It’s time for another little cup o’ kindness.
Because yesterday morning . . . I snapped.
I spiraled right over the edge and tumbled down into the dark abyss.
I am generally so much better these days when it comes to . . . not succumbing to the pull of the abyss. But it does happen sometimes. And yesterday, Tom – who has amazing abyss-repelling abilities (even more impressive because he reads the NY Times and several news-adjacent newsletters every day) – also had an over-the-edge moment. And when that happens – when even Tom goes over the edge – I am A Goner. So there we were. Together. Down there in the dark.
But Tom, saint that he is, got himself out of the dark place all by himself – and quickly. Then he was able to shine a light my way (by clapping his hands together in front of my face and sternly telling me to “get up and do something” . . . which is highly annoying but usually effective).
And then I was able to text with my sister (also down in the despair pit, as it happened) until we were able to rally for each other.
And then I watched this. Which was truly a balm for my tired soul and Just What I Needed. Because Mary Oliver’s poem ‘Wild Geese’ read aloud by Helena Bonham Carter is a gift . . . always. It soothes. Watch it and catch your breath. Maybe watch it a couple of times in a row. Or maybe one hundred times. Whatever it takes.
Hang in there, my friends.
So beautiful. Thank you.
I think I could listen to Helen Bonham Carter read the “telephone directory” and feel my stress levels reduce. I was feeling that same abyss myself this week and I read aloud to myself Robert MacFarlane’s The Lost Spells. The sound of my voice soothed my ears… and the artwork in the book… well, my eyes were delighting too! Proof that reading aloud to oneself is an excellent form of self-care!
I found out yesterday that I can’t pay attention to the news at all and was sitting feeling sorry for all of us, just holding my knitting. But I decided that he wasn’t going to control me and my actions, so I made dinner, a cake, and got both my mitts ready for thumbs. This morning I’ve changed all the sheets on all the beds, done three loads of laundry, and vacuumed. I don’t know if I can maintain this level of household activity for four years, but there is definitely something to be said for getting up and doing something!
Bonny, when I’m feeling bad, I may try to remember you and your clean house — and smile.
Thank you, Kym, this is a verbal link to what soothes me the most. Nature always calls me back to remembering that I am just a cog in the wheel of the world, and a very small speck at that. I have certainly felt like it is “my time in the barrel” since everything I love is gone to the four winds, but the world has always been full of heartache, hate, and tragedy. There is still “magic in ordinary days” if we look for it. I will be listening to this over and over.
Mary Oliver poems are a perfect way to find balance. Reading one (or ten) will draw me out to find my our sort of balance within nature’s arm.
I shall listen to that on my phone when I have a break later today. I’m sorry you were in the bad place and I get it. The stuff this week has been so hard to manage. I am taking a lot of comfort from hearing my Governor last Friday at the conference telling us that we will be okay.
Yesterday was my day for feeling mired in the muck as well. I’m not sure I’m quite unstuck, but this poem certainly helps!
Oh, thank you. That’s beautiful. It’s all been something else (and a little too much) recently…
Thanks for sharing this – I couldn’t find a reply to yesterday’s post. I’m definitely treading water in a slough of despond (and anger) over here. Trying to be alert to the right things, without losing myself or my ability to help as I can. I’ve worked with refugees for over 15 years, so there’s been horrible thing after horrible thing this week and last. Yet looking away feels irresponsible.
These pieces of beauty, and friends who check in, and birds at the bird feeder, they’re lifelines.
You are lucky to have a partner who is there to help pull you out of the abyss — that’s a sign of a great relationship! And poetry, while it may not always be the answer, always makes things better.