Healing

 My best laid plans to write in this blog, and to share my previously written poetry, were foiled, as plans often are - by the vagaries of life. But here I am, back at the page, ready to share with you a few insights that have offered themselves.

I started this year with intention around showing up, and making spaces for healing and stillness. In fact, I decided my New Year's Mantra/Resolution was "Adventures in Showing Up." And that has already been the way of it! And showing up, stillness, and focus on healing have continued to serve me. 

Already, I've shown up to places I knew I wanted to go, and have been rewarded. I've noticed that showing up also includes showing up for myself. 

I finally made it to Community Dance, aka ecstatic dance, aka lovingly named Dance Anarchy. It was healing and freeing and peaceful. 

A few weeks ago, I logged on to a local (online for the winter) Buddhist Meditation group, which has been great fuel for my meditation fire. Meditation helps me stay aligned with the energy and right concentration and stillness I so desire, and this group offers space for that, as well as interesting readings and insights. 

C and I set aside a weekend to get away, just for some rest and reconnection. We got a cabin with a wood stove, which turned out to not have a TV. That set a really lovely tone of calm and peacefulness that I didn't know how much I needed! We made homemade gf pasta, read books, and got a chance to just be together with few distractions. 

Lent, which started a week and a half ago, has brought new adventures and intentions. I feel as though I was quickly plunged into the wilderness, but am turning towards the Great Spirit and using my emotional wilderness survival skills, like: 

- Do not make big decisions when you are overwhelmed, tired, or hungry. 

- Make sure you're getting enough nourishment (literal and figurative).

- Focus on the moment in front of you and don't get too bogged down in what's coming up ahead. You will have the energy you need when the moment comes, if you take care of the now. 

My Lent intentions are to meditate daily if possible, to take a day off of TV once a week, to be mindful of my food cravings as a chance to feast on spiritual matters, and to give to others. Of course, the intention and the reality play out somewhat differently than imagined, but I've been checking in with a weekly tracker just to see how each item is showing up. Sometimes just noticing what is happening, how it feels, and what is difficult is helpful. 

This morning, feeling still a bit frenzied from the past week of "wilderness," I debated whether to go to Dance Anarchy, the Lutheran church, or the meditation group. My system said, please don't make me leave the house and work hard physically! What I wanted most was to tap into the inner quiet, to be seen, to be mindful. So, meditation it was. 

The meditation group gave me a chance to get quiet and let things come up from the week. Good things - like the deep gratitude I have for sharing my space and my days with a person who is kind, thoughtful, honest, and real. And hard things - like the sense of disappointment I have from my Wednesday night meeting, where the committee that is intended to be a balance of community members and municipal staff - to avoid power imbalances - was operating under somewhat tyrannical energy of the (white male) town manager, who shut down a few ideas presented by residents. And over the past few months, they have lost 2 of their community representatives, who happened to be women of color, so now the committee is all older white men with one exception (the female DPW director). 

In the hustle and bustle of the week, that experience had come and gone, battened down at the end of the night by my fatigue and wish to take a break from work. But its residue was still in me, and needed exposing. And hopefully clearing. What could I have done? Did I do enough? What was that like to try to hold that space? And recognizing that it was unfortunate, and it is over. 

I also had some new reflections emerging about healing, inspired partly by yesterday's activities. 

Yesterday, I woke up and looked to see what local events might be of interest for the weekend, with little hope for anything much. We have learned about the annual mid-February/early March shut down that many local businesses take to get a break while things are slower. (Wise! Fully support!) But hark! What light through yonder window breaks! It is a community, with interesting things like fiber arts, tree pruning, and seed swaps! Ooh, tree pruning... The City was hosting a tree pruning workshop, led by the Arbor Commission and Tree Warden, in the central park. This sounded perfect: we have many trees on our lot, and I know nothing about how to care for them, but I like trees, and also, it would get me out of the house and into a space where I could listen and be among real live humans. Also, the park is a block away from the gluten free donut shop, so I could stop there first to stock up!

Arriving a few minutes late, donuts safely tucked away in the car for afterwards, I found a gaggle of folks from 30s to 70s getting the orientation. (Including two folks from our trusty Fogtown Brewing! Community = familiar faces) We were given an information sheet, our choice of clippers, and spent about 20 minutes at each tree learning about the art of pruning. 

Turns out: I knew basically nothing about pruning! But now I know some things. Like this: where you choose to cut off a broken or damaged branch makes all the difference in the tree's ability to heal itself. If this is new to you, look up "branch collar." And: what a well-healed cut looks like! And: how to handle the branch you're cutting to ensure it won't further injure the tree. Also, it's important to be cautious with how much pruning you do at once - no more than 1/3 of the branches at a time, or the tree won't be able to sustain itself. And don't cut out any branches that are more than 1/2 the size of the main trunk. 

In thinking this morning, I was struck by the fact that this is maybe the first example I've seen of what it looks like to have reciprocal relationships with trees. I know they give us so much, and we give them a little CO2 (ok actually a LOT of CO2), and I totally appreciate that there is the potential for deeper relationship... but this was the first time that I could see how being a human, with eyes, knowledge, and arms that can wield saws and pruning shears could be beneficial to a tree. Could do something for it that it cannot do for itself. 

In thinking about how we might live more in an attitude of interdependence and supporting each other's healing, this example feels instructive. Communal or relational healing: when I can see something you cannot, and make an action that initiates your healing process. This is what I want to be doing with all beings - both inviting their input and support into my healing, and offering insight and action to promote theirs. 

So speaking of healing, my mom is currently healing from a catastrophic shoulder injury. She broke and dislocated her shoulder two weeks ago, which was a very scary thing for a solid 12 hours. They had to transport her 2 hours from home to get to a doctor who could reduce (aka re-locate) the shoulder, and she was under heavy pain medication the whole time. It's hard to have your family in distress across the country!! The good news is that they got the shoulder back in place, and it has stayed in place. And perhaps more importantly, she got into an assisted living facility temporarily with PT support to be able to heal safely and with good care. And good food and company, it turns out! :) Her healing is being supported literally by a sling, by keeping the broken and torn pieces quiet so they can heal... but also by people doing the things for her that she would have trouble doing right now for herself - making meals, assisting with dressing and moving around, getting her body what it needs to be able to focus on healing... AND there are other boosts to her spirit like playing piano, meeting new friends, and fun pajamas, which also promote healing. 

We need each other, always. We impact each other, always. 

So this is the lesson I'm taking today, from showing up: To promote healing, we can't just whack wildly at the thing that is broken. We need to be surgical, mindful of how much movement it can stand. We can only do so much healing at a time. To heal effectively, we must redirect energy towards healing by reducing the energy being asked in other areas. And very little healing can be done totally alone. 

It is helpful to me to reorient to these truths, especially in a time when some in positions of great power are acting with seemingly no attention to healing, or real care, or interdependence. But I can attend to those truths in the places I show up. I hope you will, too. 

Strength

Wasn't it nice, while we were just waiting for the wave to hit the shore? Sure, it was unpleasant to think about how big it would be, but it was also peaceful, in a way. 

So here we are. The turbulence of this past week mimics the turbulence of the post-election moment I know we all felt. That unease was of course fueled by the realization that what we are now experiencing (the pit in our stomach of loss, horror, and disbelief) would come as he took office and took control. And now, here we are, seeing it unfold. Riding the waves. 

And the words I wrote the day after the election are still true, and maybe helpful to revisit:

Unfortunately, a lot of things make sense now that have been floating up for me. Building up my regular yoga practice. Ideas for change that can be made at the local level. Gathering women. Owning a house in Maine. Training my system for peace. I won’t let Trump and a Trump win steal my peace. It’s been too hard earned for me to let it go. I know what makes me strong, and I will do it. 

I learned before that there are ways to react out of fear and anger, and I don’t want to do that. I want to act out of joy, and love, and vision, and purpose. To move from a place of balance, using the tools that I want to see in the world I’m trying to create. Be the change. Use new thinking to solve the old problems. Hate got us here. 

Have our feelings - we should feel and express and know the feelings, but not every feeling is worth acting on. Find spaces to grieve and rage. Then make spaces for building, for sorting, for connecting, for positive energy.

I won’t make assumptions about what Trump will do now. I won’t make assumptions about the people who voted for him. I will maintain curiosity, and concern, and attention… while also taking breaks, because it is not the only thing in the world. Because I have to fill my own cup and keep my line straight. 

I know you’re afraid. Maybe tired. It was just starting to seem like maybe we were getting to a good place. It feels overwhelming. Like we're back in 2016. But we're not. Much has happened. The work we've done since then was real and has not been lost.

By now, after COVID and the last 8 years, hopefully you also know what makes you strong. What makes you able to be the person you want to be. If you don’t, start there. What do you need to do to maintain your own peace, to emotionally regulate, to keep focused on what is good and pure and true? DO that. Commit to it. Take care of yourself first. 

Stay cool in your veins, keep warmth in your heart. 

So where we don't have to make assumptions anymore about what Trump will do, because we've seen... a lot already... we can maintain attention to see what the rest of our country does. Because that remains unknown, to be seen. And certainly where the real action is, if you take the longer view. 

Also, it appears that the writers of Saturday Night Live must read my blog. Or Letters to a Nation? Or someone on their staff knows their history! 

Last Saturday's Opening Sketch: https://youtu.be/oDtSQVj0qzg?si=tKVZC8vdV7mMHteE 

Since most of you had no idea (like me) that the Declaration of Independence was a suicide pact, it totally threw me that they had a similar approach. Great minds think alike?

Inauguration

"Inauguration (def.): the beginning of a system, policy, or period."

This time feels different. I am not tempted to leave my job, and rush to my dearest national advocacy organization, meaningful though that choice was... I am not as shocked and stunned, sadly, as the first time around. And I am not feeling pulled to march in the streets, at least not at the moment. And apparently, I'm not alone - the numbers of people protesting and planning to protest through mass marches is down. 

The lack of protest does not mean we do not protest. It means we are reserving our energy because standing in the street with others does not feel like the best use of effort. At least it does for me.

I was looking for a touchstone this morning, to stay focused on what matters and seek guiding wisdom as much as the latest drama and political updates. I'm not on social media* at the moment, so I'm not getting my usual sources philosophical and social commentary. So I turned to my bookshelf. For my 17th birthday, my dad gave me the book, Letters of a Nation, edited by Andrew Carroll. His inscription was helpful (as they usually were). 

Keep writing. Keep reading. Get inspired and enlightened. 

That is a welcome suggestion. I newly see myself as a middle-aged person, and I'm interested in the positionality of that. In relation to younger people, I guess. Instead of just defining myself, which felt like the work of the 20s and 30s, now I'm armed with a breadth and depth of knowledge, experience, perspective, values... which may be of interest or use to others. And as a writer, that is appealing. 

I read the foreword and introduction to the book (also good), before rushing to the section on "Letters of a New Nation." The letter that grabbed my eye was from Benjamin Rush to John Adams, recounting (among other things) how the signers of the Declaration of Independence believed it to be a suicide mission, basically. (!!) They did not in any way expect to win the war against Britain, and figured that there was a good chance the British would specifically kill all the signers for their treasonous act. Dr. Rush was looking back 25 years later, after a 4th of July celebration, from the vantage point when the happy ending of 1776 was very clear to a time when it most certainly was not. 

Did you hear about that in history class? That the declaration of independence was the thing that started it - the risky act? That it was viewed by some as perhaps a futile measure?

My family, blood and chosen, are people of words. I know that words matter. I don't know exactly how mine might, but maybe I don't need to. I just know writing down what we believe is a good thing to do, and potentially a risky thing. But maybe that's kind of the point. 

*I logged off Facebook and Instagram on Saturday, for the foreseeable future. I moved myself onto Bluesky and Retro (and LinkedIn and Pinterest, lol).

Resurrection

Perhaps like you, I have an ambivalent relationship with astrology. On one hand, I am clearly a Cancer Sun with Gemini Rising (a deep feeling, nurturing lover of information, comfortable with paradox). That's just obvious. I receive the astrological predictions that float through my world with a mix of attention and amusement. Who knows what it all means? Maybe something! I am always open to anything offering a big picture view on the many whims and winds of energy swirling around us. For instance, Pluto in Capricorn, 2008-2024: 

"Pluto’s transit of Capricorn tends to coincide with the rise and fall of empires, and sees big changes in the rules and structures that shape society in politics and religion. Theories and ideals are brought down to earth and put into practice, and anything that doesn’t work is thrown out – no matter how noble."

Well, yeah. Definitely. That holds up.

So, in looking back at the last time I wrote on this blog, just under 10 years ago, I wonder what astrological cycle relates to the change of that time and where we are now. I remember the me then, and the words sound like a version of me, but so. much. has changed. And yet here I am, back to the same place. 2015/2016 was a clear marker for change in my life: after Trump was elected, we moved to the Boston area, I started a new job, and those things were pretty all-consuming. At that point, I turned to write in my "secret" private blog more (until the fall of 2019), and then that fell off too. 

My writing has continued. I journal. I've written some missives to my community in major moments. My poetry activity peaked around the time I stopped publishing it on here. Thanks to grief, change, and global upheaval, I've had lots to process! ;) And a few nice poets and writers in my world offered fertile space to create and share. 

For the last few years, I've been toying with the idea of sharing my poetry more widely. I sent in submissions to the New Yorker (yes, I know, aiming high), a regional poetry magazine, and was rejected from both. I may still try again at a new venue. 

But a few months ago, I got the clear sense that my priority was just to share my poetry, and I actually didn't care if I got paid (and perhaps prefer to avoid the commodification). So, I decided I should stop trying to get published by someone else and put my writing on a blog. To share publicly and freely. And of course, I already had one... I just had to find it.

It took me a few months to get here, but I knew I wanted to come back to this space, which has been a great place for me to find and use my voice. To resurrect this sweet blog. I just had to fight with Google a little bit to get back in here. But I'm in! I'm here. 

So I have some poetry to share. Maybe I can even get back into longer form writing. I do have a book that I want to write... But I don't really know what to expect from my writing and a space like this at this point in my life. What parts of me have evolved? What conditions in the world have evolved? What about me is still the same? 

TBD. Or maybe I can find some astrological explanation. I'll keep you posted. 

Homework

In light of the panic that seems to set in every time I explore my social media feeds, I've been sending silent pleas out to the internet universe for positive, thoughtful, relevant reading material. Apparently my prayers are now being answered. In fact, I feel almost bombarded by the sudden onslaught of meaningful things to read on topics near and dear.

So, with that in mind, here's a roundup of writings that I intend to read during the next month. A mental advent calendar, if you will.

In case you also are in the market for some fun holiday "homework", the list and links are here:

An Economic Justice and Poverty themed issue of the Friends Journal (Dec. 2015)

My brilliant bestie's excellent reading and viewing suggestions on exclusion and forgiveness-related topics

A reflection from Jeremiah on hope

More to come!

For e.

I'm losing my mind, she said, yet again.
Heartbreak - the familiar friend - is setting in,
settling in and setting up shop,
while I try to keep up
sweep up
the residues of negative thoughts
and borrowed trouble,
fears that bubble up and fog my view.
Let the rain fall, sure,
but not the tears,
not the bad news bears and silver-lininged clouds
not the thunder, so loud.
Love's dark lover, loss, is at my door
once more
beating out a quiet rhythm
only I can hear.
I want to swim in your smoothest skin,
laugh at every grin of yours,
rolling on the floor in delight
because you are my friend
have been and shall be
forever more -
That's something worth losing for.

The Year of Courage, final season

Occasionally a little voice whispers in my ear the words that I need to guide me.

Around the close of 2013, the word "courage" was whispered to me. It struck something deep in my heart, and that twang saw me through a turbulent spring. Between January and June, I made several brave leaps that involved acting on faith, speaking up about my dreams, and trusting the process. They all paid off handsomely, letting me know that courage was indeed what I was called to express.

My first Lobby Day at the U.S. Capitol

This summer, I let courage take me into the natural world for some adventure. I tried out whitewater kayaking, and loved it. I swam over a mile in open water, and I didn't exactly love it, but I completed it and still had a smile on my face.

Through it all, I conquered many of my biggest fears to take action and speak my mind about injustice, and I can only assume I've grown immensely through the process. I feel very proud of having lived my life more fully and less driven by fear, that much is clear. And I had some amazing experiences, which have made my life much more rich.

But there is still a fear that needs conquering. A fear of screwing up when people are watching. A fear of being so different that nobody will want to come with me down the path. A fear that the only type of courage is being brave enough to leap, to speak, to try.

Occasionally a little voice whispers in my ear the words I need to know. Sometimes those words are on a page, written by another seeker.

Today, they were hidden here, in plain sight.

After a very triumphant year, this fall is the perfect time to turn inward and find out what courage I have left. To take on my doubts - in myself, in my God, in my fellow human beings. To take on the urge to be busy and restless and not listen for the next crumb of guidance. To face my fear of finding out what the beat of my drum sounds like, and dancing wildly to it.

And that is definitely going to take some serious courage, and a different kind of bravery than I've been working on externally. Being brave enough to listen to myself and trust my own inner wisdom.

Homes

We've been discovering the wonders of online house shopping. It's window shopping, because we have nowhere near the down payment, closing costs, and maintenance fund saved up yet. But, it's fun to dream! And certain houses convey the feeling they are set apart from life. A line of trees along the property edge, old windows, gothic arches, and other qualities unidentifiable to me but potent in their appeal. Life is different here, they whisper.

It is the same way traveling to places in exotic locations - not only the chance to get away but also to be immersed in something new, another way of being. And yet, when I travel I so often discover that new places are not so foreign as you'd expect. People are still people: warm and inviting, or raucous, or tender, or bizarre. All city streets have energies all their own. Vistas enchant.

For me, the satisfaction in reaching new lands comes from drawing nearer my fellow man. From seeing his environs, the substrate of his memories and dreams. Tasting if ever so briefly the air that fuels his many days. How perfect to come into his world without making a perturbation. If only it were so. But by passing the stranger on the street and not stopping him to chat, it is my way of saying yes, I need not violate the path you're on. I simply wish to feel the breeze as you rush by.

But then, I would gladly give an afternoon for a chance to peer into his soul and lay out mine. To find our common human experiences, to hold his fears and dreams sweetly in my hands. To laugh together through differing accents and slang. To sit quietly and present, sharing space.

The houses that compel me remind me of people I've known who rest just behind the veil of memory, and what little I knew of their rustic and real lives. And yet, the joy of growing older has been discovering that I have much wider access to a variety of life styles than I'd previously thought. I can enter the community of philosophers and time-bearers, facing waterfalls and chatty with history. I can dance with desert-dwellers through the monsoons of uncertainty and desperately wide valleys. I can build the intimate cave with my favored few for fervent conversations and rich meals.

I know now that any future can still be mine. Any land, any home, offers a new space in which to spin out this existence.

Tranquility

In the past few days, while ostensibly on a work trip, I've discovered two kickass vacation spots.

Exhibit A: I'm sitting on an Adirondack chair on my private deck, overlooking a tiny bay on the St. Lawrence River, sun on my calves, bare feet dangling over the deck, having just completed a tranquil outdoor yoga session (by myself). The sounds are: a dog barking occasionally, boats moving through the water quietly, the wind in the trees, and little else. Egrets and ospreys fly by with their morning snacks against a bright blue sky, and the water is rippling just barely under the breeze. A fish breaks the surface and goes back down. Trees trees trees. Oh yes, I am relaxed and relaxing. Sometime soon I should get myself down to breakfast. A black squirrel on his morning commute by my gate startles to find me here and turns the other direction. Moving along the deck railing, he jumps quickly across to the deck on the main house, a sight I've never seen this closely before.

Yup, I could kill a blissful few days here. Did I mention they gave me the room with the jacuzzi? Sadly, I may not have time to partake, since my meetings start up in a few hours, and I am hoping to use the bay for a test of my open water swimming skills (and, you know, tidy up my presentation at some point).

This is the Glen House Resort in Gananoque, ON. I feel a tug at my heart from the conversation I had last night with my taxi driver, who was talking about the 17 plants that used to be in the area (now single digits), and the need for leadership to take seriously the issues they are having with unemployment.

Exhibit B: After a morning presentation and meeting, my host takes me out of town to the farm store at Cider Keg Farm, where they have just outside the door an incredible-looking display of local fresh strawberries, asparagus, snow peas, and other produce that is clearly at its peak. Inside, the wonders of homemade sparkling apple cider, pecan pies, popcorn and "Pop a Cob", lavender goods, meats, honey, etc., all from locally produced crops. As we check out our Pop a Cobs, the cashier suggests we visit the Eco-Adventures, which in fact is exactly where we're headed. A growing enterprise that seems to be full of great ideas for entertaining folks in a way that honors the natural environment, they offer ziplining through the Carolinian forest (and overlooking the expansive Turkey Point marsh), an observatory where the Milky Way is often visible, kayak-fishing (a new thing!), and tours out to the Long Point spit by boat. If you are a real advenurer, there are also free (!) mountain bike trails on site and glamping (glamorous camping) in cabin like tents that overlook the forest and marsh. Of course, if you just want to walk through the woods, there are plenty of trails for that too. I predict they'll have even more fun adventures offered in the future, as it seems they are just getting started.

My lovely hostess took me across the street to the winery, owned by the same family, for a tasting of what she said was some of the best wine in the area (and in Canada). Apparently the well-drained sandy soils of the area and the weather combine with the winery's innovative approach where they dry the grapes slightly in old tobacco kilns before pressing to make fantastic wines. At least to my palate, but she formerly worked for the Canadian Wine Industry, so I'm thinking she knows what she's talking about. Since it was lunchtime, we also got food from the gourmet food truck parked outside, including local perch from Lake Erie, which she raved about.

This was Simcoe/Long Point area in Norfolk County, and I was smitten. I imagined (and promptly told my husband) we should come back to the area for a week or so to canoe and kayak, sit (or swim!) at the beach, drink wine, ride bikes, have local brews, and just slow down a bit.

These areas are not only local treasures, they are national treasures, and truly, gems of North America. I'm delighted we live so close that my daydreaming about vacationing here is not just a wild fantasy, but is truly feasible. Time to start saving up!!! :)

Ten Years*

and then we were us again, smoothly trading thoughts where noone else could hear us. wordlessly reading each other's paddle strokes and adjusting to keep us on track. following each other into the water, waiting until the other acclimates before going deeper. following each other into the intimacy of quiet, hands held, even though the rings were missing. because they are too precious, you say, and we might lose them. the risk is too much.

we are careful with our love, i guess. it is precious, it has always been. like when you used to call me princess, as a serious pet name, to reflect how special you felt i was. what's amazing to me (always was) is how you can be so irreverent about so many things and yet hold our love so gently, and so deeply.

we slept so well, even if the mosquitoes were droning outside the tent and the ground was closer to our bodies than usual. i kept having to readjust to the simplicity of just us, floating along, timeless and free.

ten years in and the magic is still right there waiting for us, anytime we care to look. you are magic, my love, my prince, and my closest family.

now that i've stopped trying to concoct elaborate plans for our milestones, they seem to be unfolding on their own, with perfect timing and tone.

*please don't count too carefully. nothing untoward ever happened, you see, but i'm afraid the overlap of transitions might make some uneasy.