
I love being in the Evolutionary Collective. We meet on Zoom for 55-minute sessions. During part of the time, each of us is paired randomly with another participant. Together we do the Mutual Awakening Practice (MAP). Usually a profound sense of connection emerges.
Newbies need to learn the practice. They enroll in a four-session course. Last night was the first of four and I was invited to be a support person for the new folks. I love doing this, welcoming people to something brand new.
The teacher and we support people were meeting twenty minutes before the session started. I logged in. Before me in their rectangles were about eight supporters. The teacher started talking.
No sound.
I don’t thrive in the world of technology. I know how to navigate Zoom. I know the basics of how to fix problems.
I contracted. I also acted because I needed to keep my word. I left the meeting, turned off my computer, turned it back on, and returned.
No sound.
I chatted with the Zoom host, the person responsible for the technical part of our meeting. She suggested doing what I had just done. The next step was to leave again and reboot my modem.
I exited, wondering if the faces on the screen sensed what was happening. My facial expressions were incredulous … and I kept disappearing!
I turned off the computer and unplugged the modem. I waited ten seconds. Probably should have been longer. Replug, wait for the internet to return, start my computer and rejoin the meeting. By this time the session had started. There were many more rectangles than before.
No sound.
(Sigh)
I knew I couldn’t participate without talking and listening, and that my continued presence would mess up the Zoom host’s job of having people paired up. I chatted with her that I was leaving.
Bye bye.
I e-mailed a techy friend in the Evolutionary Collective, describing my problem. And I realized that I had done all that I knew to do.
***
I was sad that I couldn’t contribute to the human beings who were knocking on the door of MAPs. I’ve learned to let the emotion be there, to fall into it, and that soon it will lessen. A few hours later I fell asleep in peace.
It’s so tender to not know. My heart is open, my brain is active … and the solution doesn’t appear. And now I’m smiling. There’s an immensity here.
In the world of doing things, I’ll continue to problem solve today. We’ll see if my friend knows what to do. And I wonder if Zoom Customer Service is open on a Sunday. I hope so.
In the larger world, I am fine, and I’m being held by spiritual friends within my not knowing. I’ll be there for Session Two.
All is well