The Hardest Work There Is

Tonight my heart is weary.

The last 2 weeks have been very full, with so many wonderful people, experiences and opportunities. I’m grateful for every single bit of it!

But suddenly, tonight, I realize that in the busi-ness of it all, I’ve veered off course.

I’ve been sped up and over-focused on the outer stuff. And that heightened pace has made it hard for me to slow down and get into my inner practices.

All day I couldn’t figure out why I was so snappy and irritable – on the edge of both anger AND tears.

Finally, tonight, it broke open.

The always-already-there glow of loving-kindness at the centre of everything, feels far away.

It’s really not.

I know that.

But my distance from my own centre is making it feel that way.

This feeling reminds me of the first poem I ever read by the 14th century Persian poet Hafiz, translated by Daniel Ladinsky.

With deep compassion, he sums up the depth of this feeling of both distance and longing in the simplest way and it always brings me to tears.

Here it is:
(read it slowly and B-R-E-A-T-H-E)

A Cushion For Your Head

Just sit there right now
Don’t do a thing
Just rest.

For your separation from God,
From Love,

Is the hardest work
In this
World.

Let me bring you trays of food
And something
That you like to
Drink.

You can use my soft words
As a cushion
For your
Head.

Hafiz reminds me how hard it is on our hearts and souls to feel this separateness that seems so natural in our modern world.

And his heartfelt desire to comfort us reminds me of how much we each need our own compassion, patience and understanding when it starts to weigh on us.

Tomorrow, I’m going up to my family’s cottage in New Brunswick for at least a week.

I had convinced myself to keep the holiday short and that I could justify it by taking things with me to sneak away and work on.

But tonight, my heart is saying No.

It says this is the time to drink from a deeper well.

And instead of work of do, I think I’ll take Hafiz instead.

What’s your antidote when your heart is weary?

I’d love to hear it in the comments.
(I might not be here to reply until August 15th or so, but I can’t wait to hear your ideas when I get back!)