Wanderings in the Heart of Winter

Pandemonium pandemic. Some say it has been a wild ride. Some dropped, rolled and took cover. I went into winter, dormant, covered in the chill of my old, familiar terror. Sometimes I got confused. I believed opinions rather than what I knew is the truth about myself. I doubted. I halted, stuck in the mud that was slung and clung. BC, before Covid, I knew myself to be a self-starter, a visionary, a person who set my own goals and then acts. I was surprised, actually, was appalled, at my nascent lack of motivation, focus, structure and inability to get unstuck. I am an athlete who could no longer go out for a mere walk; A writer with such sudden, situational attention deficit, I couldn't even read a book, not to mention, write a sentence. What was this baffling place, the winter of the soul? How did I stay in it for as long as was needed and then poked my crocus head out?

We arrived almost a year ago in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, our new, albeit premature home, according to our timeline anyway. If you have followed this blog, you know that we left California intent on a year long, van-life adventure. However, an ark-worthy flood seeped into our North Carolina's basement and a friend was in Durham's hospital on the brink of the other side, so we hightailed it from Texas to the South and then the Universe sealed our plans. 

As our sick friend circumvented the six horseman and water levels receded and were pushed back to the tune of $20K, life in this new chapter looked promising. Spring came early in technicolor. I had forgotten about the transformation from winter's biting teeth to spring's luscious lips. Rabbits and Robbins, Cardinals and camellias ensconced with Morel mushrooms and Magnolias teased us into engagement with a flirty, unabashed, drawling Southern Spring. An unresistant  romantic, I was hooked.

As the pandemic and Trump's meshuganah antics set in, dread and uncertainty chipped at our newly found relations and began to erect a similar wall to the one being built at the border, this one guarding our bodies and home, a measure to keep death and sickness at the door, hoping that God will Passover our bunker. Maybe it was a survival mechanism, but the separation of this Jew from people felt unbearable at times, generationally familiar, infuriating, devastating, yet I minimized this impact. After all, I had my wife and son, whom we yanked from his year of study abroad, just in time before the borders sealed. I went grocery shopping and no bombs were dropping. This wasn't really a war, right?  So I sat, in my nice bunker, waiting for the bells to ring signaling we are safe. I waited and watched endless TV during the return of its Golden Age. I zoomed and what's app'ed and had more contact than ever with my friends and family in Israel, but not so much with folks in California. I watched with horror, as daily atrocities against the black community were finally being exposed and held my breath as the rising tide of what I had hoped, was an emergence of sustained change. I was afraid to march because of Covid. I was trying to protect two immune-compromised friends whom we had wanted to stay in our innermost circle. But the lack of physical connection, the sense of deep isolation, the longing to feed and be fed, had reduced me to an obstinate mass occupying space and not much more.

Living with two humans and feeling a loss of control, having less bodily contact during a crisis was very restimulating. Is there any wonder that I felt my power, my autonomy wane? Is there any wonder that I rebelled against the only two beings by my side. Oh, this felt familiar and familial. At times I knew this was reminiscent of way earlier times; at others, I was furious at the present. I had forgotten that I could change only one thing on this planet. I thought the power to change myself had been relinquished forever.

Luckily, I attended a workshop on women's liberation and male domination and finally decided that I had had enough of this useless pattern of victim-hood, inertia, false beliefs and dissatisfaction. I had enough clarity after boo-hoo-hooing for a bit, to remember that I thrive in structure. I decided to fight for myself, instead of only fighting others.

 

11PM became my bedtime and at 630AM, I cock-a-doodle-doo! I layered my stairs to well-being: coffee and concentrated reading, breakfast before a walk in the park, writing and then Spanish lessons all before 9AM. Then a daily co-counseling session to set my heart on the liberation of my life and rid my addled brain of less than helpful recordings. And life is going better. The balm of nature grounds my feet, connects me to the trees, opens my creativity, calms my synapses. 

As I traveled today, through the quiet, quivering maples, oaks and magnolias, I thought about my father. His birthday is upcoming. My sister informed me that he had fractured his foot and knee and may have torn a tendon. I have no physical relationship with my father. His childhood wounds, his addictions and his lack of tools left him stunted in toxicity and I have chosen to stay away from the oozing pus and poison. 

It is not a decision I make lightly. My inner young one still wishes for a father who would choose to love and accept his offspring; One who had wanted a girl and thought she was nothing less than perfect; Someone who loved fiercely with boundaries; Someone safe and protective and strong. Someone else. 

My adult has compassion for his young life. The hurts that sit on him no fault of his own, nor his parents'. Sometimes I still need to remember not to jump over my own heartache and break because I, too, deserve compassion. So I look for the trees to hold me, the leaves to soften my journey, the birds to replace the shouting, the wind to lift me and the sun to remind me to shine. I work to replace each brick in my walls with fresh, agile, flexible roots.  When I walk through the forest, I remember that I am a part of this intricate, symbiotic system where mushrooms rely on trees for nourishment and on each other via a vast, unseen, underground network, a teeming tribe resonating with resources to keep us all vibrant and alive. If you'd like to join me, hold me hand. I'll take you with me.