A Moment of Peace in the Noise; Art Credits, Author
Happy Sunday, friends!
They say as we get older, time goes faster. And it really does seem to be speeding up at times, hurtling by me like water pouring through cupped hands - never a chance of being able to hold it at all.
Here, in the 80-degree weather - not the norm in North Carolina in late October-I’ve felt the pull to slow down against the backdrop of time speeding up. The temperature today is breaking a record. I know that is not good. It is very, very bad, and there is little that I can do about it. We have solar. We minimize our carbon footprint as much as possible. And today, the temperatures are breaking record anyway.
Most days, I wake up as the sun starts to illuminate the trees in the backyard. Even though the temperatures are out of season, the light has reliably become shorter a little bit every day.
This is how I know whether it’s before or after 7 a.m. yet. I make my way to a room at the front of the house where I come to find peace. Nala, our dog, usually comes with me after I let her out, curling up on my yoga mat, at my feet, or on a blanket.
I sit here, against the ottoman I have in the corner, and write. I do yoga. I do art. I indulge in what my therapist would call “deep self-care”.
These days, when everything else seems to be out of my control, stillness is where I find the most comfort. Laying on the floor next to Nala, we watch the sun come through the Bradford pear tree in the front yard. I don’t know if I’m being courageous by curling up in my comfort away from the world. I also don’t know if it would be what one could call brave to leap into action around climate change or the war between Israel and Hamas without clear intention.
The sun coming through the tree reminds me of little Camille. She loved watching the sun come through her window in the mornings, through the cherry tree that stood so proudly in the front yard, until a storm took it out a few years ago. She thought there was something magical about the way the sun sparkled too.
I confessed last night to my fiance that I miss being that little girl, sometimes. I enjoy being an adult - don’t get me wrong - but I think more than the weight of bills or concerns about steady work, the responsibility that weighs on me most heavily is the emotional responsibility.
The emotional responsibility of dealing with grief when friendships naturally come to an end, when relationship dynamics change, or when you look back at your childhood and begin to see the ways the behavior patterns of the adults around you unintentionally hurt you.
There is nothing you can do about it but be extraordinarily kind to yourself, offer yourself what others could not, and extend the olive branch of acceptance to yourself over and over and over again when anger and disappointment are festering dead ends.
The change that comes with growing up is simply a lot for one heart to bear.
Natalie Goldberg says writing is freeing yourself. I think I believe her. Creating art, writing words down about my life - about the way the dog yawns and looks back at me expectantly with her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open, begging to be petted - it’s the only thing that’s ever allowed me to really feel my emotions and move on.
John O’Donohue says in his book Anam Cara,
“It is a strange and magical fact to be here, walking around in a body, to have a whole world within you and a world at your fingertips outside you. It is an immense privilege, and it is incredible that humans manage to forget the miracle of being here. Rilke said, “Being here is so much.” It is uncanny how social reality can deaden and numb us so that the mystical wonder of our lives goes totally unnoticed. We are here.”
We are here. And perhaps, this week, that is enough. I don’t really have much else to share with you. No special topic to write about, like the beauty of all of the different kinds of pumpkins, even the spotty green ones.
Stillness is all I have to offer this week. However your heart is, I hope that the gift of being still if only for a moment meets you where you need it in this season of slowing down.
May we slow down where we can
Take one more deep breath before moving on
Know that we deserve peace and joy
Rest in the spaciousness of silence
As we enter the depths of autumn
xx
Camille
Such a reflective post, Camille. Thank you for making me sit down and think. 🙂