The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
— Wendell Berry
Like most people I know, I was nervous about this year’s election. But my brain absolutely wouldn’t let me go to the outcome we got. It was just too painful.
I’m grateful to my brain for protecting me this way. A few more months of preparatory grief would only have extended the grieving time; it wouldn’t have changed the outcome or helped in any way.
Of course, that’s easy to say, but this kind of logic doesn’t normally keep me from worrying about potential future woes; worrying is one of my superpowers. I owe it all to my very cooperative brain, not to any willpower or fortitude. Thanks, brain! I didn’t exactly achieve the peace of wild things, but at least I didn’t make myself miserable in advance. There’s plenty of time to be miserable now!
As we continue facing the unthinkable, as we figure out what the heck we can do to resist, we also need to take what moments we can to appreciate what we still have. There’s still joy and love in the world.
One way I access that is through writing, which I often find therapeutic. I hope it can also be therapeutic for those who read this newsletter — even if only for a few of you, though I hope it’s more than a few. So today, I’m offering up some past pieces that I hope can provide some balm for our souls.
The first one, from two years ago, feels even more needed now. It’s a reminder that we’ve been dealing with the current shit long before the recent election, and that “you still gotta water the plants or you’ll have fascism AND dead plants.”
Living in These Times
“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
I wasn’t really writing about Paris in the following piece; I was using that fabulous city as just one example of the amazing things we humans have created — including various zeitgeists, in the sense of both the spirit of a time and the spirit of a place. Still, Paris is awesome, and having recently visited there, I’m feeling some of that city’s magic. And we sure can use some magic right about now.
We'll Always Have Paris
As I was watching a random video the other day that ended with a French song evocative of times past, I was suddenly filled with the feeling that whatever we do to our crazy world, we humans have created some amazing and beautiful things.
Thanks, Leonard Cohen. Thanks, Grand Canyon. Kudos to anyone and anything that inspires awe. We need to feel awe in the most mundane of times, and we surely need it now.
Awe Is the Key
“You look around and you see a world that is impenetrable, that cannot be made sense of. You can either raise your fist, or you say, ‘Hallelujah.’”
— Leonard Cohen
There’s a lot to fear these days, but I keep coming back to the final scene of Don’t Look Up — a reminder that we do, indeed, have everything. Right here, right now.
What to Do with Fear
We fear losing what we love, and we have a lot to love on this little planet. It's worth working to save this sweet old world.
And yes, I keep coming back to our crazy times — because they keep being crazy and demanding our attention. A wonderful carrot-beet-ginger salad shared with friends reminded me that even now, we can still find joy. Which I also wrote about last week. Am I repeating myself? Well, some things bear repeating. Whatever.
These Times, These Times
A friend recently brought over a carrot-beet-ginger salad that was so good I had to make it for a potluck I was going to. It involves shredding raw carrots and beets, and I had just the tool for that: a shredding blade for a food processor.
What balms for the heart and soul are you finding in these troubled times? Let me know in the comments!
I love your post, but I have to admit that I believe myself rather "balm bare." I'm not nearly as empathetic a being as I wish I was. I hold my genes responsible! But that said, even boorish me can appreciate compassion, especially self-compassion. This quote is from one of the best good-guy-works-through-justifiable-revenge stories and I suppose it counts as balm, at least for me:
“Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout as you did in Rome. Do your worst, for I will do mine! Then the fates will know you as we know you...” ― Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
Thanks Rosana. I'm still trying to figure out how I am going to navigate the next few years without going insane. Right at this moment, I have no earthly idea.