The Northern Spring Brings a Fresh Wind
Some of my practices to be present for The New. For me, the last one is most radical.
I live in a wind tunnel in a mountain valley. As thrilled as I am to write those words—for me, the stuff dreams are made of—it’s really, really windy. Hang a bag of recycling on the doorknob to take down to the garage later: now you’ve got smelly yogurt containers tumbled across the patio, into the gorge. UPS carelessly leaves a package at the top of the stairs instead of tucking it carefully, close to the door like the DHL guy does? Poof! It’s off to the neighbours,’ en route to Saskatchewan.
In the midst of the up to 100 km/hour gusts, it is astonishing to me that a small thread holds on. It is, literally, a thread: the last web remnants from an intrepid spider who took up residence last summer. We named her ‘Champagne,’ in honour of what we were doing when we first noticed her holding court in the metal grills of our patio railing; and as a cheeky nod to her compatriot Charlotte, who was our arachnid friend from another city, on another patio, in seemingly another era—for human beings, anyhow.
The thread is a sad and lonely reminder, of a summer and a spidery friend long past. But it is holding on. Its gentle swaying refuses to let me forget what my inner artist dreamed and created: an outdoor room that welcomed me with sun and shade when I was uncertain of my welcome elsewhere, a space that invited me into the simple daily contribution of nourishing the flowers which in turn generated a haven for bees and butterflies, the occasional hummingbird, and a bad-ass, monstrously gorgeous spider who saved us from the mosquitos while we—and she—dined well. That space was the container for what was likely the best summer of my life, so far. Even unto the last, glorious, harvest moon.
Last summer was a bit of a respite, a mini-creation to rest and recalibrate, after the world of humans had seemingly gone mad.
Spring 2023 feels a bit different, for me. It feels like a moment to re-emerge from the rock side where I’ve been sheltering, and take stock of what the storm has left behind. It seems that the air currents are implacably pushing a reluctant me from behind, into the question: ‘What now?’
The irritable and overwrought part of my psyche wants to answer ‘NOT now. Our systems are broken. Human beings have disappointed me. I’ve disappointed me. I’m going back in my cave until 2030.’
But I can’t. Not the least because I like to eat good food and drink the occasional champagne with a friendly-ish spider for company. Plus, I don’t want to miss out on this most fertile time, of midlife.
And it’s more than that, in the end. I just. can’t. stop. making. things. Whether it’s a song, an article, a business, a meal or an outfit: the creative impulse is unavoidable, the very stuff of life.
So I ask, ‘What Now?’ and listen, awkwardly, with all 6 senses.
(Never be ashamed to listen awkwardly. In an era that has come to value expression over reception: restoring honour to our auditory senses and our inner receptors takes exercise.)
Here are a few of my favourite practices right now, for calling in The New.
***Go sit on the land. Or walk. Listen. To the creatures, the rocks, the air moving, the energies. As a local Elder said: the land will tell you.
***Sniff out what is on my compost heap, that can grow something new. Take stock of my past work, creations, relationships, homes, furniture, photos, clothing, recipes, research, household items, systems, processes, talents, skills, failures, healing, half-baked ideas . . . what materials do I have closest to hand, to weave together? It goes without saying that sometimes the stinkiest bits are the best fertilizer for the most glorious flowers.
***Clear, clean up, repair or refresh something, so I can discover again. A room, a closet, a car, a piece of equipment, the seasonal decor, the winter boots. It’s amazing what tending to something tangible does for my appreciation of what is mine to tend, and to my capacity for discovery.
***When I don’t know what to do, exactly: follow the thread, or create one to swing the momentum and attach to something solid, like my 8-legged relation. What is the one, tiny next decision, task, thing I can do, that will point me ever-so-slightly more solidly in a direction? (Bake biscuits, steam the clothes, pay a contractor, write a post, sing a song, doodle a word salad of my priorities or values or wishes, set a timer to answer email, reach out to a community member).
***When I really don’t know. How can I be just a little more kind to someone: another, or myself. Is there a contribution to be made, to my own nourishment, or that of another?
***And, what I think of as my most radical practice for calling in the new: remembrance of our presumed differences as the curious kinship of those who are sitting in the Great Circle together. Noticing how the powers-that-be attempt to use assumed identity, buzz-words, algorithms, and the slight of hand of the skilled puppeteer, to lure me into forgetting. Forging ahead with the humanity that has disappointed me, and with the knowledge of having disappointed myself. Forgiving us all, or agreeing with myself to set it aside for now, and to forgive in the future, as my capacity allows.
Rebuilding a container in which to witness the miracle of all my relations, be they two-legged, or eight-legged. Patching up the cauldron to stew my magic, so that those who desire nourishment can gather round the fire, and be fed.
I don’t know if this season of growth brings one of Champagne’s courageous descendants to join our cocktail hour (and I’m pretty clear about inviting just one of them, rather than many) or if some new presence will grace my patio container. I remain a little sad of the past, a little hostile towards the agents who would have us forget our essential kinship, and a little (or a lot) scared of what may come.
But we had our first 2023 patio day on Saturday. You could almost smell the sun. The patio furniture is sitting out, and I know I have a seat at the table.
What is your practice for being present, to invite the new? What are you creating, or re-creating at this time? Let us know, in Comments.
p.s. If you are thinking about what is ‘new’ for you, you may also enjoy my last post. It is a list of commitments I made for myself, all beginning with the letter ‘C’ (kind of).
p.p.s. WARNING: picture of a Groovy Spider below. Didn’t want to alarm the arachnophobic, but Champagne deserves a photo op, here.