The Now, and other conundrums
This is me reaching out
It’s been a while.
When I first dreamed up this ‘stack, the earth was turning its face to the sun. My energy always seems higher and more hopeful in the months leading up to the solstice. In the autumn, I posted what I’d scrawled while searching the wildness of those months of growing light. It seemed the right thing to do.
But as the sun faded away, so did my clarity and my energy. Perhaps I’m more plant than human. Lush and reaching when the light is strong, and then silently over-wintering, waiting—dead leaves and stasis. Every year the pattern escapes me until the sun begins its climb into the sky again.
It’s time to admit that most days I have no idea what to say. I’ve been hesitant to write even this truth down. Even airing this meta-discourse publicly feels like I’m sliding into blogging territory—skidding away from offering up well-digested, composed, and intelligent essays and poems. But. Like I said, it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything here at all, and the guilt over my silence grows daily.
Many people in my life tell me I’m courageous, that I’m doing ‘a hard thing’ –wandering the world, broke, and with no plan. They are right. It is hard. But I don’t feel courageous. I’m afraid.
The days spill by and words continue to evade me and the doubt that I have anything worth saying steadily grows in the corners of my mind. So, this space is going to be bloggy and half-baked for —a bit. Fair warning. My mind doesn’t want to co-operate.
And to be honest, neither does the rest of me. Most days I’m too dizzy or exhausted to leave my little temporary haven. I save up my energy for days to attempt a drinking water run—lugging a 20L garrafón for blocks twice a week really takes it out of me.
Today, even my inner monologue has fled. I sit in the woven chair in my rented kitchen, watching the changing slip of sky through dirty windows. The sky is overcast, a sickly gold. The air is dusty and cool. Traffic grumbles out front and diesel fumes sweep the courtyard. A scrawny lizard peeps.
I once brashly called myself a harbinger, but this canary is woozy and silent on her perch. The money is gone. My health is shot. I’m out of time.
Maybe someone could help me put together a GoFundMe? I’ve been trying to convince myself I’m worth saving for weeks. Or other suggestions or ideas?
Let's talk this weekend, ya? I'm very proud of you for posting this. <3
My father was born in 1920 on the same farm in northern Illinois where I grew up. His mother was born there in the house her father built.
My father showed me bloodroot in the woods and told me when he was a boy he would meet a man at the train station each week who would buy the bloodroot he had gathered.
Kenny Ausubel, cofounder of Bioneers, wrote a book and produced a movie about Harry Hoxsey and his cancer treatment where bloodroot was a component.
My father showed me bloodroot in 1960. I heard about Harry Hoxsey in 1997.