Last week, I learned about this company that offers secluded rentals of tiny cabins, where you can escape from the bustle of city life for a nearly monastic retreat. Somewhat in the genre of Airbnb, the simple one-room properties even come with a box so that you can lock your phone away and experience the moment. The day after I first heard these mentioned, I was hooked. I want to escape my bustling city life for a week in the woods meditating, reading, writing, and communing with nature! Ah, space and quiet.
But, after a day of this fanaticism, of figuring out what days on my calendar might be best to take time off, of researching the price of rental cars, I caught myself. I’ve only lived in Portland a few months, and I’ve worked at First Unitarian Church even less, I don’t need a retreat yet. Further, I already have so much time to meditate, read, write, and commune with nature in my life here and now. I take advantage of that time well too; I’m generally quite good at committing to these spiritual practices. Just last Spring, I spent so long dreaming of this new life in Portland; why do I feel the urge to escape it so soon?
I wonder if any of you have seen this tendency in yourselves, too? It’s this imagining that happiness, inner peace, or just a moment to breathe, is right around the next bend. Or even worse: it’s something out there, that you have to travel great distances to find. It’s especially hard during these pandemic times, these climate crisis times, when the noise seems louder and when the world outside our homes feels much scarier than it has in the past. Fantasies of escape make a lot of sense.
Last week, I also had the pleasure of attending a webinar* hosted by Side With Love about acting in solidarity with water protectors protesting pipelines. In particular, it focused on the stories of political prisoners who are caught up in our twisted legal system because of their work at Standing Rock. A couple of people who had been at the water protector camps at Standing Rock in 2016 and 2017 reflected on their time by saying, “it was Real Life.” By this, they meant that it was messy and human, but a time of deep presence where they could practice deep care for one another and the land. At Standing Rock, they felt like they were living the way that we humans were meant to live, with connection and purpose.
I was struck by this idea of “Real Life” because I’ve tasted it, too. I tasted it in my earliest experiences organizing against homophobic and transphobic legislation in my home state: in much-deserved dinners with co-conspirators after late night tired phone banks, and long meetings strategizing about meaningful and accessible direct action events. I’ve tasted it in UU communities too. Like, in long conversations that hold each other accountable for covenant, and in taking the time to sing songs together when it feels like the whole world has been broken to pieces. Though I can’t know what it felt like for folks at Standing Rock, I think that living Real Life is about the type of community care and togetherness that has space for messiness, for weariness. And it is so deeply, lovingly committed.
And, here we are. In my short time at First Unitarian Church I’ve seen that we are weary, but deeply and lovingly committed. We have hard conversations and know how to reach out to spirit when it feels like the whole world has been broken to pieces. We are living Real Life, right here and now. By now, we’ve realized that our lives with COVID-19 are not merely a brief transmission to an alternate universe. We see that working to dismantle oppression, to enact real democracy, and to care for our planet are everyone’s job, not just for someone else “out there” to take on. And, if we are going to find happiness, or inner peace, or just a moment to breathe, we’ve got to find a way to do it here, in our imperfect homes and our imperfect city.
Every once in a while the song “We Shall Be Known” gets lodged in my brain and heart and won’t go away. It is a song for Real Life. Here’s a recent version I’ve discovered. Click here to listen.
MaMuse and the Thrive Choir sing:
It is time now
It is time now that we thrive
It is time to lead ourselves into the well
It is time to now
And what a time to be alive
In this Great Turning we shall learn to lead in love
This is Real Life, and it is a Great Turning. May we learn to lead in love.
For a practice in living Real Life with this church community, in partnership with All Souls DC, consider attending this Saturday’s Social Justice Retreat. For more info and registration details click here.
*To watch a recording of the webinar I mentioned, and learn more about opportunities to be in solidarity with water protectors click here.