Hello friends,
A couple of weeks ago, Kayti Christian, in her Newsletter Feelings Not Aside, wrote a beautiful piece about how she wants to feel this year. I loved it, and I was inspired to write my own version. January is almost over, so I’m a bit late (as usual). But here are some thoughts on what I hope 2024 will be.
Strength is in the mind as much as in the body. I find my strength in stillness. Ferocity is effortless, but true power comes from a soft touch and a gentle voice. The impressive beasts of the world tear everything apart. Their sharp claws and powerful jaws rend limb from limb, and they growl and roar to keep you away. They don’t know what it means to put something back together. They don’t know how to create something new. But even the beasts must slake their thirst on a hot summer day. They must drink from the still pool of possibility. There, in the quiet, they’re no more powerful than anything else needing a cool sip of hope.
We’ve reached the end of something, and we’re trying to rush toward a new beginning. But endings take just as much work as anything else. We can’t skip past the fear, doubt, and sadness. We can’t leave loose threads dangling, waiting to come undone. Tying knots takes time, but the tapestry must be finished. Sink into the stillness. Let everything bubble up from below. Everything contains a lesson. The loss of letting go is what makes the hug so sweet.
I am not apart from nature. I am nature. Beneath the sun, under the warmth, I can feel the earth’s currents—life and death, creation and destruction, cycles ending and beginning. Like a stone in a riverbed, everything moves around me, unaware and unconcerned with my being. But the water shapes me, smooths me out. Fish forage in my domain, nudging me out of the way, exposing any remaining sharp edges. Perhaps someone will find me, pluck me from the river, and carry me in their pocket. A worried thumb is just as effective as rushing water. Yet, all the while, I remain myself.
Words can’t move mountains, but they can inspire people to climb. I have a bad leg, along with myriad other MS symptoms. I’m not climbing anywhere. But maybe I can encourage someone else to give it a try. I can share my words and hope I have something worth saying. I can give myself to the world and trust that I will be seen.
Creativity is nothing without clarity, although the reverse is also true. The seeds are waiting in the dark and fertile earth, ready to reach for the light. But they are equally able to fall prey to an unlived life. Each breath is magic. We take what we need and give back what we don’t. We and the trees are two halves of one whole. Every breath is an exchange, a dance between two beings. We are echoes of one another.
Humble seekers tend to the fires of community, finding secrets in moonlit subtlety. Their warmth and comfort make the dark feel less unknown. Self-transcendence can be found in the hidden places. The connections between things can be seen there, too. The spark of life and the exhale of death both exist in the same body. We carry endless potential within us. The cool light of the moon offers calm and clarity, a reflection of the sun’s certainty and confidence. Even with the path illuminated, we still have to take the next step.
Until next time,
Yardena
WEEKEND POTPOURRI:
Currently on repeat:
Here’s some more animal serotonin. If this doesn’t make you smile, you don’t have a heart.
This beautiful short film about tea master Yu Hui Tseng is a 17-minute sensory experience. Tea becomes a living thing, and the film becomes a meditation of its own.
A poem: “Phantom Pain Wings” by Kim Hyesoon, translated by Don Mee Choi