Worry in one hand, respite in the other.
If I Had Been Loved
completely,
unconditionally, exactly
as I thought
I needed
to be loved,
who would have written
these poems?
— Lisa Colt, from her debut collection Continuing Education, published in her eighth decade. (I don't think it's in print, yet.)
December 1, 2021—waning crescent moon in Scorpio
Hello loves!
I woke on Thanksgiving this year feeling pulled nearly transparent. Thinking how grateful I am that all three of our adult children have been with us through these pandemic-ridden 18 months. As over-full as it makes our small, small, home, at least we are together under a sturdy roof with food on the table.
Then I thought about how that same sheltering home was built on the traditional, unceded land of the Lenni Lenape. How we all benefit from assorted forms of unearned privilege and that what safety and comfort we have is tainted and fragile. How easily viruses and fears can find their way in.
Life these days, right? Worry in one hand, respite in the other.
Always the tension.
. . .
So, I take a walk and all around me I notice how the earth innately, gracefully, holds death and life simultaneously. Leaves fall and plants die back while acorn and milkweed, maple and goldenrod seeds sleep in the soil where they fell and magnolia buds sleep on branches.
At almost any moment in any geographic location we can see how life is living itself in cycles. This planet is always holding seeming opposites in tension and we—as human living systems—are designed to do so, too.
Grief in one hand, gratitude in the other. (Or anger and appreciation, joy and fear, compassion and judgement...)
Always the tension.
. . .
Did you know that our very bodies move and breathe and lift a cuppa because of structural tension between our bones and muscles? Arranged in a marvel of biological engineering, muscles are constantly tightening and relaxing, holding just the right balance of tension against our bones to keep us functioning. (I'm such a science nerd.)
As Lisa Colt's poem above implies, diverging mental, emotional, and spiritual experiences can springboard us into making art. (And innovating, inventing, and evolving, too.)
A different view of tension.
. . .
Of course, this doesn't mean holding opposing life experiences in dynamic balance is easy.
These days, at least for me, it seems like the metaphoric hand holding worry is holding acres more than the hand holding respite. I feel like I'm in danger of losing all perspective.
But, when I let fly with words—written, spoken, or sung, the form doesn't matter—the respite hand fills a bit. Things are more balanced.
Worry can take a breather. So can I.
. . .
That's one of the reasons I love the Restorative Writing Circles on third Saturdays. They're a monthly infusion of respite. You're welcome to join us, if you'd like.
May your metaphoric hands be equally full and may you find respite when you need it.
Until next time,
Tracie
Lemon sun crests white pines and sighing blue spruces bordering the winter-slow stream and pours itself honey and amber across this old, pine table. I lean into it and drink. Sustenance © 2021 Tracie Nichols