'Gesture of growing like a plant'
Dearests,
The unexpectedness of this newsletter must say something about my internal state at the moment. But to be honest it says only this much - overwhelmed. I am struggling to move beyond this. When I began writing this newsletter (haha its been so long now, I wonder how so many of you are still here), I wanted to create a space for my authentic reflection on the internet. I think how blogs worked at one point? Basically, beyond the scroll and like world that I had quickly made for myself. But these past few months, I have been struggling with authenticity. Not so much in feeling it - but in being it.
What do I mean when I say authentic though? I am always led back to this wonderous poem by Mary Oliver which reminds me of what authenticity could be:
little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.
In many ways, creating spaces to be our whole selves is an act in progress and I am still wondering how far along we have come. I strive to keep leaving their voices behind and working on the one life I can work on - mine.
What have you been upto these past few months? The pandemic days are long and endless and we in our little house of three have now spent months with minimal human contact. It is weird how this takes a toll on us. The cats are of course happy. I am more present to play and jump over.
What are you joys in these tough days? What are you turning to for respite as the world achingly keeps providing heartache and joy?
I hope you enjoy reading some of the many things I have enjoyed reading these past few weeks.
Thank you. For being you.
Love, warmth and kindness,
Nidsitis
Poems I loved
Now I become myself
by May Sarton
Now I become myself. It’s taken
Time, many years and places;
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people’s faces,
Run madly, as if Time were there,
Terribly old, crying a warning,
“Hurry, you will be dead before—”
(What? Before you reach the morning?
Or the end of the poem is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)
Now to stand still, to be here,
Feel my own weight and density!
The black shadow on the paper
Is my hand; the shadow of a word
As thought shapes the shaper
Falls heavy on the page, is heard.
All fuses now, falls into place
From wish to action, word to silence,
My work, my love, my time, my face
Gathered into one intense
Gesture of growing like a plant.
As slowly as the ripening fruit
Fertile, detached, and always spent,
Falls but does not exhaust the root,
So all the poem is, can give,
Grows in me to become the song,
Made so and rooted by love.
Now there is time and Time is young.
O, in this single hour I live
All of myself and do not move.
I, the pursued, who madly ran,
Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun!
----
Variations On The Word Love
By Margaret Atwood
Healing recommendations
"I wish someone had told me that depression isn’t just “very intense sadness.” In fact, some people with depression won’t experience sadness at all — at least not the way that most of us understand it." Read the full post by Sam Dylan Finch on Instagram. Link.
"It takes courage to feel the feeling." By Jeanette Winterson. Link.
Readings/audio/video I enjoyed
What is it like to love in Kashmir? Stay tuned and listen to the song in the end. I promise, it is worth it. Link.
"To be alive in 2020 is to be contending with an avalanche of grief. This grief is complicated, layered and multi-faceted, especially for queer and transgender Black people and people of colour. We are grieving the world as we knew it, even if we largely hated it there." Read this full piece on grief. Link.
Yes, this is how we have to do yoga.
'I’ve been circling for thousands of years and I still don’t know: Am I a falcon, a storm, or a great song?' - Rainer Maria Rilke