and tedious.

Ask yourself-Does it make sense to constantly bring unbridled fear into the news reports everyday? Does it make sense to watch it?

The Virus is as unaware of the catastrophe that it is causing, as the people are who killed the animals that carried it. They thought it was dinner. To waste your energy on fear is to waste this opportunity to create a different experience, to evolve. And the price has been dear.

This illness is only the vehicle, it is the opportunity. Don’t get caught being stuck on the vehicle of transformation like a bug on the windshield. Don’t let anyone hijack your nervous system.

And let’s be real here, if only for this moment.

We hold complete disregard for all the other creatures that live here with us. We kill plants, animals, trees, everything without thought, or sympathy. Why should we think we are immune to an event like this? It is a very great privilege to be a human being, and it is an impermanent one.

The Heath told me this:

It’s time to tend your own garden. You could choose to enjoy this.

Take good care of one another, this too is joyful! Take good care of your families. Take good care of your thoughts, let them be expressed, gently.

Put your children back on your lap, put the dolphins back in the sea, read a lot, and most important of all, love yourself.

His breath was short and shallow, his eyelids sealed shut over unseeing eyes. His large dusky hands lay flat and quiet against the crisp white sheets. The dying man was tall, very tall, filling the Hospice center bed from Headboard to foot.  How tall, came as a surprise. I had never seen him horizontal before. He was resting, but not restful. There was a decided lack of “ease” in his quietness and a sense of physical tension, as when we anticipate some adverse experience.

I had seen him last a few days prior. He was a “new admission” then, a few hours into his inpatient scenario, and this new environment seemed well outside of his comfort zone. He sat upright in the bed, his hands folded in his lap surveying the array of small cups of various appropriate liquids. He spoke some half-hearted thoughts about “getting better to get back home,” but the words seemed to drop from their own weight onto the floor. Despite his “fish out of water” demeanor, on that day, he still carried his air of pragmatic self-sufficiency. We did some Reiki, chatted a bit. He said the Reiki helped him feel stronger… for a while.

Weeks ago, he had shared his loss of confidence in the medical community at large, and one doctor in particular.  A botched surgery many years ago, the first of many, had permanently damaged his independence. He told his story that day with no attempt to evoke sadness or sympathy.  There is no surprise then, that he would deal with this next turn of events with the same private courage.

We had met six weeks ago in the living room of his son’s family home. I remember the bright sun blinded me for a moment as I stepped into the cool dim room. His lengthy limbs were held tautly. He contained himself to the center pillow of an overfilled sofa draped with multiple, soft, comforting throws.  This was new; this living with family. It struck me, that despite his raspy breath, and obvious weakness, it was this lanky being’s intention to be as unobtrusive as possible.

It quickly became clear that was his families’ intention to be as caring as possible. I noted the grandson in the yard with two leashed, barking dogs. He was keeping them quiet for Grandpa’s visitor. His son had anticipated, and queued up some soothing Reiki music with a quiet ocean vibe.  His daughter in law welcomed me with a hug, and a heart so open and available that it overflowed into the overgrown yard from the open front door.  I had stepped over the unfinished irrigation project and around half-planted pots of annuals. Garden tools lay discarded in the walk, as if a “regular day” had been interrupted by a phone call that changed everyone’s life. Priorities change in a heartbeat at the end of life.

On this day, it was clear from my doorway vantage point that he had finished his life’s work here. He had, in his 84^th year completed his navigation around his personal wheel of life.  He was clearly waiting at the terminal for whatever comes next. I looked into the faces of his children and felt the gut grabbing wave of child-like panic that chases and clings to a dying parent.  A bareback ride down a steep trail on a wild horse feels safer than this new reality. They had been here many hours and their wild horses were ready to bolt.

But it was not a day for fearful panic, not when loving sadness would be so much more appropriate. I padded back down the corridor to where I had seen a most precious resource of this Hospice Center. She is a virtuoso of life passages and she was standing at the front welcome desk, smiling her smile as I had entered the building. I asked for her help and we trotted back to his room.

Smiling at the son and daughter in law she went straight to him. She breathed in the situation for a moment and went straight to her work. She touched his hands, and his heart with the gentle knowing touch of a Reiki Master worthy of the title. She cradled his head, touched his cheek with such tenderness that I, standing at his feet, could imagine he was a tiny baby, and this was his Mother’s hand.

Tiny creases of tension melted from around his eyes. A gentle sigh caught in his throat. Her focus on the dilemma of his passage was so infused with palpable compassion and love that my ears began to ring with, “All is well, all is well, all is well.”  I thought for sure I heard singing. It was like being suspended in the space between inhale and exhale. He was awash in comfort and connection, I think we all were.

She broke the spell with a brilliant smile at his son.  She crossed the room, placed a hand on his shoulder with an indisputable suggestion that they go outside for a while, take a walk in the sunshine, go look at the trees. Due to her diminutive stature, his seated height, and her standing was about the same altitude.  He looked in her face, thanked her for coming, and did what she suggested.

“Stay with him until they come back in.” She said to me, as she gave me a kiss on the cheek and nearly galloped back up the hall to her next mission.  Hospice workers, Employees and volunteer folk across the board talk about the privilege of helping when human beings and their families make their transitions at the end of life. There is another perk; sometimes the people that come to help are magnificent beings and we get to learn from them.

I have seen this small woman dish out wisdom and love so full of grace that the recipients spun around and dropped their facades before they even knew what hit them.  She talks softly, with strength and integrity.  She has spent her golden years GIVING of herself, to whomever appears. I asked her if doing all the Reiki and the volunteering has kept her so young?

“I just enjoying doing things for other people.” She said.

She’s turning 100 this week.  Think about how many lives she has touched. Imagine the comfort she has brought to those in turmoil. Yes, she is a particular miracle. I think the real magic is not that she CAN do so much for others, but that she chooses to spend her life in service to other people.

What kind of a world would this be if everyone did this? What if we all spent our elder years being elders, helping out, being available? Can you imagine the possibilities!!??

Photo by zhang kaiyv on Pexels.com

The language of connection

Faces, with smiles by default

Movement toward another

leaning in to understand better

Softens the hard surfaces

of concrete homes stacked to the sky

I watched the slender woman in wide black chiffon pants scamper across the lobby on a mission of hotel hospitality. It is unknown why she didn’t have what was needed to complete the sale under her counter of coffee and croissant. There may have been a rule, or a policy, or a belief that made it necessary to run to the bar across the lobby to get change. The quiet slap of her soles on the marble floor caught my attention as she raced against the possibility of a customer’s annoyance. It’s easy to appreciate the importance of gentle co-operation in a city of so many souls. When the light is dim, the wifi weak, and technology fails to fulfill the expectation of infallible personal independence, what will prevail is connection of another sort.

Across the world, despite language barriers, people use their phones to call a car without much fuss and bother. For me, on this day, it was a group project. I was launched from my Shanghai hotel this morning with the help of a young bellman in a too big jacket and a Didi (Uber) driver with a sense of humor. When the language switches to Chinese and the glasses can’t be found, it’s time to rely on the “kindness of strangers.

And indeed, the ride did get stranger. Three loops of elevated road stacked like a giant spring were needed to reach the suspension bridge that rose higher than my 33rd floor hotel room window. As we approached the breathtaking pinnacle, I reached for my phone to take a picture, hearing the customary, “You may now use your mobile devices,” playing in my head. The driver, attempting to aid my impromtu photography, cheerfully opened the dusty window to facilitate even more clarity of our airborne state. It was appreciated, but it was really surprising. No one “expects” an open window at that height.

I returned the proud smile in the rear view mirror. I sent the picture to a dear friend who by rights should have been sleeping, but wasn’t. They don’t call it “grounding” for nothing! We looped our way back down like ants on a vine, a few texts later, and my knees were solid once more.

The surprises kept coming. About 10 minutes later, the driver turned down a narrow neighborhood street. Laundry waved from twenty stories up, a skinny cat jumped out from a discarded stained box, as an elderly couple stooped on the sidewalk trying to straighten a bicycle wheel that hadn’t been round in quite some time. There was a single open iron gate and our car pulled up there. My stomach dropped. If this was the “modern” Art Installation space that I sought, it was significantly more “edgy” than I expected.

The GPS chattered on in cheerful Chinese, the driver did a neat 5 point U-turn out of this private enclave and we moved on a mile or so to a closed gate, with a flashing light, manned by a bored guard. “This is it?” I said in English. He pointed to his map screen pointed to the gate, smiled and unlocked the door. I pushed a blurry spot on my phone and he was paid, but didn’t leave. There was something about the riverfront almost gentrified warehouse area devoid of people that didn’t seem quite right, I guess.

Standing on the sidewalk, I listened to him call out to the guard. After a short conversation he was gesturing to me to get back in the car, which I most certainly did. Up the street and around the block, sure enough there was a “front door” to this warehouse and indeed there were 10 others waiting for the doors to open.

By now I had realized that my my minor outing in the world’s most major city was a personal odyssey. In a place where English is spotty, and my Mandarin is limited to one word, I am grateful to those inclined to connect with another and I have found this connection is everywhere. I have good news, if the internet fails, we still know how to do this. Maybe if we keep at it we won’t need the technology after a while.