As I took my seat on the airplane heading to California to be with my daughter, son-in-law, and my grandsons, I felt both grateful and relieved. A week ago, I did not know if my home on Anna Maria Island would survive the catastrophic hurricane that was forecast to directly hit us. As I evacuated from this storm that was growing in every way imaginable, I prayed. I stayed present in the moment and watched with my heart. Part of me trembled inside while I let go at the same time.
A sense of calm filled me as I sat on the bench at the beach that is dedicated to my husband who passed away 9 ½ years ago. Hurricane Ian was coming right for us, and as I sat in meditation, the unknowable future pushed hard on my heart. Looking out at the calm before the storm, I gave thanks and prayed for us all. I knew in my heart that people all over the world were watching news reports on the storm and sending prayers.
I was fortunate to be able to hunker down with friends off the island. We watched the torrential rains and fierce winds rage. We prayed, we meditated, and we did yoga. We prepared food and we gave thanks. Each moment became an offering of love.
Sometimes praying doesn’t seem enough, so, as I waited, I allowed myself to surrender to hope. Days later, Hurricane Ian made landfall 50 miles south of my home. There, many lost their houses, cars, businesses and even their lives. It could have easily been my island that floated away, but once again we were spared. Many died in this hurricane, which was the worst in 100 years. As we all feel the heartache of these losses, it brings each of us humbly to the hurting hearts of our humanity.
Driving back onto the island felt eerie. I hardly saw a soul, and the streets were quiet. Most of the houses were boarded up, and under the gloomy sky, I passed scores of downed trees. Driving was difficult as I moved through the debris left from the storm.
There was no power for days, and yet I felt fortunate. This inconvenience was nothing compared to what people in the path of the storm were enduring. I just had to keep moving forward and, with the help of my son, clean up my mess. Grateful every step of the way, I am so thankful for this precious life.
Sometimes we must stop resisting, stop fighting and instead rest in this place within that feels deflated, perhaps drained of all its life force. There we can surrender into the broken part of our own humanity. I was exhausted, so, I surrendered.
Reluctantly I go inside, breathe, and give in to the moment. There is nothing else to do but just be here. Breathing into this uneasiness, I receive myself just as I am—this bare, unveiled, human self that has nowhere to go but inside into the depths of this dark, empty space of nothing. Here, right here, is the calling for something that will take away the blinders, the coverings, the beliefs, and misunderstandings that the mind perceives as real.
So, I decided that today I would let go of all these imaginings and come face-to-face with this incredible life that was living in and through me. Even after the devastating storm, everything—every person, every event, every experience—has made me a better person. When I connect with someone, their imprint stays with me and may live within me. All the precious moments with others mold me into the best version of myself.
My soul calls me back to sit inside. Here I realize that while sometimes I have lost my footing—like when I saw the destruction after this hurricane or when my husband, parents and friends died—I touched the dark, cried out my grief and pure, deep, sadness, and with this release, reconnect with Source.
The gentle voice of Spirit speaks to me as I heal my heart. It reminds me how privileged we all are to be a part of nature. Life brings me to the quiet, and I listen inside where the sacred calls me to feel this moment of grace. I know my heart will mend, and I remember that it is my birthright to bloom again, even after the storm. When loss has broken me wide open, I deeply feel the sacred in all that is. And I take action to serve and care for others, so that I can be more compassionate for the suffering of humanity.
The world will heal. Maybe we will all wake up and become more conscious of these earth changes and do something about them. In our own lives, we can all become better guardians of our planet.
As I watch my youngest grandson, Milo, begin to walk for the first time, my heart cries with the beauty of all that is sacred within each precious moment. Again and again, I am so blessed. I look into the eyes of his older brother, Theo, who smiles as he runs into my arms saying, “Nannie, Nannie!” I lose myself in this feeling of being loved and loving as the divine pours into me because the emptiness has stripped away my attachments. Here I am grateful for the sacred in all things. With deep thanks and love, Frannie
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