Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, as the swift seasons roll! (Oliver Wendell Holmes)
When I was in graduate school, for awhile I dated a weatherman (not part of the ’60s radical group, but rather a meteorologist). The thing I liked best about him was his excitement and infectious enthusiasm about any phenomenon in weather. I especially remember his leaping to his feet in the middle of a dinner-date, and rushing out onto the porch to stand, arms upraised, to experience a sudden hailstorm.
And, at the risk of being hopelessly old-timerish, isn’t The Weather Channel some of the best drama around??
The weather that is “ourselves” can be equally fascinating. The bright sunny days, the dark moody ones. The sudden intense rainstorms, the occasional tornado, the devastating hurricane. Even as you read these descriptions, don’t you just know how each of those feel in yourself? All these meteorological events occur in us psychically as well: low pressure centers develop— our moods darken, become threatening, low level depression creates a heavy burdensome quality to our lives. This “low pressure center” within us may develop into a violent storminess or outburst of temper or emotion — probably we all have experienced an upheaval of emotion that felt tornado-ish in quality.
Our inner journey, with all its detours, blind alleys, and wrong turnings, can be as discombobulating as natural upheavals can. But if we can hold for ourselves (or for another), a safe, stable container (such as a tornado shelter) while we or they are going through all the wild emotions that sometimes occur, we can find or be a still point of security when chaos threatens. But in order to hold that container for ourselves or for others, we need to believe firmly in the human capacity to transcend great pain or loss; we have to know that “this too shall pass,” that all things are seasonal, we have to put our faith in something beyond just the pain and chaos.
Perhaps when it seems as if we are able to do nothing at all to help ourselves or another who is going through a difficult time, it may be that we are giving ourselves or them the greatest service of all if we can “hold the hope” and the knowing, that, in the words of Julian of Norwich: All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things shall be well.
And it helps if, like my meteorologist friend, we are endlessly fascinated and deeply appreciative of the “weather that is ourselves,” keeping a sense of proportion and maybe even a sense of humor about the temporary drama of it all.
