Why Grapes Suffer

                         
….The primary consideration in wine grapes is character, so the wines are often planted in places where they can barely survive and have to fight for nutrients. The grapes gain depth in proportion to the amount of work the wine must expend to survive. Harrison calls this process “suffering.”
 
“Maggie Harrison’s war on wine” by Alex Halberstadt (NY Times)

****************************************************************************************
 
Dear Friends,

A few weeks ago, when reading about the arduous life of wine grapes, I remembered learning that spiritual maturity is, in part, dependent on having enough suffering that you deepen wisdom and compassion, but not so much that you collapse in a heap.
 
It seems logical then that maturity, spiritual or otherwise, includes recognizing that most everyone struggles. Early in the pandemic, this truth seemed obvious. I vividly felt our collective pain, not only in my personal community, but throughout New York City and, well...everywhere. In our shared grief, our walks, our Zooms, and the whole epic reinvention of reality, suffering, for a time, wove us together.
 
But that heightened state cannot last. As we pick up the pieces and move forward there is inevitably some disconnection. Some collapsing into a heap. It has been a lot. And there is always more. Lately, I'll admit, it feels like there are too many newspaper articles I can not bear to read, friends that I struggle to support or feel supported by. I am entirely unsurprised to learn that there is a massive epidemic of loneliness.

In the midst of our wine grape battles, how do we stay connected? Where do we even begin?
 
One way, I think, is something I wrote about In June: consciously shining the light of our attention on others. I’m working on that. Still, and forever. (If you missed that newsletter, you can read it ).
 
Another way, is to remember that small actions matter. This reminder comes straight from an amazing new teacher I have been getting to know since my move to North Carolina; Mother Earth! She is so good. Planting a garden for the first time in my life has been especially filled with lessons and the most mind-blowing, I'd say, is the extraordinary potential in every tiny seed.
 
In early Summer, for example, I scattered some sunflower seeds on a fairly inhospitable strip of soil between a wall and a fence. Birds swooped by, they told their friends, and an avian party ensued. Overall, atmospheric conditions were challenging and, let’s face it, my caretaking, though well-intentioned, was less than stellar. But hey, maybe I was just helping those plants build character?? Because…look!
 
                        

And from this one flower (and it’s two siblings) there will be hundreds of new seeds, a whole fresh cycle of possibilities.
 
Fundamentally, practice (whether yoga, writing, painting, caretaking, gardening, friendship etc.) is all about planting those tiny seeds. Enrich the soil with your good intentions and patience.

And remember the interconnection of all beings everywhere.  

                            
 

Namaste,

Susan 


PS: If you have been meaning to get back to practice, come try my Friendly Zoom Yoga , every Saturday at noon. It is a nice way to stay connected! First class is on me. Just send a message (reply to this email) and I’ll hook you up.

PPS: With late August stretched out in front of us, it feels natural to want to rest and do a little bit less. The other day Maggie took this hip-opening, belly-softening restorative pose. Send me a photo of yourself in something similar and receive a free pre-recorded Zoom yoga class!