What “frantic creatures do”

& how we can keep each other warm

Photo by Glen Hooper on Unsplash

Hello Again!

Brrr-It’s still so cold outside isn’t it?

I keep reminding myself no matter what it looks like, feels like, sounds like ‘out there’ ‘Spring’ is on its way; that, no matter what the groundhog said, we’ve passed the half-way mark. ✨The light is coming.✨ I remind myself too, (dramatic as it may sound,) that I don’t have to do a single thing for the seasons to change, for the Sun to come up, the moon to come out.

Perhaps just take a moment to notice that they are and do.

I keep old poems, half completed musings, stories~ on my phone’s Notes app. I found a nearly completed ‘prose poem-ish’ piece from last year. I finished it & share it with you today, below. (fyi-formatting makes for a long scroll.)

I don’t consider it a great work of art or display of talent, however~it is a nice little keepsake for me & I found perhaps, some messages within, so I thought I’d share.

And don’t you love it when that happens? A tiny opening for something you couldn’t quite see before, but now do? Sometimes these new insights are gleaned, enhanced by time & distance. And perhaps serendipity had a role here too? You see, while reading through my old words, I heard my husband playing a video in the next room announcing Punxsutawney Phil’s frightened retreat.

😟 I heard the whole hoopla & the ‘invitation to lament’ another six weeks of this frigid winter we’ve been having.

I don’t know about you, but seems to me there are invitations all over the place to camp out on the most frigid, isolated places; to make ‘frantic’ my baseline; to forget about Spring, or Light; to follow that groundhog right into a hole.

🥶 I’ll share with you that lately~ I’ve been using “Winter” as a sort of metaphor for this ‘freezing time’ in my life.

And by this I mean my ‘nervous system & its response’ to difficult things: to death & demands, politics and tragedies; to personal and global pain.

Lately, in light of this, I have been offering myself extra care, inviting more space to pause, to notice, to breathe, to ask what my own needs are. Lately, I have aimed to notice my tension & fear; to distinguish them from ease & safety, how they feel in my body.

Lately, I have been on the lookout for ‘invitations’ to panic, to run away, to numb, attack or collapse. I have been asking myself: “Is this a life-threat or imminent danger in this moment, or is this fear?

And while it may sound selfish to pursue relief from a tense, clenched body or a frenzied, fearful, distracted mind; while it may sound indulgent to care for our own bodies, hearts or minds,

it is truly the only way to come back to the present moment, right where we are: the only place that we can stand in & move from; truly live in & love from.

So lately, I’m practicing trusting my body like my life depends on it. Which, ha, right!? So obvious. 🤦‍♀️

Because the opposite of a body at ease, is a body in “dis” ease.

And a body in a state of dis-ease, or pain; a body in a state of dysregulation, well, it demands constant attention. So it isn’t selfish to care for our own bodies. For starters, we deserve to be at ease in our own flesh.

✨We are each worthy of our own sacred attention.✨

And how, if we want to tend to others, can we possibly expect to do so with our own bodies & minds in a state of discomfort, or disease?

How will we have energy to do creative, worthwhile, life-affirming things in this world if all of our energy is siphoned out one tensed neck, clenched jaw, knotted up belly, pounding head, held breath, poisonous, fear-based thought at a time?

Spoiler Alert: We won’t. We can’t.

🗝️ A simple PAUSE is such a resource. A moment to Notice, Feel & then Choose from *this* place.

To determine:

“What are my own needs in this moment?” “What is my capacity on this day?” “What is mine to do?” “Is there anything *to do* at all?”

🗝️ I will always say that on some level: “The opposite of Trauma is Choice.” There *is So Much we do Not have choice/agency/control over; some more so than others & especially now.

Globally, I wonder how many of us are experiencing “freeze” on top of “collapse” on top of “raging fires” (ie: fight/flight or global high intensity activation)?

It occurs to me, that there are things that help “thaw,” “keep us warm” so to speak, & also~things that make it worse~only amplify our fears, isolate us from what might bring light & heat without the damage of a raging fire.

While reading my own words, I thought to myself~

🦔 Perhaps Punxsutawney Phil, he’s just another ‘frantic creature?’

I mean, did y’all know that they ate the first Groundhog?! That this day started out as another Christian holiday called “Candlemas Day?” Well, according to “The Punxsutawney Groundhog Club” the Christians would take their candles in to church in hopes of blessings for the remaining of winter. As time crept on, English folk songs appeared & brought with them weather prognostication.

While you’ll see there is no mention of animals in this little ditty, it is said that the Germans get credit for their inclusion into this lore. They used hedgehogs, but when they came to the United States, in their absence, chose the groundhog as their substitute hibernating animal.

“If Candlemas be fair and bright,

Come, Winter, have another flight;

If Candlemas brings clouds and rain,

Go Winter and come not again.”

I remember this time of frost, & shadows, scrambling creatures, & candles~is also the Season of the Celtic goddess St. Brigid. I remember she is the goddess of healing, of poetry, of fire.

🖋️ Perhaps words then, for ourselves & one another, as a way to stay warm?

✨If this all sounds rather naive, considering the state of things, I offer this (paraphrased) wisdom I scribbled during a live offering last November, once again, from the brilliant Poet & Spiritual teacher, Mark Nepo:

The context from which he spoke this day was in reference to why we make art, (for us, write) what it is & is not, and how to keep doing it.

Among so many things, more that I will share as time passes,

Mark offered up these profound insights:

A body can be considered on its way toward health if it has even one more healthy cell than sick cells. Interesting prospect, yes? And to be honest, my former experience as an oncology nurse had me doubting the accuracy of this with thoughts of how it is diseased cells that spread like wildfire: bacteria, viruses, cancers. I too thought of hatred, greed & fear.

But then, he pointed out that during the “Dark Ages,” only 10% of the population were literate. And yet somehow, literacy was kept alive, passed down for 300 years. How? How did the 10% who were enlightened make up for the 90% who were in darkness?

I wonder, is it possible that Light✨ is stronger than darkness?

Is it possible that We can spread Light✨ like wildfire too?

Mark had us consider that we are a part of the world’s body; each individual person, one cell in the whole of the world’s global body. And isn’t this a thought? Paired with his prior premise, that would mean each one of us is as a cell in ‘health’ contributes to the wellness of the world.

How then to be in health? Well, there is more than one way. However, Mark proposed that writing was a “holy practice” between us and life, between our souls & the world itself; a way to practice being present, to help us live, to make life real, to clear what gets in the way.

It would seem then, it is incumbent upon us all through our Hearts & Hands to take turns giving our all, being each others’ Light; to do what we can for our own health first so that this might be possible.

So to ✨Light & 🖋️Poetry then, yes?! Perhaps, in spite of all the sorrow, rage, & fear, we can still keep each other warm?

✨My dearest reader, I offer you these words & I send you my Light. I hope you are finding ways to stay safe & warm. I hope you remember to tend to your own body & heart, to keep your fire lit, to trust in the return of Spring.✨

*what frantic creatures do*

Back then,

I didn’t even mind

those cottage nights

they took turns

watching for mice,

so we could sleep,

pack up at sunrise,

& I dreamt

of those wriggly tailed

frantic creatures

climbing the walls.

I feel for them now,

their scramble

for safety,

a source

of sweet & full,

somewhere to

rest

& breathe.

After all,

that was

the last time

I was allowed to

savor blackberries.

Their little seeds,

get stuck,

drop me

to my knees now;

like life,

most days,

(these days,

anyway.)

But those sticky,

mid-day hikes,

Daddy & Paddy

& me,

picking

prickly, furry fruits,

allowing,

my mouth

to collapse

around

warm

delight~

“miniature,

ecstatic explosions”

left me

marked,

stained,

with indigo fingers

& lips & tongue:

proof of my mischief,

my appetite,

my willingness

to let go,

dare, play,

feed my hunger,

make a mess.

The holding

then-

it wasn’t a clench

or a knot.

It wasn’t a nebulous fear.

It was onto:

berries & creek stones,

salamanders, &

marshmallow sticks,

snapping turtles & ladybugs.

It was onto my daddy’s soft,

sturdy hand.

His palm was safe,

strong & sure.

His songs were silly,

his stories,

my favorite.

Those whimsy, sunshine hikes

up Angelica hills

were a wonder,

just like him,

a mix of wild & tender.

This time was the hidden pocket

in my favorite cozy jacket,

a little porthole

of promise & play,

a place to hide my secret stones,

let my imaginary friend Delia

come along too.

With him,

magic didn’t feel pretend.

He’d take turns

sneaking us,

my brothers & me

past our bedtimes,

under black night next to

flickering flames

to count & name stars.

We’d lay covered

in blankets

& unpolluted sky

feeling

the everything of it all,

swallowing the quiet

like a meal.

A few sacred times,

with all asleep,

just the two of us

plopped down on that patch

of amber shag carpet,

for “daddy-daughter time.”

See me & my fists full of yarn.

Hear me & my chest

rioting out its happiness.

The both of us are right there

side by side

laughing & whisper-humming:

“Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron.”

While Sean Cassidy spun,

we’d savor & settle in

somewhere happy & free.

A few times

we slipped into

our separate sleepy

worldscapes for a spell.

On one such night,

I sort of

“startle-screamed”

myself awake-

sights of long tails scattering

& high pitched screeching.

I woke shaking,

searching for safety,

until that soft,

but sturdy palm settled me.

We were rare & alive then.

There, then-

Love,

Us,

we lived & touched,

tasted & floated.

We were free

like the puff of a dandelion.

Life itself,

enchanted us,

delighted us,

& we chased it

eagerly,

whimsically-

until it dissolved

in the wind.

How then,

could I mind

dreaming of

scattering mice,

wriggly tails and all?

I knew: frantic creatures

are just scrambling,

searching, chasing.

Even then, “little me” knew,

understood it somehow.

Even now, “little me”

still alive,

will pay any price

to float free,

collapse,

around warm delight.