Contraction. Clunky. Cold.
I am the friend I have known and loved the longest.
Oh help me. I’m finding myself tired and busy again; ashamed and a bit bored with the familiarity of this feeling. I notice that I am seeking a utopia where I am healthy, rested and balanced most of the time. And honestly, with all my privilege, I AM mostly well and capable, but I can’t seem to settle into this. Instead I want something closer to perfection, wrestling with an entitlement for more and the ease of blaming late stage capitalism.
Can I blame the full moon for gnawing at my adrenals?
Can I get annoyed at it for tugging at my sleeve
urging me on, and shining a light on the things I’d rather be asleep to?
I’m rolling my eyes at myself writing this. Self-flagellation feels equally boring. All this discomfort is just a reflection of my inner-world and I feel my self-criticism and clunky sentences uncomfortably on display.
And I guess that’s how I like it. This practice of sharing myself each month is often expansive and liberating... and on days/months like these, it’s more like a self-absorbed pleasure-pain prison of my own making.
How might I sit with this? At The Regenerative Leader retreat this month, our non-profit CEOs spent 30 hours in silence – listening to their bodies, minds, hearts and the Earth in new layers and ways. As I tuned into the collective wisdom of the group, this poem came through:
This experience of myself feels bittersweet.
Confronting and infuriating yet
it is me I am meeting after all.
I soften,
Hello old friend.
I am the friend I have known and loved the longest.
The last few mornings have been frosty: ice on the windscreen, broad beans bent over under the weight of hardened dew, and my birdbath frozen over.
My autopilot response is to contract against this cold. Perhaps it is an attempt to mirror the icy hardness, or a summoning of my own inner frost-tolerant hardiness.
I’ve felt my body slow down and call me into quiet hibernation. Yet for me, the underworld is always so full of life. It’s a contrast I struggle to hold at times. The cold and the darkness are naturally ripe for transformation. The gathering of moisture and humus brings the aliveness of composting and mycelial collaboration. A note from my previous self:
A kind reminder,
Humans, humus and humility are all deliciously linked.
Connected in etymology and essence, their root meaning is: Earth.
By honouring the natural cycles in myself, I can honour and ground with the Earth.
By bringing humility to the forces and resources around and within me,
I can deepen my relationship with what it means to be alive.
Humble humus, holds all of humanity.
Last night I sat by the fire eating chicken congee with friends. I tell you what, the laughter and potency of being with women I love is the greatest thawing.
And because I need extra self-compassion reminders today, I’ll end with a poem from Divine Postal Service that has been circling me. I remember where I was when I wrote this many moons ago: In bed with a boy I loved, watching the sun come in through the curtains. I love how the creative romance of that time still lives on.
Hello. This is my monthly full moon newsletter. It’s generally a combination of whatever is on my mind and in my body that I can’t not-write. You can learn more about me here.
"I am the friend I have known and loved the longest." 👈 this gives me chills and goosebumps! Thanks, Lucy 💓