loving in the war years: day eighteen

grief

it is something we are so rarely allowed to feel or to see or to even imagine
lasts more than 2 or 3 days.

i’ve studied war for over a decade now, and what shocks me, still, after all this time,
are the people. 50, 60, 70 years after vietnam, korea, ww2…they still cry when talking about loved ones lost. they still get choked up and can’t go on. they still hurt,
after all these years,
from the empty place that used to hold their loved one.

so different from the movies. so different from the television shows. that assure us. after one episode. after one glorious show down in court. after one big battle or one big yell or one big slow motion attack of the murderer…
it is better.

i was once yelled at by a person for mentioning being against a past war. i’ve been yelled at before over my anti-war stance, so i wasn’t surprised or even taken off guard. not until the tears started and the soft ‘you don’t know what it was like back then, you don’t have any idea what it was like, half of my friends never came home’ fell out of quivering lips over and over again. i didn’t have the heart to tell this person, this grieving person, still grieving after all those years, that their grief was why i was against war.

i just patted their back. and looked the other way. so they could pretend i didn’t see their tears.

what does grief look like?
what does it smell like?
taste like?
sound like?

is it different for everybody?
or is grief the one universal that draws us all together?

is the complete invisibilization of grief the only way the current world can continue to exist?

loving in the war years: day sixteen

a day of mothering: motherwort

i didn’t know anything about motherwort the first time i tried it. motherwort is not one of those flashy herbs that ‘they’ promise is the next cure all. don’t get me wrong, it’s an herb you can find in whole foods or your local health food store. but it’s never been one of those herbs that is supposed to cure cancer, relieve migraines or add 20 years to your life.

that’s probably because motherwort is most closely associated to women’s health. it does a lot of good things for things like menstrual cramping and PMS and helping with cramps after giving birth.

but even more so, it is a ‘comforting’ herb. one that helps a lot with heavy anxiety and whirling brain. but most of all, it helps with a broken heart. from herbalist susun weed:

In addition to its health-promoting effects on the uterus, motherwort heals the heart. It is, in fact, one of the world’s best heart tonics. Its name means “lion hearted” or “strong hearted.” Daily use helps new blood vessels grow to the heart. I call it “a bypass in a bottle.” (Yes, motherwort increases vascularization to the uterus as well, so daily–but not occasional–use is contra-indicated for women with endometriosis or fibroids.) A dose of 10-20 drops, taken several times a day, can lower blood pressure, improve heart action, and strengthen electrical activity in the heart.

New research showing that the heart has the same memory cells found in the brain may lead us to another use of motherwort: to help relieve heartache, especially from childhood injuries. Let motherwort ease your bad memories and open you to more joy. Try 5-10 drops before meditating and see what happens.

i am lucky enough to be in a place where motherwort grows prolifically. so i’ve seen motherwort out relaxing in the sun, been able to gather her fresh. and there’s a certain line of thinking in herbalism that some herbs sort of ‘look like’ or ‘mimic’ the area of the body it works best at healing or the action it takes on the body. you can definitely see this principle at work with motherwort. It is a lovely flower that you can’t mess with–there are prickers all over the flower area that hurt when you touch and get imbedded in your skin if you grab too hard. our boundaries are important, and if somebody grabs too hard, it’s ok to prick them till they leave you alone. they’ll know next time to treat you more respectfully and with more care.

a lesson we could all learn, one that we hopefully learn from motherwort as she helps us to heal from trauma and pain.

you can read more about motherwort here. and watch a video about motherwort here.

 

loving in the war years: day twelve

it’s easier for me to start the day breaking fast than it is for me to end it by starting a fast.

at the end of the day, there are endless things to worry about and finish up and try to remember for the next day. my brain whirls and wheezes like an old willy wonka machine as i repeat list after list of to-dos while trying to get dinner cooked and family time and maybe even some writing time squeezed in before the day ends.

i dont pause in the middle of this frenzy very well. i dont stop to admire how great it is to be alive or give thanks for the anxiety. most times i am hanging on by a thread, doing what i can to make it until the kids finally go to bed. and most time once that finally happens, i pull out the food in whatever form it takes that night, and eat. not with prayers or mindfulness. but with a strong desire to make the anxiety of the day go away. and some times as a reward for surviving another day of stress.

food as a type of self-medication.

these are the things that people who talk about mourning and love and mindfulness and meditation other esoteric out there sort of things like to ignore. that even if we start the day out with prayers and gratefulness, by the end of the night, we’re self-medicating in endless ways and falling into numb stupors until we pass out.

meditation and awareness exist at the same time as self-medicating and numbness. it is what life really looks like. life pulsates and shifts and it is that pulsating that we dont like dealing with very much. the cycles we don’t like to be reminded we are in and struggling to deal with. waking up to the love and tenderness of the world is a fantastic wonderful experience. waking up to the pain and anxiety and terror? not so much.

how do you embrace being alive when so much of it sucks so often?

i’ve tried very hard to be gentle with myself during this time. i’ve struggled with ‘end of the night frenzies’ for a very long time–maybe decades. it is where all the worry and anxiety i’ve managed to stuff all day finally comes out. so on a few nights during this mourning period, i have eaten some ice cream instead of fasting or i start my fasting time at 8 instead of right after dinner like i usually try to. when i am eating during a time i wanted to be fasting, i try to focus on the feeling i am struggling to deal with instead of the shame i usually like to beat myself up with.

boy it was a long day today, no wonder you feel so overwhelmed.

it sure was frustrating to spend that much time in the car while you had so much story you wanted to write!

BILLS! they ARE scary and terrifying no wonder you feel like you’re never going to be free!

and then i remind myself that i’m not alone. that there are people throughout the entire world who feel this late night frenzie. the anxiety building up into panic that you know you just dont have time to deal with right now.

and i remind myself that, thanks to the violence and terror that never seems to end, there are people who are trying to handle this frenzie without their loved ones.

it is here, at this point, that i finally feel myself soften and the panic ease. this is a terrible feeling, and i wouldn’t wish it on anybody in the world. as i eat one more bite of ice cream, i tell myself that it’s ok to need a coping strategy, because i’m a human being.

and then i take a deep breath, breathing in all the pain and anxiety of the late night frenzies–and slowly release the breath, breathing into the world safety, help, love, for all of those who are struggling as i am. love and tenderness can be in the worst of places, if you let it.

i take another breath

and release.

may you be safe. may you have all the help you need.

you are loved.

 

 

loving in the war years: day eleven

breaking

fast

a friend (who is of course a poet!) first introduced me to the idea of breakfast as ‘breaking a fast.’ i don’t know why it never occurred to me until she said it, but once she said it, i knew that breaking fast would have a place in my life. i just didn’t know how.

when i began mourning, i knew i had found the place for it.

every night around 6 pm, i began my nightly fast. and when i wake up the next morning, i meditate and then break fast. sometimes reading, sometimes meditating on how lucky i am to be eating the food i’m eating–or that i even woke up that day. none of us are ever promised another day or even another minute. there is a story of buddhist monks that clean and turn over their bowls and cups and put away all their belongings every night so that if they don’t wake up in the morning, they will not have caused extra work for others.

to reckon with death, to make it visible it on my own terms, it helps.

and as a mother, to demand time to myself before the day starts or to insist that dinner be served on my time rather than when everybody else wants it, it’s been a new experience. one that has taken some adjusting and getting used to. what do you mean, mama gets time to herself? what do you mean, mama is reading a book instead of taking care of us?

breaking my fast is a ritual of mindfulness. even mothers are human beings whose time on earth is precious and necessary simply because they are human beings. not just vessels.

this morning, it is simple. rice crispies, a banana, some tea, some water. it is simple, but it is a gift i give to myself, that the universe shares with me.

this blessed food that gives life,

this blessed water that is life,

this blessed life that is everything.

amen.