collections

Let everything happen to you / Beauty and terror / Just keep going / No feeling is final

Rainer Maria Rilke

Dear friends,

How are you feeling? How are your hearts? Your lungs? Your tummies? How are you sleeping? Have you made any meals you’re especially proud of? What books are you reading? What songs do you love? Have you taken any beautiful photographs in your home?

I want to hear from you! There is so much happening and not happening and connection is more important than ever. Please respond to this email if you can, even if it’s very short, and let me know how you’re doing. I’m sending each of you thoughts of safety, ease, and wellbeing. Especially those of you who are more personally feeling the impacts of the pandemic. If there is anything I can do to support you, please let me know.

When I started writing this newsletter, the day of the full moon (and 27 days into quarantine), I felt soft and focused, immersed in the process, like a flower unfolding itself. After working all afternoon, Nick and I drove into the mountains to collect spring water and watch the moonrise. It was our first time leaving home in three weeks and the smell was enchanting. When we returned home, refreshed, I learned that John Prine had passed away and began to feel something deeper, murky and rich, like mud. A grief that was free and simple, rolling to the tunes of “Long Monday” and “Paradise.”

After a late dinner I followed up on the election in Wisconsin (where I’m from) and quickly succumbed to outrage and a different kind of grief. This one hot and angular, piercing, like a dead branch. Feeing defeated, I went outside and looked at the giant moon, standing on the porch until I was cold and tired and a little bored. So I went to bed where I cuddled my dog and listened to Nick, reading himself to sleep with the headlamp on.

That’s just the way its going to go, I suppose. It –– the newsletter. It –– the pandemic. I guess its the way it always goes. Moment to moment, each day a collection of things, in flux. Like April weather.

(After working on those last few paragraphs late into the witching hour, I woke up to learn that Bernie Sanders had dropped out of the race. Its been a heck of a full moon week!)

So what I’ve done in this email is put together what I’m calling a collection. An assemblage of little moments and pieces, from me to you, spun and woven together, here. Interpret it as you will.

Before I dive in, I want to let you know that at the end of this email I share a different kind of collection, one of resources. Many of them are from well-respected herbalists addressing COVID-19, some are ways to get involved, and others are simply things I’m finding inspiration in right now. Even if you don’t read this whole email, I hope you’ll find the resources helpful.

Finally, if you’d like to talk it out with someone and get some practical advice on preventative health and basic symptom management, I’m available for phone consultations. My sliding scale is available to all, and no one will be turned away for lack of funds. Please reach out!

Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading.

Clare

(( multitudes ))

I originally wrote a completely different newsletter. One with history and facts and opinions and hopes and dreams for the future (coming soon). It didn’t feel quite right to share it at this time. Instead I wanted to write something softer, more yielding. Something that holds space for the multiplicity of lived experiences in the time of COVID. The strangeness. The complexity and nuance, the both and, and the great uncertainty at the root of it all.

Many of us are anxious, overwhelmed, and devastated. Others are navigating financial stress, and plenty of folks still have to go to work, often without proper protective gear. Some people are mobilizing to support vulnerable members of their communities, to talk about justice, or to hold elected officials accountable. Others are using this time to rest, to create art, to write, or to work in their gardens. Many have lost loved ones. Many are sick or recovering from illness. Still others are walking the shadowy precipice, holding the enormity of it while dreaming into being the world they want to live in when it’s all said and done.

Grief. Hope. Courage. Denial. Loss. Love. Fear. Gratitude. Resiliency. Visioning. Anger. Death. Healing. Rebirth. It’s all happening, all at once. For many of us, all at once.

(( presence ))

Now that the rain has thankfully ended for a spell, the flowers have returned to my backyard: dandelion, daisy, calendula, Spanish bluebells, a lingering daffodil, purple dead nettle, forget-me-not, rosemary, plum, quince, hellebore, clematis, and bleeding heart.  Soon they’ll be joined by yarrow, poppy, lavender, lilac, calla lily, and foxglove. The radishes I planted a few weeks ago are coming up, as are the spinach and lettuce. I asked Nick to do a favor for the bees and hold off on mowing the lawn. I’m hoping there’s a snake or two living in the now calf-high weeds.

Everyday the sky breaks my heart. Big billows of white that turn pink in the evening, shape-shifting coils winding from edges. Heavy and gray pile ups, key lit by bent sunbeams. Deep blue skies free of contrails, and high-altitude patchwork passing over the radiant moon. Complete double rainbows.

(( time ))

Woke up. Took a nap. Tried to stop drinking coffee. Woke up. Went for a walk. Feeling rested. Feeling ok. Woke up. My body is tense. Call some friends. Woke up. Worried. Got a little work done. We made collages after dinner. Woke up. There’s a tightness in my chest that I think is allergies. My mind spirals. Woke up. Didn’t sleep well. More deaths. Pollen count is high, my forehead is burned, but I enjoy sitting outside. Woke up. I don’t check the news anymore. Woke up. Tried to cry. Nick and I drank la croix in bed. Woke up. We cook our meals together and pray before dinner now. Woke up. I’ve been stuck inside for ten days. Woke up. Breathe. Candles burn low and blow themselves out. Woke up. Feeling good, resilient. Sent masks to New York. Woke up. Neck pain, headaches, too much computer time. Take a bath. Finish a book. Woke up. More deaths. I caved and drank coffee. The hummingbirds are hungry. Woke up. Put my hands in the dirt. Woke up. Didn’t sleep well. Woke up. Feeling rested. Woke up. My body is tense. Woke up. Call some friends. Woke up. Went for a walk. Woke up. More death. Woke up. The sun is back and the air is warm. Woke up. Breathe.

(( cycles ))

Over the past few months I’ve found that paying attention to the planetary movements is even more helpful than normal. In an otherwise endless stream of days, one after the other with no place to go, the different astrological events are providing mini milestones and structure to the monotony. It’s also an incredibly intense time to be alive and any wisdom and context I can glean from an ancient esoteric practice, well I’m all for it.

As I write this, the moon has slowly begun to wane from fullness. All full moons symbolize a moment of poignancy, balance and possibility, as its the time each month when the moon fully reflects the light of the sun. It’s also the full moon, a glowing, mysterious, journeying night orb that ritually makes its way across the sky, casting moon-shadows and summoning the oceans, inspiring writers, witches, and wolves alike.

And now, waning, the moon rises later and later each evening, getting smaller and traveling by the day, until it will fade completely into shadow.

I know it can seem offhand to say it at a time like this, but gazing at the moon is important. Remembering that we are each a part of a great cycle –– and that we each have our own cycles of waxing into light and waning into shadow –– is important. Finding pleasure in beauty and nature is important. Knowing that life goes on despite us is important. Living in co-creation with seasonal rhythms is important. And healing. And rectifying.

People are saying all kinds of things about this pandemic and what may come of it –– politically, culturally, spiritually, etc. For me, its too soon to say much at all. Of course I have dreams, but there’s too much going on, too much to pay attention to, too many things changing and people suffering. So I’m staying awake. I’m paying attention. I’m talking to friends and trying to do what I can.

But I’m also gazing at the moon, one of the only things, in it’s flux, that still feels normal.

(( resources ))

COVID-specific:

Accountability + Generosity:

  • Portland and Seattle:

  • Nationwide:

    • Find a mutual aid network in your community. Madison and Milwaukee friends- there are several local networks listed under Wisconsin.

    • Navajo Hopi COVD 19 Relief Fund (confirmed cases are rising at a disproportionate rate, where up to a third of the population is living without electricity or running water, and up to 60% of the population is unemployed)

    • Solidarity Apothecary (a network of herbalists responding directly to the needs of their communities)

    • National Bail Fund Network (get people held on bail out of jails and back to their families)

    • Safety Fund for Survivors of Domestic Abuse. As more people are forced to stay home, domestic abuse is rising worldwide –– this fund gives cash directly to survivors so that they can leave dangerous living situations.

    • The Domestic Workers Alliance. Through this program, domestic workers who apply will each receive $400. Not very much but better than nothing. The best thing you can do if you employ someone in your home (if you can afford it) is to continue paying them throughout the pandemic, especially if they’re undocumented. Undocumented folks do not qualify for benefits through the stimulus package.

    • CERF+ Response Fund (relief fund for artists) What would your quarantine be like without music, movies, and other forms of beauty and entertainment? My guess is a lot more boring. Thanks goodness for artists! Donate to support the Artist Safety Network, or purchase art from your favorites artists and put cash directly into their hands.

    • Get Us PPE (donate personal protective equipment to frontline workers)

    • Please feel free to send me more ideas!

Inspiration:

 

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Please Note: Statements made in this email have not been evaluated by the FDA. Products offered by this company are not intended to diagnose, cure, treat or prevent any illness or condition. Seek expert advice before using herbs if you have a diagnosed medical condition, are on medication, during pregnancy, nursing, or while trying to conceive. The information provided by this email, website and company is for educational purposes only, is not a substitute for a face-to-face consultation with your physician, and should not be construed as individual medical advice.