Heartache big and small

Nov 2023

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I’m hearing and holding a lot of heartache this month. Big and small, global and intimate. How do we stay human in the face of suffering, violence, grief? What provides comfort?

Here are a few of my practices, they may or may not work for you:

tending day-to-day small tasks - putting away dishes, folding clothes, chopping veggies, brushing my teeth, cleaning the toilet. All these tasks ground me in my humanness. And imagining other people doing small daily tasks reminds me of their humanity.
allowing tenderness in my life - letting the colours of the lake touch my heart. Letting the soaring strings on the radio move me to tears. Letting my body soften into a friend’s embrace. Really feeling into my edges, the places where I touch the world and the world touches me.
intentionally fortifying myself - have you noticed the word comfort contains fort? A sense of strength, protection, defense against outside forces. I know this seems like the opposite of allowing tenderness in, but I think they go together. I only feel safe to be soft and tender when I protect my mind from the endless news cycle, my heart from vicious negativity, and nourish my body with warm, comfort foods.
checking the cosmic weather - it comforts me to gain perspective on what is happening to our planet as a whole, within the wider solar system. This month has included a lunar eclipse, the cross quarter seasonal moment Beltane/Halloween and a new moon tomorrow. The world is shifting old patterns, revealing shadow sides and regenerating with a new cycle. And giving us opportunities to do the same.

The blue lake in Plenty Gorge where I have been walking lately, Oct 2023

I loved reading and listening to Samantha Clarke’s words about how we are immersed in a world of wetness. I’ve been continuing to think about how “wetness is water held in plant, flesh, bone, soil. In our eyeballs. In our gut.” Are you aware of all the networks of water within your body? Is it possible to embody this fluidity and move like water?

I also love the concept that “rain is a wetness that is everywhere before it is water somewhere”. How intimately water is woven in and through us! And Sam compares being immersed in this field of wetness, to the slow immersion of our attention in creative work. She believes art and creativity help us feel interconnected in a similar way to water.

This quote is resonating deeply with me:

What we need more of is slow art: art that holds time as a vase holds water.

- Robert Hughes

I was at the beach on Boonwurrung country, Phillip Island, last week. Immersing myself in the cold saltwater. Feeling the connection to the blood in my veins and my tears. Noticing the colours and textures, how the edges merge or resist each other. I started a new stitching project to explore this.

Each stitch reminds me of our interconnectedness, to each other and to place. It is like a prayer that helps me find more silence, so I can listen more deeply. More patience, so I can persist with living and loving. And more faith, so I can keep on caring even when the sadness feels too much to bear.