I'd Work Til I'm Sore

Hard, physical work has never been my forte, even as a child.  I have always envied those like my friends Kim or Gharan or Monika who spend hours and hours in a field, cultivating the land, growing food that nourishes friends and family and the community.  I have always wanted to feel that and to do that.  There's something grueling and cathartic about working outside until every muscle in your body is sore.

So in the spirit of growing things and cultivating things, I have started a medicinal herb garden.  Start small.  That's what I tell the folks I work with and it's a message that I have a hard time remembering.  So I'm starting with the garden and then maybe moving onto bigger things.  I've also agreed to help my friend with chicken-sitting once a week and on weekends when she's gone.

I had a very cathartic, viseral experience this morning.  I spent the early morning hours walking around barren hayfields.  The sun was just coming out, the wind was blowing hard, and the air was piercing.  And I literally felt my heart open up.  I just closed my eyes and stood in the middle of this giant field with my arms outstretched, breathing in the morning sun.  When I got home, I could smell the cold, fresh air on my skin and my cheeks were glowing.  It reminds me of one of my favorite poems by St. Francsis of Assisi:

"Such love does the sky now pour, that whenever I stand in a field, I have to wring out the light when I get home."  

Whenever I'm traveling through a dark time in my life, I have this tendency to become wrapped up in my head and in my feelings, until they choke the life out of me.  I forget to turn outside of myself.  And, in the spirit of Radical Acceptance, I'm trying to not judge myself for this, since it is a part of me that makes me.  Being in the middle of music and being tousled by wind are probably the only two things that really wake me up and let me live outside of myself for awhile.  I forget how healing a morning walk can be.  We all heal in our relationship with others and with our world.  It just makes sense to me.  We are all hurt by our relationships and our world- it comes with the territory of living.  It's unavoidable.  So, in these relationships with others and with our world, we must also begin to heal.  So I've been laughing with friends, standing in a field, singing, swimming, hugging, and bearing witness to the human experience.  And we all have our wounds and we all need to heal.  

Lately, I've been getting in the middle of this one Fleet Foxes song called "Helplessness Blues:"

I was raised up believing I was somehow unique

Like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes, unique in each way you can see

And now after some thinking, I'd say I'd rather be

A functioning cog in some great machinery serving something beyond me

But I don't, I don't know what that will be

I'll get back to you someday soon you will see

What's my name, what's my station, oh, just tell me what I should do

I don't need to be kind to the armies of night that would do such injustice to you

Or bow down and be grateful and say "sure, take all that you see"

To the men who move only in dimly-lit halls and determine my future for me

And I don't, I don't know who to believe

I'll get back to you someday soon you will see

If I know only one thing, it's that everything that I see

Of the world outside is so inconceivable often I barely can speak

Yeah I'm tongue-tied and dizzy and I can't keep it to myself

What good is it to sing helplessness blues, why should I wait for anyone else?

And I know, I know you will keep me on the shelf

I'll come back to you someday soon myself

If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm raw

If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm sore

And you would wait tables and soon run the store

Gold hair in the sunlight, my light in the dawn

If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm sore

If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm sore

Someday I'll be like the man on the screen

I find that one of the most poignant lines in the song resonates so deeply within me these past several weeks: "If I know only one thing, it's that everything that I see of the world outside is so inconceivable, often I barely can speak.  Yeah I'm tongue-tied and dizzy and I can't keep it to myself.  What good is it so sing helplessness blues?  Why should I wait for anyone else?"  Hence this blog.  I can't keep it to myself.  I'm letting life come in and it is just pouring out of me.  I glow, I darken.  I laugh, I cry.  And I embrace my undying human-ness.  And I appreciate those of you who ride the roller-coaster of life with me and who let me be light and dark and have a deep respect for this never-ending process and stand back and love me just as you know me- no more, no less.  And I hope that I am able to take rides with you, and stand back from you, and love you just as you are- no more, no less.

A Donkey and a Swan Become Friends

So apparently I'm a whole one year older now.  And my gray hair count is up to 5.  I think I might actually start to have legit street cred in my social work practice.

I was treated to a wonderful puppet show today at work (Yes, I actually have a real job and it's not all fun and shenanigans.  Well, it is mostly fun and shenanigans).  It went something like this:

Donkey:  "I'm sad.  I want a friend."
Swan: "I'm sad.  I want a friend."
Donkey: "Do you want to be friends with me?"
Swan: "Yup."
Donkey: "We were friends all along."
Swan: "What's your favorite food?"
Donkey: "Bamboo."
Swan: "Me too.  That makes us best friends."
Donkey: "Yup. The End."
Lots of bows and copious amounts of applause from the audience.

Can't it be that easy in real life?  Maybe it is and we, as adults, are just really good at making things really complicated.  Maybe it is as easy as having someone enjoy eating bamboo with you. 

One realization that has hit me over the head this past week is that we often treat ourselves worse than we would ever treat our best friend.  As I listen to all of the negative and self-doubting messages that I send myself over the course of the day, I realize how unbelievably cruel I am to myself.  How can I accept love from others if I can't even love myself first?  So in my 27th year, I am trying to be my own best friend.  It ain't easy.  Especially with a daunting case of perfectionism coupled with a cynical sense of humor.  But I'm willing to try treating myself with more care and kindness and really believe that I am worthy and that I am enough.  If I ever figure it out, I'll let you know.  

Living Wide Open

So, the original idea of this blog was to start posting on my 27th birthday (which isn't for another 2 days).  However, I like to cheat and ruin surprises and jump the gun, so why not start this a little early.  So here's to another happy and healthy trip around the sun.  Huzzah!

On the advent of turning a wonderful 27 years of age, I have decided to adopt a new principle: to live wide open.  For me, this means to say "yes" to new experiences, to give love freely and accept love freely, to break some of the chains of my fear, and to welcome new adventures with open arms.  So often, I find myself closed off to those around me.  This could be me thinking about my own self-preservation... but it does tend to lead me to a closed-off life.

My first lesson in living wide open came today when a new friend approached me tonight and asked me if I wanted to go "put her chickens to bed" with her.  I gave a resounding, "Sure," and off we struck across the barren hay fields of Hadley in the pitch dark.  After awhile, we happened upon a farm.  In the back was a chicken coup that she had fashioned, complete with string laced across the top to prevent the wayward hawk from reeking havoc on the flock (is that the proper term for a gaggle of chickens?).  I cautiously entered the pen, unsure of what to expect.  There she introduced me to her 16 hens and 2 roosters, with names ranging from Persimmon to Black Steel to Violet.  At that point, we entered into a long discussion about the social nature of chickens, which tends to be a bit anarchistic in nature.  Generally, the male chickens are charged with protecting the flock and keeping the hens from bickering with one another.  And, in this little society, there is a pecking order (pun kind-of intended) among the women, which constantly changes- the "alpha" female being the hen who has most recently figured out how to escape and thereby has earned the respect of the other females (no joke).  Though, when free, the hens tend to stay within 5 feet of the coup.  I think just the idea of freedom is appealing.

Apparently, coyotes are the spirit animal of this particular group of chickens, as viles of their pee strung around the cage stop other predators, such as raccoons, from lurking around.  In addition, these chickens tend to mimic a coyote call when coyotes are near by.  Self preservation or identity crisis?  When there is a hawk near by, 50% of the time (as is reported), the hens will line up and run into their house while the roosters will walk bravely around the coup, puffing their chests and posturing to the hawk (when I asked about the other 50% of the time, I was told that pure chaos ensues).  Also, pretty much anyone can buy a day-old baby chick online and have it delivered to him or her through US Mail (baby chicks don't need to eat for 3 days- therein lies your golden window of opportunity).  Most of these chickens cost between $3-$10 a piece, consume $50 worth of food per month, and lay about 1 egg every other day (and 1 egg each day in the warm months between the solstices).

As I walked back across the fields, I thought about how so many beautiful people (and chickens) live in this world and how I am blessed to know a small handful of them (including my Chicken Goddess Rooster Mother Friend).  Each of us brings our own stories, our own experiences, and our own humanity to the table.  And I hope to better experience and appreciate all of those funky and charming characters in my life.