Glad to be Alive

small things that are not small

“Inspiration is not garnered from the recitation of what is flawed; it resides rather in humanity’s willingness to restore, redress, reform, rebuild, recover, reimagine, and reconsider.” - Paul Hawken

Dwelling in the stretch between ache and awe is where I want to be. Brokenhearted by the grief… and wow, am I ever. Brokenhearted by the beauty… and wow, am I ever. Inspired by the possibilities here still… and wow, am I ever. Determined in my own small ways to make my life a stand against the harm, a love poem to the future, an expression of beauty and possibility. One flavor of activism. Today I want to celebrate beauty and remind myself that even alongside all that is awful, there is so much to savor, celebrate, care for, and praise. We need some good news along with all the rest. Don’t we?

1. Praise the rain. It’s been raining after a long, dry summer here in Salt Lake City. The land, the plantitas, the lake, my heart - we are all so grateful for this rain.

An excerpt from Joy Harjo:

Praise crazy. Praise sad.

Praise the path on which we’re led.

Praise the roads on earth and water.

Praise the eater and the eaten.

Praise beginnings; praise the end.

Praise the song and praise the singer.

Praise the rain; it brings more rain.

Praise the rain; it brings more rain.

2. My beloved Carl is on his way home today from Sturgeon Lake, MN, where he’s been sharing Musica do Circulo with 100 men, including our dear friend Francis Weller. They’ve been doing rituals, building shrines, feeding the holy, grieving, and leaning toward the healing of our world. I love knowing this has been happening over the past week. It happens to be Carl’s birthday. I can’t wait to embrace him, to sit by a piñon fire, to raise a glass, and to celebrate this beautiful man. I love watching him ripen and become ever more himself. Aging together is such a tender gift.

3. I love following some of my ancestors who considered Samhain/Halloween as the start of a new year. (To be honest, I celebrate every new year. Gregorian New Year in January, Chinese New Year and then a bit later Tibetan New Year in February, my birthday as a new year - I’ll take all the new beginnings I can get!) Every year, I draw my wheel of the year - a giant circle marked with solstices, equinoxes, and cross-quarter days, which creates 8 miniseasons, each 6-7 weeks long. I pull cards from a few decks and do some divination to get a feel for the vibe of the seasons to come. I add notes on what I imagine will be happening in work life, family life, soul life, and the cycle of my garden. The photo above was taken when I just began this year’s wheel and pulled cards from a deck I’m loving so much - Sooth, created by two rockstars in my world - Sylvia Linsteadt and Rima Staines. I am so looking forward to this coming year! The past year has included some big changes. I’ve been in the slow turning of the ship of my life for the past few years - this past year felt like deeply leaning into the turn - and now, this coming year feels like the turn is nearly complete, and perhaps I’ll be cruising ahead in this new, clarified direction. My hope: New books completed, new training program starting in February, a new work/life schedule setup with both more spaciousness and more impact, and a new sense of self. For the first time, as I map my year, it’s not impossibly overfull. This feels like a miracle. I’m relistening to Meditations for Mortals and it’s so good. Reminds me to honor the very real fact of limitation and embrace this life.

Concentric Futures

Inside my life resides a simpler life,

And inside that another, concentric

Russian dolls of happiness, each

Waiting for me to show them sky,

Birdsong, rain, the gifts of plain days,

Until at last my innermost original

Shrugs off all husks of complexity

To wake singing in this world.

– Kim Stafford

4. One thing I miss about being on Instagram is Kim Stafford’s regular drops of poetry. Alas, the gifts I receive from not being there are even greater. I took Kim’s poem Concentric Futures as my poem of the year a few years ago - it was the beginning of that turning that ship - and I’m grateful to say I’m living into it. I’ve not quite shrugged off all the husks of complexity I’m ready to release, but I’m well on my way. The more I let go, the more I want to keep simplifying. Life is short…and it’s passing. And it seems ever more easy to get lost in the frenzy of the digital world. (Like, seriously lost. I’m witnessing more than a few people lose their freaking minds and any sense of sanity or wisdom I once thought they carried. How easy it would be for me to do the same if I let the algorithm shape my sense of what the world is!) A few months ago, I took a class on serpent medicine, snake lover that I am, and the phrase that sticks with me from that class is that snakes show us how to shed all at once. Not scale by scale, not bit by bit, but all at once. Old skin - gone. New, larger self - emerged. I’m aiming to live like that. As my dear friend Alexandre says, “I aim to move as quickly as possible where soul is calling me to go.” Yes, that. It requires regular shedding. And can I tell you how much I am in love with the gifts of plain days, and the less distracted attention to inhabit them?

a few weeks ago, walking with my boy…

5. My teen is in love with a wonderful young woman. He’s thriving in school. He takes photos of beautiful blossoms in our yard every morning on the way to dropoff. His appreciation of beauty, his generosity, and his naturally effusive gratitude make me a proud mama. Before he learned about climate change, or the extinction crisis, or the many manifestations of awfulness afoot in these times, I wanted him to fall in love with the world. Head over heels in love. We encouraged him to see the gifts all around - and to know what a profound miracle it is just to be here. Of course that meant I had to live that way too. Can I tell you? He is in love with life. In 2025! You guys! I kind of can’t believe it. He is grateful, generous, and kind. He spontaneously praises beauty more than he kvetches about problems. He’s visiting his beloved in Sonoma this weekend. Their young love is so wholesome, romantic, and adorable. They talk on the phone for hours every day. He loves to work out and practices basketball with a rare devotion. He has more emotional maturity than most adults I’ve ever met. He is truly such a beautiful human, and I am one proud mama. I’m still astonished that he’s taller than I am. (Only in my house am I, at 5’9, called a “tiny person.”) Though he’s not quite caught up to his dad’s 6’4 yet! I can’t take him on my lap anymore - and how I do miss having a snuggly little one - but I’m so enamored with who he is, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Among so many pregnancy losses, I got this one miracle boy who lived. I never take the miracle for granted.

6. Mary writes about how the trees save her, and daily. For me, it’s not only the trees but all the plantitas. October is the last harvest month before our first frost comes, usually around Samhain/Halloween. Sigh. I wish October were 4 months long. It is the loveliest month! I’m cutting zinnias and dahlias and sunflowers and purple sage flowers and putting them in jars around the house. I’m collecting baskets full of herbs to dry. Just to have them as companions in the yard is such a gift! And then I get to gather them and dry them for teas, tinctures, and spice. What a wealth. This week I’ve gathered goldenrod, lemon balm, mint, mugwort, nettle seeds, sage, catnip, rosemary, tulsi, basil, calendula, and more. I’ve made elderberry syrup, rose sugar, an elderflower-mullein oxymel. Today I’ll dig up some roots - dandelion and burdock. Having shelves stocked with jars of these leaves, roots, and flowers from this little patch of land makes me feel rich. Turning them into a pot of beautiful tea, or an infusion - these are among my favorite forms of self-care. Then there are the beets, turnips, carrots, kale, chard, tomatoes, tomatillos, blue corn, and more. Who would I even be without the plantitas?!

7. Today I was able to share my garden’s generosity with friends. I dug up 3 raspberry canes, paprika yarrow, gaura, wild bergamot, comfrey, flowering oregano and more. I gave them envelopes full of seeds for calendula, california poppies, and hollyhocks. The garden is so generous and invites me to be the same.

   Probably a dozen years ago, I was swept into a deeper relationship with the plantitas when Mullein showed up in my yard. I posted a photo of its fuzzy leaves and asked, ‘Does anyone know what this volunteer is?’ and I was told, “Mullein!” I’d heard of it before - I recalled something about lung health (and anyone who lives in SLC could use help with that.) Since then, I’ve taken courses and am on the mailing lists of so many herbalists - they are among my favorite emails to open. It’s like receiving introductions to new friends. A short email that says: Hey, did you know about ___. Hawthorn? Calendula? Elderberry? Linden? Peach leaves? All parts of the Dandelion? Let me tell you about this new friend and their magical qualities! I’ve loved drinking from this stream of knowledge for years. As one writer said, “Making herbal medicine is easier than making a cake.” It’s true! I love the way that as I grow closer to the plants, I also feel closer to my plant-gathering ancestors. I would almost say the plants save me, and daily. In the garden, I walk slowly. I bow often. When I walk in the canyons, I collect pockets full of native seeds, offering them a place to grow in my yard. It’s simple, they say. You, too, are here to be generous, to offer up your gifts, and to shine.

8. Martìn Prechtel reminded me that grasshoppers (and others who live here) are the gods of the garden and I’m a guest in their space. How amazing to witness the gods doing their thing. First there was this.

   

   and 5 minutes later, this…

9. Last week, a dear one with whom I’ve shared tears and heartache over the past few years texted me, “Happy ceasefire day!” I send all my prayers: May it last. May we remember all grief matters, and everyone deserves safety, dignity, and a chance for a beautiful life. Everyone. In the midst of the troubles and all that is so distressing, there is also this: grasshopper sex, seeds to share, plants in bloom, an outside-the-algorithm life with much clearer thinking, humans being beautiful in the important ways, pots of soup, abundant poetry, the possibility of skin shedding, kindness and generosity, and rain.

10. This weekend for me has been all tonglen all the time. I’ve carried these wise words in my heart for years and am doing my damndest to embody them wholeheartedly, even amidst some serious fuckery. May it all turn into medicine and bring a softer heart.

    

    Isn’t it a miracle that a human could choose to live like that? I’m so grateful for teachers who told me it was possible. May it be so…

    Friends, may your heart be nourished by the beauty of the world.
    Thanks for being here.

    xo

    Erin