Web of Connection
Relatives, how are you?
Today’s missive was meant to be an essay until, mid-week, I realized that my energy had tanked. Instead of trying to rush the process, I’ve decided to postpone the essay for next week, which means there will be one additional post to close out the month of August. Until then, here are a few points of connection gleaned over the past few weeks that have served as invitations for reflection.
Since this is a bonus letter, it’s free for everyone to read. Paid subscribers will receive the Zoom connection details for our quarterly gathering in the forthcoming essay.
Reflection #1:
Yesterday, I went on a trail walk that was new to me and encountered Goldenrod for the first time in years. Since it’s still early in the season, most of the plants are still in the growth phase. It was a treat to witness the young golden buds, on the edge of becoming, dancing with the wind. As I moved further along the trail, I noticed a small clearing with a pond so I made my way there. Taking a few steps along the path, I heard the sound of wings moving through the air and looked up to see who I had stirred. I could see that the bird was gray, and the wingspan was long and wide. Other than these few facts, I couldn’t make out any other details before the bird made her way to a treetop, about 500 yards or so in the distance.
I continued towards the water, wishing for a pair of binoculars, and paused for a moment. Listening to small waves ripple through the wind I watched dragonflies hover and skim through the water, a method they use to regulate their body temperature. When I turned to head back, I saw a feather on the ground and felt compelled to hunker down. Feathers can symbolize myriad meanings including freedom, divinity, and travel. This certainly resonates with elements that have been on my mind recently.
Reflection #2:
One of the requirements for my graduate education was the completion of a clinical portfolio. After submitting mine for review and approval, I met with an advisor for feedback. During our conversation, she praised my rigor and creativity and mentioned something that, up until that point, I hadn’t considered:
Most students organized their portfolios categorically, grouping certain documents in chronological order. I organized mine by year and milestones. This method meant that my advisor had to read the portfolio as a whole, like a story. Thankfully, I included a Table of Contents to make grading more fluid. When my advisor pointed this out, I was a bit embarrassed, which must have shown on my face, and she assured me that it was a unique and unexpected way to present the information. She also asked if I would be willing to allow her to share my work as an example for future clinical interns on how leveraging creativity as a clinician is important in the learning process. I was humbled by the request, to which I obliged, and felt good that my work could help others.
The way that I chose to format the assignment says a lot about how my mind and heart work.
Last week, while I was in Oregon visiting a dear friend, I shared the story about my portfolio with them, something that I’ve never talked about before. Perhaps being at the coast, with someone I trust so deeply—along with the time and space to think uninterrupted—was the catalyst or portal into vulnerability. In sharing our stories, we become more sensitive to the stories around us—including those of other humans and more than human relatives.
Reflection #3:
Starting is the hardest part. At least, that is what I often hear touted. I’ve said it myself a time or two, most often attempting to encourage my patients who are in the thick fog of self-doubt. I say it to myself every time I go to make lines into coherent letters on a blank page, which seems to happen more often on a computer screen. Writing by hand doesn’t seem to trip me up as much, and I am less likely to edit as I write. Even though it still takes time, writing by hand feels more fluid and drums up a connection to the heart by way of fascia and connective tissue. Placing the right hand over the heart has an array of applications and connotations—spiritual or otherwise—and activates neural pathways between the left and right hemispheres of the brain. Writing, for me, gives the same feeling of interdependence.
However the writing happens, my hope is that I can utilize storytelling in a way that fosters connection. The two modalities that have helped me to develop my practice include epistolaries and essays. I think of each one as a seed that I get to steward; a contribution of creative and critical thinking that weaves the warp and weft of my roots to the roots of others.
My question to you this week, dear relative, is this: What connections contribute to the web of your life?
With gratitude,
Christian
Practice Opportunity
The Seasonal Embodiment Workshop is coming up in September (so soon!). Paid subscribers have access to both sessions, honoring the Equinox in September and the Solstice in December. If you are a free subscriber there are sliding scale options available ($19-$59). I will send out a gentle reminder with the connection details later this week. You can learn more and register with this link. There is still plenty of space if you’d like to join us!
Listening | Reading | Creating
This week I’ve been catching up on the Holistic Spaces Podcast, which is all about Feng Shui and mindful design. I love this podcast because it always provides a fresh perspective on matters relating to the Five Elements. In preparation for this week’s forthcoming essay, I am re-reading the essay “Heat Is Not a Metaphor”, by Alexis Pauline Gumbs, recently published in Harper's Bazaar. A similar connection is drawn in Brendan Kelly’s book, The Yin and Yang of Climate Crisis, mentioned in an essay last month, which is fitting for the topic of Feng Shui. This past week, when I realized that my energy was quickly fading, it forced me to take a look at where in my life I am trying to do too much. A hard lesson, albeit a necessary one.