Brown pelicans migrating, making a stop at the North Oregon Coast. Possibly the next stop on my journey. July 2023. photo by anne richardson
When Wild Beings Mourn
Do you suppose small birds mourn? That, as their wee ones start out as four bodies emerging wet from beige, palest turquoise, and brown speckled eggs, one mouth seeming to crave life from the get-go while the others curl around the deep hearth of nest, waiting to stretch toward light, their parents ready to feed, to nurture, do they begin instinctual hoping? Do you wonder if, as the nestlings dwindle to one, they search for the lost or keep a keener eye on the ever-open mouth of the one remaining? Do they take time to sing a lament from the bow of the fir for the ones that never flew? And when, one morning after a night of tending, warming, they return for first feed to discover the one gone, no mouth to fill, too soon to fledge, do they weep bird tears? Do they rend their feathers? I wonder. I wonder.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Grief’s Curious Request
My mentor Grief poked at me a couple of months ago and said, “Enchantment. I want you to wrap enchantment into how I can be in seen in the world.” Honestly, I was confused as well as curious about what Grief was asking me to do. And certainly not sure how that might unfold. But I remained open and, while I won’t claim to have this nearly sorted, I’ve been given some threads, because I find when I say “yes,” enough dangly threads come along to weave something together. So I hope you will be patient with this loose weaving.
Enchantment as Connection
I have consciously been engaging in living an “enchanted life” since reading Sharon Blackie’s book The Enchanted Life, Unlocking The Magic of the Everyday, shortly after its release in 2018. I say consciously because even as a young child I was an observer of the “natural” world, but needing to conform and live life as my absorbed beliefs expected, allowed enchantment to wither as I became an adult. Though enchantment was poking back through my soil prior to her book, Blackie offered me the language, intention and affirmation for my intuitive way of being in the world. I have her Manifesto for an Enchanted Life taped on my refrigerator. Her thirteen points help ground me when I am spending too much time in my head and not noticing what is going on around me. I have written in previous blogs how living through the lens of enchantment offers a sense of belonging that connects me to the land and to others. As the epidemic of loneliness hovers over many, a sense of belonging and connection has been seen as a gateway to ending loneliness. (For more on this, I recommend On Being’s podcast interview with Vivek Murthy, US Surgeon General.) Perhaps living an enchanted life would be one way to relieve loneliness.
“[Enchantment] is founded on a vivid sense of belongingness to a rich and many-layered world; a profound and whole-hearted participation in the adventure of life. …Above all, to live an enchanted life is to fall in love with the world all over again.”
Enchantment Waits Patiently For Us To Return
This year Katherine May in her book Enchantment, Awakening Wonder In An Anxious Age, picked up the enchantment thread as we emerged from the pandemic: “Enchantment is small wonder magnified through meaning, fascination caught in the web of fable and memory. It relies on small doses of awe, almost homeopathic: those quiet traces of fascination that are found only when we look for them. It is the sense that we are joined together in one continuous thread of existence (my emphasis) with the elements constituting this earth, and that there is a potency trapped in this interconnection, a tingle on the border of our perception. …enchantment cannot be destroyed (my emphasis.) It waits patiently for us to remember that we need it.” (pgs 8,9,13) In a culture that bases “reality” on what can be seen, touched, measured, quantified, I found it reassuring that while we, in our Western culture, may have relegated enchantment to the realm of childhood imaginings, it is so much more than that, and is waiting for us to reawaken.
Summer rose moving toward its edges, awakening into fuller beauty. July 2023. photo by anne richardson
be true to Midsummer
no need to weed or trim
allow your wild to
breathe
poem by anne richardson
Awakening to Possibility That Other Beings Grieve
How then can living an enchanted life be part of one’s journey with loss? As I live my life through the lens of enchantment, I am fully engaging with all that transpires around me—human and other beings. I notice the first green awakenings of spring as well as the amber smoke hanging over the skies from wildfires. I hear the crack of a limb break in a winter storm. Spy the squirrel’s flattened body on the roadway, crows dashing in for a scavenging morsel. Watch the hummingbird flit between fuchsia blossoms. Close my mouth to avoid swallowing a swarm of gnats on my walk. There is my evolving relationship with “The Sister Trees.” And this is only what is clearly noted with the five common human senses. There is so much more going on. What, I wonder, does Tree feel as limb is rent from body. Is there a family missing Squirrel? Is Fuchsia grateful for Hummingbird’s affection? The language of “emotion” may be different, but is it not hubris to say other beings cannot experience loss, sorrow, joy, affection, humor…Grief?
Grief as Companion in Sorrow…and in Everyday Life
The longer I allow Grief to companion me, to teach me, the more I see how Grief can enchant my life. Does that sound contradictory? Yes, there will be sorrow, deep deep sorrow. And when we are in the midst of mourning, feeling enchanted and connected to a world beyond our own skin may sound impossible. It has been shown that our grieving brains become clouded (brain fog.) We need rest. Comfort. Some need solitude. Others gentle holding. Grief transforms our inner landscape. This needs time, s l o w t i m e. And there is no right way to be in your grief.
But I do want to open up the possibility that inviting Grief in as a source of enchantment can be a part of shifting our conversation around grieving in our Western culture…a culture where we have set Grief aside, not allowing it to be part of our entangled, enchanted lives…and especially not part of our communal lives. The more I study and listen to Grief wisdom folks, the more evident the need for the communal integration of grieving in all times of our lives…not only when “big” losses arrive.
Trusting the SLOW TIME
What if Grief were part of our everyday living and noticing? If we were not in a hurry to ”dead head” the roses but to allow the blossoms to go their full cycle? To let the leaves rot on the lawn (better yet, a pollinating spread of wildflowers to replace lawns) and provide cover for winter’s resting insects instead of blowing them away? If Grief were as much a part of our daily rhythm as gratitude, prayer, coffee, or other practices/rituals you embody, then when the life shifting losses come, well, they would still be huge. And they would still shift your life. You would still have deep deep sorrow. AND your body just might know that Grief is a companion and not to be feared. Might know how to reach out to others—human and non-human. Might trust the SLOW TIME needed to simply be.
Oh, it may not be easy. In the quote I included by Báyò Akómoláfé, he says “it might be said grief even travels you…beats you up.” There is a very physical side to grieving. Like I said, it shifts your inner landscape, like earthquakes, tsunamis, and volcanoes shift Earth’s landscape.
“Therapy in these indigenous settings is not a fix as much as it is an immersion. It is staying-with, a going-down-together. It happens in slow time, in soft yielding places where the logic of darkness is allowed to play out. There is no cure, no shortcut, and no detour. Just the long dusty road traveled with others. It might even be said that grief travels you, touches you, shakes you, beats you up, and scratches you. Because it is your own being, especially a force one must not look at with one’s naked eyes, it is best to respect the spontaneity of grief and pain. ”
Grief is Not Rational
This quote from Katherine May’s recent How We Live Now podcast between her and Báyò Akómoláfé sums it up: “We have separated ourselves from grief. Something to be sought, found, cured, then dismissed. Rational.” Grief in an enchanted world is not rational. And not something to be checked-off on a list. It is part of our wild and alive world. Part of our wild and alive selves. When I, we, allow ourselves to invite Grief fully into our enchanted lives, lives where we slow down and notice the Dark-eyed juncos nest building, brooding, feeding, flight-dancing, quieting. Squirrel flattened on the road. Amber smoke curling through trees and building tops. Beauty in the roses crimped and browned petals, then perhaps we will stop trying to cure Grief and allow Grief to be part of our breath alongside all of what it means to be fully alive, wild, and living an enchanted life.
Being with Those Grieving
And I am NOT saying all the “go to’s” offered to the grieving should be cast aside. No, not at all!! It is about expanding beyond “after-a-loss” grief work (i.e. waiting until a loss has occurred to start “intervening.”)
In my resources section I link to websites that offer support. I offer support and deep listening to those grieving. Please seek out support if you feel alone and unsure as you journey with Grief. This is about both/and being-ness. It is not about diminishing anyone’s pain and sorrow. It is, I hope, acknowledging loss will be part of our lives, always, and to grieve is to be human (and someday perhaps we will acknowledge the grief of other beings too.)
A Gift of Living an Enchanted Life
Which brings me back to the Dark-eyed juncos that entrusted me with not one, but two clutches of eggs this season (see prior newsletter.) That second clutch, the one that went from four to one to none…there is mystery in the ending of our journey together, the juncos and I. Three days after the discovery of the empty nest and no sign of a wee bird body on the Friday afternoon of disappearance, the baby was “dropped” into my pepper pot at opposite end of my deck on Monday—a good 10 feet away from the basket. I had watered just before checking the nest, so I would have noticed sooner. I buried the small body in with my rosemary plant and offered a blessing. One of the juncos alit for a moment on the eave and gave a “dee dee.” They trusted me with a gift. They knew I would care. How did the body get into my pot? I don’t know. I don’t need to. That is part of living an enchanted life.
with deep gratitude for your willingness to be with me on this journey,
anne
Where the baby junco is buried beside my rosemary.
ps: This wandering around with enchantment and Grief is fresh. If you feel confused. If it feels unclear, well it is because i am also on a meandering, slow journey with this…and it feels like the thread to follow. Several podcasts (see links below) and a great webinar I attended recently (thank you NW Association of Death Education and Bereavement Support, Center for Community Engagement and Lewis & Clark Graduate School of Education and Counseling and presenter Laura Lirette M.Ed, LCSW Director of Bereavement Services at Mt Hood Hospice,) Substacks I follow, a “random” article here and there, favorite authors, all weave into this. A desire to remind you all that Grief is not an illness. Not to be hushed. Not a solo expedition. And though most of my work is done with individuals these days, I see, as do others, the need to listen to other wise cultures and ancient ways and bring grieving back into the community…an expanded community. Perhaps we can work toward this together.
For Your Reflection
how does living a more enchanted life sound to you? do you already live this way? if not, does it appeal to you? consider your childhood…how did you engage with the non-human world? (and remember, you don’t have to “go outside” to be in nature. everything around you is part of the natural world. you are part of the natural world. we are all connected.)
is there a specific loss(es) you are grieving at this time? what are you noticing in your body? your energy? other things you are noticing? how are you honoring your way of being with the loss(es)? are you able to ask for what you need (if you can even name it…that can be difficult sometimes)?
do you know anyone who is in the midst of a loss? are you wondering how to support them? what is your way of showing care? sharing a meal? sending card or a caring text of support? picking up groceries? show your care from your place of warmth and heart.
have you ever engage in a community grieving experience beyond individual funeral/memorial/celebration of life services? what was that like for you, if you have? if not, how do you imagine it might be like and would you be interested in taking and/or creating part in one?
how is your Grief these days? where are you discovering Joy? Awe? Wonder? Connection?
what are you curious about when you consider weaving Grief with enchantment.
first response:
second thoughts:
further down the line:
usual question: are you treating yourself with kindness and gentleness these days? how does that look? if not, how might you make the shift to being kinder and gentler with yourself? how can you be kinder and gentler toward others.
Podcasts!
I have rediscovered podcasts and have some recommendations if you enjoy going down the Grief, Death and Dying rabbit hole (yes, I’m that kind of person. AND I learn so much from other folks experiences, stories, wisdom.)
You’re Going to Die. “A creatively conscious mortality podcast for a 501(3) nonprofit bringing diverse communities creatively into the conversation of death and dying, inspiring life by unabashedly sourcing our shared mortality.” All the ones I have listened to have been meaningful so far, but to start out I recommend host Ned Buskirk’s conversation with Francis Weller, who shifted my whole way of being with sorrow when I read his book The Wild Edge of Sorrow and embraces the heart of communal grieving.
How We Live Now. “How should we live in this world when so much is changed? Katherine May, author of Wintering, the Electricity of Every Living Thing, and Enchantment, asks those most intimate with the effects of these transformations: what now? How do we stay soft in a world determined to harden? How can we bear witness to suffering without being dragged into despair? How do we ride the waves of our anger, sorrow and exhaustion, and still find space for wonder, hope and joy? How can we possibly help? In a series of frank, thoughtful and deeply personal conversations, How We Live Now will explore the cultural, social and spiritual mindset for this long moment.” The current season’s theme is on Enchantment.
I referenced her conversation with Báyò Akómoláfé above. I recommend their chat, but really any of them. Katherine is “neuro-divergent” and that often winds its way into her conversations in how she and her guest are in the world. It resonates with me.
Grief and Gratitude. Okay, I’ll keep bringing this one up, along with the Coffee and Grief Community’s Facebook Page and monthly Coffee Talks on Zoom (next one is Aug 3rd @7pm PT), because it is wonderfully organic and open to how grief and loss unfold in life. Here is the podcast description: “We’re widening the grief conversation, talking about the things we don’t normally take the time to talk about. We’ll hear different people’s grief stories and talk with them about their experience of grief throughout their lives. Each episode a guest writer joins us and reads a grief story. Then we talk about grief. One of the great pleasures of this experience is that we get to learn new things every time. We’re here to ask questions, not prescribe answers. We’re not experts in your grief. We’ll hear stories about death, sickness, politics, dementia, loss of young, loss of self.”
I listen each week as they come out because they are so rich…I even listened to the one where I was a guest. So, yup, here’s the link to that one, with the title, Grief as Mentor. No surprise there.
So that’s it for now for Podcasts, well, until the very end…
In Other News
Poet/philosopher David Whyte encourages us to ask “the beautiful questions,” not so much to have an answer but to remain curious and open. In my search for a home over the last ten months…a journey I had started to hold on with closed hands and a fixed stare, I realized I needed to ask a beautiful question to allow more openness. My question was “What would be a radical action?” I wasn’t expecting an “answer,” but soon after what “popped” into my head was “rent a small place at the Coast for a year.” I held that loosely too, but it fell into me with such a calm “yes,” that that is what I plan to do. If you have followed me for a while, my connection to the threshold space of the North Oregon Coast is deep. I hope to find a place and move by late September/early October. I am excited and overwhelmed (moving, right?) Will keep you posted.
Poetry
Okay, one more podcast: The SlowDown: Poetry & Reflection Daily with Major Jackson. He starts with a wee reflection then reads a poem. I love starting my day with poetry! And “Slow Down” is #8 on Sharon Blackie’s Manifesto for Living an Enchanted Life. I need reminding too often. To close then, here is a recent poem from The SlowDown, that seem fitting for an Enchanted themed post.
Invented Landscape
by L.A. Johnson
It is the world as I’ve never seen it—
the sky, a kaleidoscope of orange blossoms
and seagulls that drift soft as dandelions
and snow that falls
but then changes to glossy clouds, thin as cotton,
that float in gentle breeze; where the glow
from a high balcony becomes a portal
to an orchard
untouched by human hands, where every tree
blooms with tufts of ivory, the rain descending
with low music, as the earth cools and smells
of soap; a kite
in the sky loops higher and higher in the wind
until the kite is a circle with no beginning,
a day that never ends in night, and a child glimpses
wonder beneath
its salt-air sail, holding all mystery on a string.
This is the world as I’ve never seen it.
I’ve woken in dark rooms, I’ve toiled days facing
an empty wall.
I want to write the world gorgeous
enough for my father to return to it. A world
where oceans meet. A world of lands
never split
with fire. Where you can tell the time
by the stars or the sun or by the dimming
minutes themselves, the way they feel
light in your hands.
