“Perhaps the world is one big healing community and we are all healers of each other. Perhaps we are all angels. And we do not know.” Rachel Naomi Remen
My neighbor, Tim, called for the second time tonight.
Earlier today, he and I talked together about the challenges of the past week’s snowstorm and its resulting five-day power outage. We spoke of our respective uneasiness about the new big ice storm that is forecast. We contemplated the forecast hazards of still more difficulty: 
extra snow and ice on our long country driveway and where do we park our cars anyway? We wondered whether or not Jeff would be able to come and plow. We inquired together about fuel reserves and all those trees in our woods that were once again threatening our power lines and roofs. We inquired together about our respective supplies of firewood and food and charged phones.
Tonight’s call was shorter. “I want you to know,” he said, “that I heard your anxiety earlier. And I want you to know that you are not alone. We are here and we’ll watch out for one another. We are in this together.”
His kind words woke me from a trance and brought me back into the warmth of the present. I saw that my mind, in an effort to be helpful, has been proliferating “Another snow storm and maybe I’ll lose power again and our propane tank for the generator is nearly empty and they promised to come and fill it but they don’t and should I call them again and anyway do we have food in the house and have we saved enough water in case the pump goes out and where shall we park the car in case Hal needs to get out to the hospital and he can’ t walk up the hill to the road and anyway is our kitty outside in the cold or has she come in already and…”
I saw that I was bringing unwise and isolated attention to a chaos of thought that had little to do with my actual circumstance. In response to all those words and mental ghost stories, my body had become more and more agitated, which then affirmed to my mind, in a rather vicious and self-perpetuating cycle, that there was, indeed, something to be concerned about.
Of course.
Tim’s kind call broke through all of that in the way that another’s presence and kindness so often do. He reminded me that I was part of something larger, a community of care. He reminded me of the presence of angels: in the world of form, they are everywhere; there is always a “we.” With willingness I could open; I could remember. I could draw on him , along with so many others, as sources of kindness and strength and presence and support and wisdom. Internally, my body relaxed. There was breathing and more space. There emerged a softening and then, a letting go: an opening into an even larger spaciousness of my own tender human vulnerability. There was a new and curious strength nourished by community: “we are all in this together.”
Thank you, dear brother. That helped.