Of weakness, wobbles and Winter’s end…..

I have loved being the strong of me,
loved being the older one who hefted bags of soil and pots of living things
and pruned and dug and tucked and tweaked and lasted long until the work was done.
Loved flinging myself headlong into wild dance with the Muse,
until my chest heaved wholehearted and sweat and dirt and paint and grin
covered me like a song that I relished diving into,
 unafraid of swirling waters because I actually prefer.
Oh give me strong white roaring waves because I’ve got a whitewater heart
and peace can be hard to find in stillwater places
unless I’ve spent myself already in the breakers.

When I went down with Covid in mid December, it found me
able to rest patient and lean into the process of cooperating  with and waiting for healing to happen.
It was fear and relief and dread and hope and mindfully ride each sickly wave as they hit.
A lot like labor – really painful hard but focused,  with eyes of the prize.
“This too shall pass,”  I imagined my mother’s voice saying.
Breathe and pray and go through.

And I went through. Within several weeks I was weak but back to my life
and so grateful to be.
When another wave crashed down and knocked me powerful off my feet again
in January, I was bewildered.  I was in the thick of packing and preparing to move
and this felt totally rogue.  I was mystified.  How even is this real?
I slowly recovered,  read,  researched,  and realized that this sometimes long road is a real thing.
I slowed down more and took even better care.

Then,  in early February,  the night before the movers came,
I again couldn’t taste my food and began to sink beneath the dark waters.
I went through again and in about a week I was able to do life pokey and slow again.
Pokey and slow and hesitant.   Like walking-on-egg-shells fearful hesitant.
How do I stop this thing?

When the beast flared again in early March I was less surprised
but more discouraged.
The shaking, burning, thirst.  The dizzying nausea.  The feeling of being pulled underwater.
How the weight of my shoulders threatened to crush me.
It all came with ugly crying this time.  I was tired.  Tired of going through.
I wanted answers and tools I could hold in my hands.
I knocked on doors – please help me –  until I found some.
Not a cure,  to be sure,  but handy tools that have helped me feel a little less afraid
so I’m not wasting precious time and focus scanning always the horizon
for another monster wave beginning to swell.

I’ll say more about that someday
(if you’re really allergic and post virus and shaking in your boots,
feel free to message or email me and I’ll gladly share what bits I’ve found.
In short,  you have to treat these flares like a massive mast cell activation
or cytokine storm.  Use the tools that treat anaphylaxis.  It works for me).
The storms still come – but I’m still going through to the other side.

I don’t want to give more time and attention to the virus here in this space.
It doesn’t deserve any more of my life and I want to continue to see and celebrate
the big beautiful of this ocean rather than the storms that blow in.
I’ve always loved waves and will ride them wholehearted still.
Just wanted to catch you up on my disappearance
and get back to the blogging space.
I’ve missed you much!

Happy greenings.  Happy springing.  Happy bounding back to life again.

“God of herons and heartbreak,
teach us to love the world again.
Teach us to love extravagently,
knowing it may
(it will) break our hearts
and teach us that it is worth it.

God of pandemics and suffering ones,
teach us to love the world again.

God of loneliness and longing,
God of bushfires and wilderness
and soup kitchens and border towns,
of snowfall and children,
teach us to love the world again.

Amen.”
– Sarah Bessey
(from her new book “A Rhythm of Prayer” which I’ve been loving so big)

To celebrate being back on the blog,  I want to give away one of my books.
Hard to believe that even happened – my book – because I’ve done zero marketing.
Have not done any of the things.
But she’s here in all her ragamuffin glory and I want to share her
– leave a comment and I’ll pop your name in the drawing.
Thanks for coming around again;  I welcome you warm.