The Soul and The Spirit in Pandemic Form

Ever wake up wondering why you are feeling low? You begin by attributing it to outer realities, like the weather, your current personal predicaments, your relationships, the tasks that preceded your sleep, the experience of sleeping or not sleeping, your physical strength or pain, the looming day’s plan or lack of plan. These realities impact your spiritual state and thus, your emotions.

Oftentimes, the senses determine our moods as well. Is there a jarring noise present? Do you smell the litter box? Are you hungover? Do you realize there is nothing good to eat and must now forage for more?

What is available to us, and also what we seek and procure are the very sparks of energy that inspire us or leave us wanting. This is the case with Spirit. Spirit, or breath, is inhaled and exhaled, granted resources necessary for life. Spirit also breathes into us an energy that comes from the divine source. In this way, we are sponges for sunshine, birds singing, pancakes and a good massage. When we awaken to source, we build a vibration that resonates with all the gifts of our world, both inside a single home, inside the neighborhood, or expanding out on a global level, and finally also into other dimensions for which we may connect through meditation, dreams, and intuition.

Spirit is that which gives us inspiration to act, to fight, to love, to hold someone’s hand, and to rest, to keep going. Spirit is the life force within and without the body we inhabit at this time.

Soul, on the other hand, is that which resides within eternally and independent of spirit. It includes our inner thoughts, an untold or realized purpose, memory – both conscious and unconscious – the history of wisdom in this lifetime and prior lifetimes, the family’s genetic imprint, the current experience as an individual entity, and the future calling to another purpose, even beyond the grave.

When we think of a soul having depth or mass, power, equal levels of shadow or light, it is so often out of our human sphere; it is one of fate and divine orchestration, especially noted only if we are paying attention. Of course soul and spirit are inter-related as well.

In a pandemic, our spirit, or life source, is limited by the experiences which protect us from illness, death, and loss, and questions our responsibility to others. We must adapt in order to keep the vibration at a tolerable, or ideally, a joyful level.

We complain and cry out because we are lost and must fight in this new reality. We are agitated and clawing for the upper hand. We are also comforted when we find that the human collective shares in this. We are then not alone, even if we are alone.

However, in order to adapt, we must also surrender to what is. We must come to know new ways to feel inspired, energized, and hopeful. And let’s face it, we are being stretched, and only the strong will survive. The strong will see that they must evolve with it. The strong will continue to use their imaginations and sheer will to their own advantage. Madness may be inevitable. Yet, madness is on a continuum, and we can nurture ourselves out of it.

We have always freely used the world at our disposal. Now our world gives less of what we know. No more vibrating in massive groups. No more breathing in the collective energy of electric concerts, the drive of sporting events, traveling with abandon, and the aesthetic of movie theaters without great risk of meeting the silent, invisible spirit of death.

The soul lives on and integrates a new piece of what it was always meant to know. This pandemic is only another part of the eternal experience. Lessons are being taught.

The question is clear. How do we keep the breath of spirit moving? How do we now honor our ancient or newborn soul by feeding its own divine nature?

Thoughtfully. Intentionally. Bravely. This pandemic has left us weary, but there is still much time left to endure.

For me, it is one simple hour at a time. What does my soul tell me? What does the divine provide? What will I do, but more so, what will I choose to believe?

I can tell you that I believe in the bigger picture. I believe in me. And I believe in us. I believe in a song. I believe in looking into the eyes of the people I love. I believe in looking into the eyes of strangers too.

I will smile. I will sit in silence until the tears come. I will do the dishes and paint and write and dance. I wlll read and talk with my family on the phone. I will spend an hour just taking a bath or tending my nails. I will allow naps. I will walk outdoors as though on a pilgrimage, seeking new roads I have not yet tread. I will watch a comedy. I will curl up to the side of the few that I can, human or animal; it makes little difference if I decide it. I will close my eyes and listen. I will taste every bite.

When the holidays hit, and I am possibly alone, I will play Little Drummer Boy and drink egg nog anyway. I will keep the rituals that build a divine source of spirit with candles and pine boughs and bells. I will be grateful I am alive in a world that will find its way back to its natural state, a tiny sprout of green among the burnt remains.

I will dream of the day, not so far from now, when a warm mist rises off the morning streets, the children of God delight in the fragrance of lilacs and wet soil, and the earth swells with hope.

Dragons are Real

I like to have imaginary conversations with imaginary friends, and sometimes I pretend people I know are with me at a moment in time, when in reality, they are not. Because I know the power of imagination. Because I know the magic of belief.

The other day, I was running across the Wabasha Street Bridge, trying to place only one foot onto each giant square of cement. Rarely do I look up at all, except to see how much farther the bridge stretches. But one time when I did look up, I saw a dragon in the sky, soaring free! Naturally, a little boy who shows up in a lot of my dreams, I mean like, all the time, was running alongside me with unusual speed. He does not have a name, but he is curious and innocent and for some crazy reason, it is always my job to protect him from some horrid predator, and he isn’t even mine. I have no idea why it is my duty; nevertheless, here we are.

He pointed into the clouds above the bridge and shouted, “Her Ladyship! It looks just like a dragon!” This boy, by the way, is British.

I stopped running and let myself walk at a fast clip, huffing away as if I once smoked cigarettes for over 30 years. I then stated under the duress of poor lungs, “It doesn’t look like a dragon! It IS a dragon.”

Now he was up ahead and stopped and swung his tiny scrunched up face back to me. “Are you telling me the dragon is real?”

“Well, yes. I mean, you are not actually real, but that dragon is definitely real.”

He smiled then under his little tweed cap, and patted his little tweed chest and tummy and his little pale legs with tall black socks to confirm he was in fact just as real as this dragon in any case.

“Stop it now. Dragons are as real as we decide, my good chap!” Sometimes I use the language of the Brits, since it helps him feel those good things he misses back home.

“Do you think the dragon will breathe fire upon the city?” This boy just never lets up. I am not sure what he would do without me. Seriously.

I sighed. “I’m not sure, but I hope I am here to witness such an event should it occur. If he flies away, and he very well might, we should go to the park and lay in the grass and then also grab some ice cream back home.”

“We only have maple nut, and I would far prefer big chocolate chunks.”

“Then we will pretend it has chocolate, and we will take our sweet time with it.”

“I would like that so much! Bloody hell!”

Sometimes he throws a curse on the end of his sentence just to see what I will do.

Thank you, BoyWithNoName.