GOOD MORNING, POSSUM

Good Morning, Possum

"Come here, come quick . . ." my husband said this morning when the day had barely begun.  There it was just outside the door, this fat possum walking around our front deck, nosing the grass in the courtyard, inspecting the perimeter without a care.  Fat and gray and furry.  Now that I've looked up opossums, I'm thinking a Virginia Opossum because they're big and this one clearly out-ranked Mr. Wiggles, who weighs in at just under 10 lbs.  The photos are a bit blurry but the video came out well.  Deliberate, unhurried, curious.  I had no idea the day would begin in such an interesting way.  When we finally cranked a couple of windows it made way for a break in the decking and crawled under.  One other year we had a den of foxes under there.  That was less welcome.

So no doomscrolling for me this morning.  The first thing I had to do was look up possums.  Obvious to anyone who knows what I didn't:  our guest is an opossum, not a possum.  Possums don't live in North America.  They are an entirely different animal.  This visitor is a cat-sized omnivore with, like all opossums, a gentle nature.  They don't attack pets and Mr. Wiggles for sure won't attack it.  He'll bark, but he'll bark while backing away.  He's not aggressive either.

Then the next good thing of the day.  A friend forwarded this picture of a fawn she caught in her headlights as she neared the end of our driveway the other night.  We've been seeing a few fawns lately but never, never have gotten a photo worth anything.  The mom must be behind the cedar tree.  They tend their fawns well.

Two special animal encounters plus I just finished Upstream by Mary Oliver ("Mary Oliver Speaks To Us Today," 3/28/20), a lovely book of essays that combines the natural world with the world of writing.  I had planned to share it as soon as I read the first sentence:  "One tree is like another tree, but not too much.  One tulip is like the next tulip, but not altogether.  More or less like people--a general outline, then the stunning individual strokes."  "What a life is ours!" she says.  "Doesn't anybody in the world anymore want to get up in the middle of the night and sing?" 

Who can resist such exuberance?  She's right of course.  I know I have favorite trees.  Double-trunked with nestled bowls for leaves and water. 

Or curved to avoid a neighbor.  Or tall with goiters for which I have no explanation.   I have favorite boulders, big as tables and comfortable as chairs.  And of course fine mossy places and beds of fresh gold pine straw, deep and spongy. (Who knew it wasn't brown?) 

Oliver notices the way the ferns rise, delicately curled with a fuzz that presses against each frond. 

"Attention is the beginning of devotion,"

she says.  Well I can do that.  I can pay attention to all that is outside my door.  And I can do it during a pandemic as well as not.  Maybe better.  You too? 

                                                             Nina Naomi

ANOTHER DAY WITHOUT DOOMSCROLLING

Another morning where I found something other than doomscrolling ("Doomscrolling.  Let's Not," 7/20/20).  Yea!  I found Through the Dunes by Lucie Langston, an illustrator based in Mainz, Germany.  Take a look:

Her illustrations are charming, thoughtful, sometimes droll.  At least that's how they seem to me.  She says she likes to create atmosphere and mood through editorial illustrations and comics.  Through the Dunes  is a bit about depression--certainly a risk these days.  I like the idea to "Bide Your Time and Drink Tea."  I do a lot of that.  Three cups in the morning and one at night.   

Proof:  my tea cupboard, which is quite inviting (Creme Caramel Oolong, Hazelnut Cookie and Kenya Black not visible).

Lucie says, "I need to prevent myself from sliding into depression--instead slide back to being present. . . . I try not to find a reason for feeling sleepy or down.  I accept their presence, like I accept COVID-19 is present. . . . I Can Win."

But how many cups of tea can I drink? she wonders. 

I like Lucie's idea of sliding back to being present.  We all get how we can slide into depression.  We're doing well and then there's that one-thing-too-many. All of a sudden we're blue--the background color of Lucie's illustrations here.   But if we can just slide back to being present?  Hmm, I like that. She says she accepts that Covid-19 is here.  One of the writing prompts ("Journey of Self-Perception," 7/11/20, 7/20/20) began "I accept that . . . ."  An important step toward good mental health, yes?  You can find Through the Dunes at www.nytimes.com>2020/7/20>opinion>coronavirus-anxiety. 

I wonder what good thing I'll find tomorrow.

Illustrations by Lucie Langston

DOOMSCROLLING. LET'S NOT.

Project Calm, my new/old self-help strategy.  Doomscrolling,

one of those newish words that captures my COVID-19 self, although I'm more likely to have on the TV and doom-click (not a real word) with the remote.  Finish an episode on Netflix, return to live TV to check the latest new case statistics.  Texas? Florida? This is bad.  The amount of time we spend doomscrolling is proportionate to how depressed or anxious we feel afterwards. 

Thus PROJECT Calm (www.calmmoment.com), one of those magazines that lives up to its name.  Spending an hour with this magazine, and others I've written about ("27 Life Lessons," 9/14/19, "What's your Simple Winter Thing?" 1/17/19) is way better than doomscrolling.

Intuition--our sixth sense--is the theme the issue I've pictured. 

"Intuition is Seeing with the Soul." 

Albert Einstein (1879-1955) said,

I believe in intuitions and inspirations.

I sometimes feel that I am right.

I do not know that I am right.

Who would have suspected that a theoretical physicist would believe in intuition? He also said,

Imagination is more important than knowledge.

 

I bet your intuition has been there when you needed it.  Mine has.  It's startling how it has saved me.  When I have needed saving my intuition has been that sinking feeling in my gut, that fast breathing, a dizziness that tells me that somehow I needed to be vigilant and didn't know it. Now I know. When something harmful has happened, or is about to, the smallest thing can trigger your intuition. A look, a sentence, a heart-shaped emoji . . . . For me I then receive a sense of clarity from deep within; it gives me direction and purpose.  Not calmness necessarily, not peace because your intuition may be guiding you where you have not gone before, have not needed to--but purpose.  Have you found this to be true? 

My intuition has empowered me when I needed it to.  Once it kicks in, our responses are quicker.  Our intuitions are honest, emotionally powered, and give us confidence.  Lives saved, marriages too, discoveries made, adventures begun, wrongs righted (or begun to be).  Psychologists say that our intuition is our felt sense about something, based on feelings and experiences which can feel subconscious. 

When I have followed my intuition I have felt courageous.  Dr. Rachel Andre is a clinical psychologist in the UK.  She says, "Intuition in potentially dangerous or risky situations is vital."  It can help in the most private and personal of decisions.  It is a source of information not accessible in any other way.

Our intuition can produce our best moments out of our worst times.  No wonder we trust it.  So glad I picked something other than the news today!

JOURNEY OF SELF-PERCEPTION, PART 2

In Part 1, I shared writing prompts designed to help express difficult emotions (Journey of Self-Perception, 7/11/20).  The prompts are from a clinical trial to measure whether expressive writing can help build resilience during a time of crisis, such as this pandemic. 

Since the trial I've done a bit of research on this; studies measuring biochemical markers show that expressive writing has the potential to boost our immune systems.  So mental health and physical well-being.  This is good for us.  Those of us who took part found it valuable in all sorts of ways; the Zoom chats showed that.  So I am passing on some of the exercises.  If you like to write anyway, I bet you'll find this worthwhile too. 

The instructions again are to respond for 15-20 minutes and write non-judgmentally, with kindness for yourself.  The idea is to look toward intentionally cultivating compassion, forgiveness, and an attitude of mindfulness; all while writing about what is most important and emotionally significant to you (for some--or even many--this may be something other than this pandemic).

1.  Compassionate Letter--Imagine someone you love is experiencing the same challenges that you are: a real or imagined person. (I addressed my letter to "Friend of My Heart.")  Write a letter of encouragement. Words of comfort and hope.  What might you encourage them to forgive themselves for? Write based upon your own experiences and lessons learned so far, in a compassionate and respectful way.

     I loved that this was a chance to be gentle and hopeful.  A calming moment.  Perhaps it will be for you too.

2.  Writing to Let Go--What have you discovered you no longer need?  Objects, perspectives, outdated beliefs, toxic relationships?  What could you forgive yourself or others for?  What can you release that would allow you to move forward with a lighter heart?

3.  Mindful Writing, Acceptance--describing your acceptance of things and yourself as they are, not as you wish or think they should be.  This does not mean that you are passive or satisfied.  Rather, mindful acceptance is simply describing to yourself how things really are with you in the present moment.  Begin each sentence with "I accept that . . . ." 

When I have time (a problem, but less so these days) I'm going to respond to the mindful writing prompts again, without looking at what I wrote before.  After all, a journey of self-perception isn't static is it?  I'll follow my intuition.

INTUITION IS SEEING WITH THE SOUL.

JOURNEY OF SELF-PERCEPTION

I'm going to share with you writing prompts for cultivating resilience that are from a project to test the benefits of expressive writing for those in crisis, specifically the COVID-19 crisis.  Although our own crises may not be limited to this pandemic, since many of us live through more than one crisis or trauma in our life and often simultaneously. The writing is only for ourselves and can include the past as we wish.  The instructions are to respond for about 15-20 minutes to each prompt and to do so with patience and compassion for ourselves.   What I'm sharing is an abbreviated version. 

1.   Write about your deepest thoughts and feelings about how this crisis is affecting you personally.  Try to use the time to reflect upon the issues most important to you at this time.  For example, how the crisis is affecting your day-to-day activities, your mental and physical health, your relationships, etc.

2.  Dig deeper.  What fears, difficult emotions and losses have you experienced or do you anticipate?  All emotions are welcome.  (If this becomes too bothersome stop and take a break.  No prompt needs to be completed.  It's up to us based upon the compassion we show ourselves.) 

3.  Now write about your experience from a different perspective:  a wise friend, a future you, a divine or neutral observer or anything that comes to mind.  This could be in the form of a letter to yourself or to someone else, or not.  

4.  Try to tie together the threads of your writing so far into a wish or intention for the future.  What is important to you in continuing to navigate this crisis?  What values matter most right now?  How do you want to relate to yourself and others now and in the future?

5.  Mindful writing:  awareness without judging. impartially witnessing our own experience with compassion.  For ten minutes begin each sentence with "I am aware that. . . " or "I am aware of. . . ."

I liked the last prompt best.  I found so many things I was aware of having to do with my own coping skills and the life I lead that I had not exactly thought of before.  The writing became a positive experience.  See what you think.  

To be continued . . . .

"WHAT HAPPENS NOW IS HAPPENING TO US"

"We have arrived.  What happens now is happening to us."

Anna Seghers, born Anna (Netty) Reiling (1900-1983)

A German Jewish writer who escaped Nazi Germany wrote these words in 1939, eighty-one years ago.  In her historical novel The Seventh Cross she had reached the concentration camp, which she avoided but where other members of her family would perish.  In 1939 she could not know the outcome.  But she felt a moment of recognition, that moment when we see ourselves as historical subjects.  When from an imaginary future platform we look back to see the importance of our present lives. 

For weeks and months now this has been us.  The coronavirus has arrived.  So has the social reckoning about race.  What the virus is doing is being done to us.  Whether racism can be eradicated will be decided by us.  Wherever we live, on whatever continent in whatever country or state, what happens now is on our watch.  We are the ones making history, everyone alive today. 

Strange but I don't see these words as negative.  I like it that whatever happens, happens to us all. Most of us understand that we're in the present together and however the future unspools we'll be there together too. ("No Man Is an Island," 5/29/20)

I've touted www.Mindful.org before.  Today in my in-box were three questions:

1. How can I love myself today?
2. How can I love others today?
3. How can I love the world today?
   

When I was in the throes of parenthood I never thought about loving myself.  If I practiced compassion toward myself it went unnoticed by me.  Love and care for the children was automatic, but I didn't think much about the world either.  Nothing to brag about. 

But life is different now.  Everyday I'm loving the world, nurturing my own green spaces, keeping the butterfly bushes healthy, feeding the birds, contributing to the right causes.  Wearing face coverings and wishing everyone were.  Thinking about safety and friendships and vocations in new ways.  You are too, aren't you?  We are doing this.     

   

LIFT EVERY VOICE AND SING THIS IS MY COUNTRY

The 4th of July.  We watched it on television this year.  The United States Navy Band virtual choir sang "This is My Country."  The United States Marine Band played Tchaikovsky's "1812 Overture" remotely during the fireworks over the capital, canons thundering.  Cece Winans reached toward the sky with her version of "Lift Every Voice and Sing."  The New York Philharmonic played "America the Beautiful" from as many different locations as instruments.  The Harlem Gospel Singers sang remotely.  Split-screen to the Empire State all in red, white and blue.  All the pageantry that we love on the Fourth.  Maybe you were watching.

It was a welcome break all of this, against the backdrop of protests and a pandemic.  Most experts think our country has mismanaged the coronavirus, which is increasing in almost every state.   Earlier in the day we had watched the news.  The virus is on a frightening rampage in Florida where my brother lives.  Over 11,000 new cases per day!  Beaches, restaurants and bars are re-closing but not fast enough.  Hospitals are full. When have we had to worry about that before? 

In South Dakota Trump held another rally.  People mingled freely without face masks.  Such a cheap and easy preventative measure.  One doctor compared the lack of care for self and others to a kind of Jonestown mentality. Remember Jonestown? I do.  On November 18, 1978, more than 900 members of an American cult died in a mass suicide-murder under the direction of their leader Jim Jones. They drank kool-aid laced with cyanide because he told them to, and watched each other drop. Children too.  Such is the power of demagoguery.    

The coronavirus task force says we will be living in this pandemic for the foreseeable future.  We did so well shutting down.  But our gains may have been cancelled by now.  Too many reopened too early and too aggressively.  Too much mistaken feeling of invincibility.  Going mask-less as a symbol.  I could go on. . . we all could.

I do believe in America the Beautiful.  I've been in too many national parks to doubt that. It is my country.  And yours.  All of ours. 

I don't want to be a citizen anywhere else.  But on this July 4th there is both pride and some shame.  Perhaps every year should have been like that, and has been for many. But this year everything is heightened.  Pride in the peaceful protesters, with Black Lives Matter already determined to be the largest movement in U.S. history.  Some shame in perhaps having wasted the sacrifices of so many by allowing, and even encouraging, the resurgence of coronavirus cases.  So, as we learned in law school but didn't need law school to know:  everything cuts both ways.  Love, pride, fear, concern. . . .

We go forward.