I wish I knew the language of change

The kind of subtle change that creeps on me on my weekly walks

That drives me mad with desire and anticipation

With fear and unarticulated longing

The kind of change I feel but cannot quite grasp.

Fall could be a word to describe it.

Today, as I was sitting by the lake

In a state that I hope one day will become a meditation

But for now I’ll call it not fidgeting and not checking my phone

I noticed so many things falling

I heard them before seeing them:

Soft splashes in the water, thuds on the soft dirt of the bank

Acorns,

twigs,

berries,

crabapples

And leaves,

but these make no sound.

On the way home I was thinking about my grandmother

Of her soft, plump, wrinkly, dry hands

Of her dead siblings I have heard about just once

Of the quiet secrets she took to her grave

Then I thought about children who never came home from Kamloops

I cried

Then I thought about the crumbling coastline of California

Although I’ve never been there, never even wanted to go there

I held these thoughts, one by one

As they pushed me to the edge

Of my vulnerability.

Then I asked myself

Where in my body

I feel change:

The first place is at the base of my throat

Where too much emotion forms a tight lump

Then there is a place between

My left shoulder blade and my left breast

Where change produces a kind of tingling

Then there is a place at the very bottom of my belly

In my gut

Where change metabolizes

And finally in my hands

That my mama always said looked like my grandmother’s hands

Warming my palms

Dripping from the tips of my fingers

Falling.

Here was another day of throbbing headache, or wanting to curl in a ball and cry. But there were also glimpses of clarity and lightness. Two people told me I looked good and I chose to believe them and embrace this information, channel it from within.

Sunrise was beautiful.

The rest of the day felt heavy, uninspiring, like an unfinished, unloved project. Elise is sick with fever that wouldn’t go down, no matter what I try. I feel frustrated about work, about the lack of resonance, clarity and human connection. About the fact that no one effing cares. I wonder why I care, if I still care. I’m not alone, but I feel lonely.

It’s full moon tonight and the moon is beautiful.

My day isn’t going particularly well, so I feel that I need to take a pause, yes, right in the middle of my unhappy and unproductive working day, and write about the practices and things that keep me afloat at times like these.

Water: looking at it, listening to it, swimming in it

Walking

My children

Natural world

Writing

Music

Breathing, especially breathing through vulnerability

Reading books

Exercise

Being held (something I don’t really get)

Drinking (not in the meaning alcohol, just the action of sipping carbonated water, or tea or just plain water)

Drawing

Things rarely happen as I imagine them in anticipation, except for this time they did. Saturday morning in La Tasse Verte with a coffee and print-out copies of my readings for the Indigenous Spirituality course. Spontaneous trip to Biodome and breathless joy of being there, among the anemones and birds and sturgeons.

I am having a hard time adjusting to the shortening day, so when I set out for my Sunday evening walk to the forest, just as my kids settled to watch Pirates of the Caribbean for the first time, it was to let to get to the lake before dark. I realised it halfway and reluctantly turned back. It did feel easier this time. I smiled getting better of letting go. I walked back to the Clearview entrance, a little disappointed, but feeling light about making the right decision, and as I emerged from the forest onto the field I saw her looking at me. Big, almost full, pale yellow, low on the purple evening sky, framed by the old apple trees, like eyelashes, it looked as if she’d been waiting to reveal herself to me. If you asked me, I wouldn’t want to be anyone else or in any other place, than I am.

Universe is God’s self-portrait. Octavia E. Butler

So, looking at it, what is God like?..

Funny

Sensitive, even sentimental

Determined

Resilient

Resourceful

Cruel

Generous

Quiet

Fragile

Beautiful

Magical

Like red patches of evening light on the smooth trunks of the young maples. Like a soundless flight of the barn owl in the woods at dusk. Like the soft carpet of moss and lichen on the solitary boulder. Like songbirds flying south. Like red maple leaves falling on the layers of last year’s fallen leaves. Like …

I have never been good in setting boundaries. I have always left work encroach on my life, stealing minutes from me, while my children, my interests and rest waited. Now I let life encroach on my work. I leave 15 minutes early to pick up my children, I add 5 minutes to my lunch walk, I step out to stare at the sky or touch the grass. Of course, I discover that life gives back. It is a giver. It gives back in energy, clarity, concentration, calm, purpose. The more I let it take control, take over my schedule, the more free, creative and patient I feel. Work can only take until there is nothing left. Even the work I love dearly and care about takes and keeps taking. Life gives.

Trees are getting visibly yellower, oranger, redder. Night is encroaching upon the day. I do my evening walks in the twilight. Tonight, I was doing it in a company of a handsome silvery moon. A waning or a waxing crescent – I can’t tell. I am now thinking of the moon as the grandmother, no doubt under the influence of Haudenosaunnee stories. grandmother accompanied me on my walk tonight, I loved catching glimpses of her over the roofs and in the bald patches between the trees.

This is the first time in my memory that I am feeling good after organizing a big event. Usually, at times like this I am in dopamine withdrawal – simultaneously exhausted and racing in my own head, reenacting every conversation, my every gesture, berating myself for being too loud or too much or trying too hard to be liked. Today, I feel different. I feel present, embodied, unashamed and unafraid. Unafraid of what? Of being seen, I guess, of being liked or appreciated, of being deserving. I finally felt, looking at how I showed up and how I am that I like that person, I enjoy being her, I can’t wait to see what else she has in store, what she will give to the world. What an amazing feeling.

Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect.

Chief Seattle, Suquamish.

On tonight’s walk, I saw a turtle, a chipmunk, a cardinal loosing his feathers and a great number of spiders sitting in the middle of their webs. I looked at spiders with curiousity. It’s interesting how once we realize that we are all connected, curiosity takes over fear and disgust.

It’s not even ten yet and I am going to bed to honour my weary body and all it has carried in the past days.

The world is full of painful stories. Sometimes it seems as though there aren’t any other kind and yet I found myself thinking how beautiful that glint of water was through the trees.

Octavia Butler. The Parable of the Sower