My Silver Lining (First Aid Kit)

Since 2008, it has been my custom each January 1 (a so-far-17-year tradition) to ascribe to Christine Kane's concept of choosing a Word of the Year to inspire/motivate/give me direction as to the tone/theme of my upcoming 52 weeks/365 days.  In retrospect, some of my previous words/phrases have been Release, Create, Let It Go, Health, Light, Follow-Through, Contentment, Forward, Stretch, and last year's Sage.

After much pondering (I had it narrowed down to three:  runners-up were Gratitude and Heart/Love), I decided on Now/Be Present for 2024.

If there is anything I have learned since Eric's fatal car accident on September 26, 2023... it is that *Everything* can turn upside-down in the blink of an eye.  Monumentally.  Irrevocably.  Unimaginably.  We think it's a cliche until it happens to us.  In fact, I'd venture to say we go through life thinking that it *won't* happen to us.  Strangers, yes.  Friends of friends, yes.  Sometimes even friends.  But we're still somehow One Degree of Separation from an actual tragedy.  Until it does.  No wouldas/couldas/shouldas.  No what-ifs.  No if-onlys.  Bam.  A family, a couple, a neighborhood, the world... is diminished by one.

For the past 90+ days, I have spiraled through anxious, needy, emotional, worrying, extrapolating, melancholy, self-destructive, desperate, scrambling, hyper-ventilating.  I was a big, fat, f*cking mess... and I had a good reason for being so.  My son is gone and, as many times as I write/say/scream it, that basic fact will not change.  I continue to replay in my head the phone call from his girlfriend (across state lines) that changed my life.  It was visceral.  My stomach flip-flopped.  The tears welled.  I haven't been suicidal, but I needed to figure out how to get out of the loop.

I now wake up every morning, and do my best to talk myself off the proverbial ledge.  I realize I hadn't been taking care of myself as well as I should; everyone else, yes... but not me.  Vowing (and following through) with taking my vitamins/supplements, eating more healthfully, moving my body, muting my phone and setting aside quiet time, maintaining boundaries.  The grief journey (there is no destination) continues, as does the healing.

What's done is done; I can't alter the past, nor can I control the future.  But Right Now, The Present, is within my grasp.  I will do everything in my power to honor E and make him proud of me... one thought, task, day at a time... ⏰

SONG:  My Silver Lining by First Aid Kit (and there is a f*cking owl in the video... 😲)

BOOK:  Be Where Your Feet Are: Seven Principles to Keep You Present, Grounded, and Thriving by Scott O'Neil

POEM(S):  

She walked naked

Into the New Year.

No definite plan.

No vision boards.

No intentions set.

No journals created.

No classes or workshops scheduled.

Only trust in the Great Mystery,

in Goddess,

to provide and direct

her Soul toward its destiny.

Dreaming the visions between

past and future lives,

She listened to the voice

of her Soul

as it called her forward

into love and grace and magnificence.

As it called her deeper into her purpose,

step by step by step.

With only an open heart

and the thrill of the journey,

She walked freely and open

into the coming year.

~ Arlene Bailey

Her Sacred Wild, Re-Membering the Wild Soul Woman 

The Only Prayer by James Crews

Because there was nothing else to do,

and the news frightened me as usual,

I took a walk on my favorite trail

in the woods, and because the snow

began to melt as soon as it fell,

everything was wet—the lichen a bright

lime-green on the bark of each fallen tree,

the leaves beneath my feet deliciously

soft as they squelched and sank back

into the arms of the earth that shaped them. 

I picked up one of the limp, gold-

toned beech leaves, pressed it to my chest 

then left my despair on a mossy trunk,

like placing a lit candle on an altar

and saying the only prayer that matters:

I'm here, I’m here, I’m here.

With Astonishing Tenderness by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

When, in the middle of the night,

you wake with the certainty you’ve

done it all wrong, when you wake

and see clearly all the places you’ve failed,

in that moment, when dreams will not return,

this is the chance for your softest voice—

the one you reserve for those you love most—

to say to you quietly, oh sweetheart,

this is not yet the end of the story.

Sleep will not come, but somehow,

in that wide awake moment there is peace—

the kind of peace that does not need

everything to be right before it arrives.

The peace that comes from not fighting

what is real. The peace that rises

in the dark on its sure dark wings

to meet you exactly as you are.

QUOTE(S):  “There is only one day left, always starting over: it is given to us at dawn and taken away from us at dusk.” ~ Jean-Paul Sartre 

"This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never all dried at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor is ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls." ~ John Muir

"We are so brief. A one-day dandelion. A seedpod skittering across the ice. We are a feather falling from the wing of a bird. I don’t know why it is given to us to be so mortal and to feel so much. It is a cruel trick, and glorious." ~ Louise Erdrich

Bowl of Oranges (Bright Eyes)

Last Friday, I promised to elaborate on "two perfectly-made-for-me opportunities presented on the proverbial silver platter" at a later date... and that time is now!

~ Okay, I still adore Anne Lamott, and Patricia Lockwood, and Maizy Rae Bukalele... but Cynthia is my new spirit animal!  I was with her for three hours this morning, and she shared her time, energy, and passion with me.  From avocado gleaning (we harvested 2 crates/70 lbs. worth and dropped them off at a local food bank) to fire cider (she gave me her recipe!) to CSAs (starts up in the winter, and I plan to join), and everything in between, I learned so much, and will also begin working in the community garden every Thursday.  As I said:  Mind Blown!

I am excited about life again, re-emerging from my comforting dormancy to challenging growth, with this new connection making me feel that I am exactly where I need to be, finding the balance between doing well and Doing Good.

Cynthia is writing a few books:  the focus of one is Sustainable Ways to Make the Community Better (she is most definitely a conscious bridger, which Dar talks about!), another a cookbook (for some of the less common foods that are able to be grown prolifically in our area), and a few e-books about herbs and their uses for illness/health/women/aging, etc.  She does speaking engagements, teaches classes, sells the fire cider, tinctures, herbs, plants, seeds, etc. from her home.  What an inspiration, and I am beyond excited to contribute my enthusiasm as well as skillsets to The Caring Community!

~ Then, my friend Sandy, knowing of my obsession with language as well as my craving for intentional connection, told me about this project, which spoke to me too.  "We’re willing to bet you’re just like us— eager to make a difference and craving a chance to use your words for good. We hope you know you serve a purpose here and that your words do count. If you’re looking for ways to start shaking up the world today, browse our ways to get involved..."  I just bought the very cool Sun Science stamps and, having no commitments tomorrow (after a very busy last three days), will sit down and write to all five spotlighted recipients (with five new prospects each month).  The World Needs More Love Letters indeed... 💞

My gifts of “time and talent" (I *did* donate "treasure" to various causes/organizations/individuals throughout the pandemic) have gone under the radar during these last 18 months... and it feels like a new day, month, year... 💫

NR:  Blacktop Wasteland by S. A. Crosby

SONG:  Bowl of Oranges by Bright Eyes (thanks to my son Rob for the heads-up to this song... 💓)

BOOK:  Planting a Rainbow by Lois Ehlert

POEM(S):  The Seven Of Pentacles by Marge Piercy

Under a sky the color of pea soup

she is looking at her work growing away there

actively, thickly like grapevines or pole beans

as things grow in the real world, slowly enough.

If you tend them properly, if you mulch, if you water,

if you provide birds that eat insects a home and winter food,

if the sun shines and you pick off caterpillars,

if the praying mantis comes and the ladybugs and the bees,

then the plants flourish, but at their own internal clock.

Connections are made slowly, sometimes they grow underground.

You cannot tell always by looking what is happening.

More than half the tree is spread out in the soil under your feet.

Penetrate quietly as the earthworm that blows no trumpet.

Fight persistently as the creeper that brings down the tree.

Spread like the squash plant that overruns the garden.

Gnaw in the dark and use the sun to make sugar.

Weave real connections, create real nodes, build real houses.

Live a life you can endure: Make love that is loving.

Keep tangling and interweaving and taking more in,

a thicket and bramble wilderness to the outside but to us

interconnected with rabbit runs and burrows and lairs.

Live as if you liked yourself, and it may happen:

reach out, keep reaching out, keep bringing in.

This is how we are going to live for a long time: not always,

for every gardener knows that after the digging, after

the planting,

after the long season of tending and growth, the harvest comes.

You See, I Want a Lot by Rainer Maria Rilke

You see, I want a lot.

Perhaps I want everything:

The darkness that comes with every infinite fall

And the shivering blaze of every step up.

So many live on and want nothing

And are raised to the rank of prince

By the slippery ease of their light judgments

But what you love to see are faces

That do work and feel thirst.

You love most of all those who need you

as they need a crowbar or a hoe.

You have not grown old,

And it is not too late 

To dive into your increasing depths 

where life calmly gives out its own secret.

QUOTE(S):  "The power of imagination makes us infinite." ~ John Muir

"In times to come, when we are all gone, people not yet born will walk in the sunshine of their own days because of what women and men did at this hour to feed the sick, to heal and to comfort.” ~ John Dwyer

The Red Thread (Lucy Kaplansky)

From today's Writer's Almanac... about one of my favorite poets:

It's the birthday of the poet William Stafford, born in Hutchinson, Kansas, in 1914. He usually wrote poetry in the early morning. He sat down with a pen and paper, looked out the window, and waited for something to occur to him. He wrote about farms and winter, about the West and his parents and cottonwood trees.

He wrote,

In the winter, in the dark hours, when others

were asleep, I found these words and put them

together by their appetites and respect for

each other. In stillness, they jostled. They traded

meanings while pretending to have only one.

And about his own writing, Stafford said, "I have woven a parachute out of everything broken."

It's been an interesting (in the Chinese definition of the word) week - I already mentioned the full day of appointments for my friend on Tuesday... and Wednesday evening, Reba called and asked if I would come over Thursday to keep her company when the funeral home delivered Vic's cremains. We chatted while waiting, and went up to a local bagel place afterwards for an early lunch - I then picked up my friend for a follow-up doctor's appointment, at which point they removed her stitches and set up home physical therapy visits.

Somewhere along the way, I must have pulled something in my back (lifting her wheelchair in and out of my car), and I've been experiencing electrical twinges ever since - I did my walk yesterday which made it feel worse (and not better, as I had hoped), so I sat with the heating pad last night, took two ibuprofen last night before I went to bed and it does seem less painful this morning. Will do more stretching soon and walk again this afternoon - this cannot happen...

I've also been thinking about how wise the Universe is, in that every time I help someone else out, I'm paying it forward in semi-compensation and gratitude for those who are helping my mom - there are so many generous spirits in Georgia, doing what needs to be done to make her life easier... and I am glad I can be someone else's angel down here...

Speaking of my mom... I'll be leaving early Wednesday morning for a week-long visit with her, returning late Tuesday night - she was ecstatic when I called to tell her, especially after I emphasized it was spontaneous and not because of anything her doctors said (it's been full-disclosure all along, and will continue to be). I asked her to make a list of things she needs done around the house so I can help in that regard - I also want to do some cooking for her, and portion food out to freeze so she always has something healthy and easy on hand.

Then we'll just chill and chat and bond (oh my!)... with an evening reserved for a meeting with her, me, my sister and brother to discuss short- and long-term options - there are some tentative plans in the works I really can't divulge right now. I'm also bringing a few books and my walking shoes, so I can continue my vision of self-nurturing - as long as I'm still unemployed, I might as well take advantage of this opportunity to spend some quality time with mom...

P.S. SMM...

SONG: The Red Thread by Lucy Kaplansky

BOOK: Connections: The 5 Threads of Intuitive Wisdom by Gabrielle Roth

POEM: Ask Much, The Voice Suggested by Jane Hirshfield

Ask much, the voice suggested, and I startled.

Feeling my body like the trembling body of a horse

tied to its tree while the strange noise

passes over its ears.

I who in extremity had always wanted less,

even of eating, of sleeping.

Agile, the voice did not speak again, but waited.

"Want more" --

a cure for longing I had not thought of.

But that is how it is with wells.

Whatever is taken refills to the steady level.

The voice agreed, though softly, to quiet the feet of the horse:

a cup taken out, a cup reappears; a bucketful taken, a bucket.

QUOTE: "When you tug at a single thing in nature, you find it attached to the rest of the world." ~ John Muir

Moving Mountains (Amilia K. Spicer)

SONG: Moving Mountains by Amilia K. Spicer (I can't seem to find the lyrics, but here's the mp3)

BOOK: Moving Mountains: a personal tale of healing through dreams, guides, kundalini and the music of Donovan by Lucy D'Mot

POEM: A Physics by Heather McHugh

When you get down to it, Earth

has our own great ranges

of feeling - Rocky, Smoky, Blue -

and a heart that can melt stones.

The still pools fill with sky,

as if aloof, and we have eyes

for all of this - and more, for Earth's

reminding moon. We too are ruled

by such attractions - spun and swaddled,

rocked and lent a light. We run

our clocks on wheels, our trains

on time. But all the while we want

to love each other endlessly - not only for

a hundred years, not only six feet up and down.

We want the suns and moons of silver

in ourselves, not only counted coins in a cup. The whole

idea of love was not to fall. And neither was

the whole idea of God. We put him well

above ourselves, because we meant,

in time, to measure up.

QUOTE: "How hard to realize that every camp of men or beast has this glorious starry firmament for a roof! In such places standing alone on the mountain-top it is easy to realize that whatever special nests we make - leaves and moss like the marmots and birds, or tents or piled stone - we all dwell in a house of one room - the world with the firmament for its roof - and are sailing the celestial spaces without leaving any track." ~ John Muir

Let the Wind Carry Me (Joni Mitchell)

From yesterday's DailyOm:

Let Yourself Be Carried

The Flow of the Universe

April 9, 2008

The flow of the universe moves through everything. It is in the rocks that form, get pounded into dust, and are blown away. It is in the blossoming of a flower born from a seed planted in the spring. The growth cycle that every human being goes through is part of this natural flow, which is also the current that takes us down life’s paths. When we move with it rather than resisting it, we are riding on the universal wave that allows us to flow with life.

Many people live struggling against this current. They try to use force or resistance to will their lives into happening in the way they think it should. Others move with it like a sailor using the wind, trusting that the universe is taking them exactly where they need to be at all times. This flow is accessible to everyone because it travels through and around us. We are always riding it—it is just a matter of whether we are willing to go with it or we resist it. Choosing to go with the flow is often a matter of relinquishing the notion that we need to be in control at all times.

The flow is always transporting you where you need to go. It is merely a question of deciding whether you plan on accepting the ride or having it take you there with your feet dragging. Learning to step into it can help you feel a connection to a force that is greater than you and is always there to support you. The decision to go with the flow takes courage because you are surrendering the belief that you need to do everything by yourself. Riding the flow of the universe can be effortless, exhilarating, and unlike anything you ever expected. When you are receptive to being in it, you open yourself to possibilities that exist beyond the grasp of your control.

As a child, you were naturally swept by the flow. Tears of sadness falling down your face could just as quickly turn to tears of laughter. The mere tiniest wave carrying you forward off the shores of the ocean could transport you into peals of delight.

Our souls feel good when we go with the flow of the universe. All we have to do is make the choice to ride its currents.

A friend recently wrote to me in an e-mail: "Made me think of you, straight off . . . You really do sorta coordinate your universe beautifully. Glad life is clicking away as it should for you, with all the pieces falling effortlessly where they belong. Thanks for including me in that world, if even for a moment . . . it feels light."

Sweet - going with the flow is a beautiful thing, when we trust... :-)

SONG: Let the Wind Carry Me by Joni Mitchell

BOOK: DailyOM: Inspirational Thoughts for a Happy, Healthy, and Fulfilling Day by Madisyn Taylor

POEM: Sonnets to Orpheus, Part Two, XII by Rainer Maria Rilke

Want the change. Be inspired by the flame

where everything shines as it disappears.

The artist, when sketching, loves nothing so much

as the curve of the body as it turns away.

What locks itself in sameness has congealed.

Is it safer to be gray and numb?

What turns hard becomes rigid

and is easily shattered.

Pour yourself out like a fountain.

Flow into the knowledge that what you are seeking

finishes often at the start, and, with ending, begins.

Every happiness is the child of a separation

it did not think it could survive. And Daphne, becoming

a laurel,

dares you to become the wind.

QUOTE: "Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves." ~ John Muir

When I Go (Dave Carter)

Dave Carter: August 13, 1952 - July 19, 2002

K and I got together today for our annual Dave Carter labyrinth walk/remembrance/seize-the-day ritual - we meet halfway (meaning we each drive about 30 minutes) to a lovely retreat center. The labyrinth is in the back of the property, fairly isolated, and our tradition is to sit on the benches for an hour or so, catching up on each other's lives - we then walk the path, mindfully, me giving her a 5-minute headstart so as not to crowd. It always seems to take me the entire journey toward the center to clear my mind, as there's just so much swirling and competing for attention. The return walk finds me cleansed and open, tabula rasa - the storm that threatened all afternoon waited until we were finished to let loose (thanks, Dave... :-)

Our tradition is to then drive into the town of Delray Beach to find an interesting restaurant, where we drink a glass of wine, share some appetizers and chat some more - we discovered a very cool Asian bistro this time, trying their shrimp/veggies tempura and their chicken dumplings (yum!).

My story of Dave Carter begins in the fall of 1998, when I began reading articles/reviews of an up-and-coming songwriter who was winning all sorts of contests and had just released a CD, with Tracy Grammer, his "partner in all things" - I found out they would be performing at a folk music conference I was attending in February 1999 and was intrigued enough to make a point to go to their showcase (actually three of them), where I promptly fell in love with Dave's smart, layered lyrics, Tracy's violin and their combined harmonies. I wasn't able to buy the CD until six months later and continued to be enthralled - saw them again at Falcon Ridge 2000 and not too long afterwards got a call from their agent, asking if I would present them in May in my just-begun house concert series.

I drove down to Main Street Cafe, where they were playing the night before my show and met Laurie, the proprietress (more on her another time) - Dave and Tracy performed in my living room the following evening and it was a magical time I'll always remember. I saw them at Falcon Ridge a few months later and the next spring they came to West Palm Beach with Joan Baez, who had become enamored with their music, even covering one of Dave's songs - Dave was very sick that night and, when I had a chance to chat with him after the show, said he'd see me in July at Falcon Ridge, as usual. He suffered a heart attack and died a few days before the 2002 festival, a month short of his 50th birthday (see my post of a few days ago) - a reliable member of the folk community posted the news, at Tracy's request, to their online discussion group that Friday afternoon... and it was difficult to believe but impossible to ignore...

My husband was out of town that weekend and I wept for hours, inconsolable - a dear friend (also a fan of their music) called and "talked me off the ledge", keeping me company on the phone for more than three hours, as we both tried to process the idea of a world without Dave Carter. The folk community was devastated - amazingly, Tracy insisted on going to Falcon Ridge, where a beautiful tribute was arranged (when their mainstage set was supposed to have taken place), with many folk artists covering their songs. Tracy said she couldn't imagine being anywhere else except in a place where they were so loved and she knew she'd feel strength and support - the entire weekend was surreal...

My post the day after Dave's death barely scratches the surface of everything he meant to me and others - he was dear, he was special and he is so much missed, even five years later...

WALKING MEDITATION by Thich Nhat Hanh

Take my hand.

We will walk.

We will only walk.

We will enjoy our walk

without thinking of arriving anywhere.

Walk peacefully.

Walk happily.

Our walk is a peace walk.

Our walk is a happiness walk.

Then we learn

that there is no peace walk;

that peace is the walk;

that there is no happiness walk;

that happiness is the walk.

We walk for ourselves.

We walk for everyone

always hand in hand.

Walk and touch peace every moment.

Walk and touch happiness every moment.

Each step brings a fresh breeze.

Each step makes a flower bloom under our feet.

Kiss the Earth with your feet.

Print on Earth your love and happiness.

Earth will be safe

when we feel in us enough safety.

SONG: When I Go by Dave Carter

BOOK: The Hero with a Thousand Faces: Commemorative Edition by Joseph Campbell, introduction by Clarissa Pinkola Estes

POEM: If You Knew by Ellen Bass

What if you knew you'd be the last

to touch someone?

If you were taking tickets, for example,

at the theater, tearing them,

giving back the ragged stubs,

you might take care to touch that palm,

brush your fingertips

along the life line's crease.

When a man pulls his wheeled suitcase

too slowly through the airport, when

the car in front of me doesn't signal,

when the clerk at the pharmacy

won't say Thank you, I don't remember

they're going to die.

A friend told me she'd been with her aunt.

They'd just had lunch and the waiter,

a young gay man with plum black eyes,

joked as he served the coffee, kissed

her aunt's powdered cheek when they left.

Then they walked half a block and her aunt

dropped dead on the sidewalk.

How close does the dragon's spume

have to come? How wide does the crack

in heaven have to split?

What would people look like

if we could see them as they are,

soaked in honey, stung and swollen,

reckless, pinned against time?

QUOTE: "Let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life." ~ John Muir