Ground When the Bombs Are Falling

Staying Grounded When the Bombs Are Literally Falling

Several weeks ago, I had a long WhatsApp exchange with my one and only cousin.

She reached out to ask how she could support herself better in the anxiety she is experiencing every day. She is anxious for powerful and obvious reasons. She and her family have spent much of the last few years living on and off in a war zone. They move in and out of bomb shelters regularly and navigate day-to-day life with the constant possibility of falling rockets. Add to that the global rhetoric around Israel and antisemitism, and whatever anyone's politics may be (truly irrelevant to this conversation), the lived experience for many Israelis today is that of persistent threat.

There is no clean way the nervous system fully regulates in an environment like that.

She told me she was returning to meditation and wanted to know if I had any insight that might help.

The first thing I said is the thing I know and teach and work with people on all the time: the nervous system is wired for threat or safety.

No matter what is happening, the nervous system is always scanning. It is doing its job. The challenge is that we are still essentially walking around with hunter-gatherer brains while living in a world that asks far more of our minds and nervous systems than they were designed to hold.

So the nervous system responds to threat, but it often responds disproportionately because that is what it is built to do. It does not always know how to distinguish between immediate physical danger and the many psychological experiences that can feel threatening.

I see this everywhere. In organizations where a lack of grounded communication and trust blows things out of proportion. In relationships where fear fills in the blanks. In culture where activated people amplify other activated people.

So my first answer to her was simple: the work is helping the nervous system trust that it is safe.

And then I immediately followed it with what also felt true.

I am not exactly sure how you do that in a war zone.

That feels unrealistic, almost ridiculous.

Yet we know there are generations of humans who have somehow found ways to access groundedness, meaning, and even peace inside impossible circumstances. There is wisdom there.

As we processed together, I found myself sharing a truth (for me) which guides me deeply: the inner being cannot be threatened.

I realize that is an esoteric spiritual idea, and not an easy one.

What I mean is that there is something larger than the human experience that is indestructible. There is a part of us we access for some in meditation. But even without that kind of practice, it is the same part that alights when joy washes over us unexpectedly, when we are deeply in love with someone or something, when we tap into a rare moment of full presence. That part understands safety differently than the frightened human self.

She pushed back immediately.

I understood why. She is also an Orthodox Jew with a different theology than mine.

What surprised me was how grateful I was for the disagreement. It forced me to articulate something I usually just live.

My beliefs show up all over my writing and my work, but I do not often sit down and explain my personal "theology" directly. The conversation helped me distill something I have come to believe very clearly.

We are IN the world, but we are not OF it.

A dear friend (shout out again, Joanie!) first introduced me to that idea through A Course in Miracles, and it has stayed with me ever since.

We are human. We live in bodies. We experience fear, grief, joy, uncertainty, and loss. We have responsibilities. We are impacted by events.

And still, there is something larger dwelling within us.

Call it God. Call it source. Call it consciousness. Call it the universe. Call it anything or nothing.

The language matters truly not at all, the reality is in the experience.

Why does this feel so very important right now?

Because we are living through a period of enormous activation. Fear is everywhere. Outrage is everywhere. We are flooded by information, opinion, crisis, and catastrophe at a pace no human nervous system was designed to absorb.

For many, the world feels like it is exploding every day.

In many ways, it is.

In truth, the humans have always been navigating tremendous turmoil, violence, dissent and struggle. What we are experiencing now is not actually at all new.

But what is different now is that we carry the entire world's suffering around in our pockets and purses.

So what do we do?

For me, the answer keeps returning to the same place: presence. Return to self. Return to the part of ourselves that is capable of meeting reality as it is instead of spending all of our energy fighting things we cannot change or imagined futures.

The reason we suffer so much is that we resist what we fear. But when we can sit with what is actually here, right in front of us, we gain access to something different. We find ground. We find breath. We find strength. We find the resources to respond to what is real.

For my beloved cousin and family, that can mean showing up multiple times a day to bomb shelters.

Which means that the practice, at that level, is mastery.

It means being willing to acknowledge that chaos could break open at any moment and still remain with what is true right now. Right this minute, I am reading the paper. Right this minute, I am holding the baby. Right this minute, I am eating a delicious meal. Right this minute, I am here.

It is mindfulness practice. It is presence practice. It is ancient and it is wise. It is incredibly simple. It is often not easy.

I aspire to it and fall out of it every single day. Then I come back. Then I fall out again. Then I come back again.

The muscle builds that way.

In Judaism, we teach the principle of Hineni, which means, "Here I am."

I am present.

I am ready.

I open every organizational coaching and consulting engagement with that teaching because the lesson is universal and the root of all things balance and solidity.

I am here now.

And the only thing I can actually do is respond to what is in front of me.

How does this apply for my cousin in the middle of a war zone?

I still do not know that I have a great answer.

But I can tell you that the exchange itself was helpful to her, and maybe that is part of the answer. Reaching out. Knowing what you need. Letting someone help you hold the moment.

Ultimately, all of it returns us to the same place: the only place any of us ever actually live.

Right this minute.

I am here.