The way we hold tiny hope sparks

A breath for this topic.

Before even beginning

I wanted to write about the way we hold tiny hope sparks, in hands and in hearts, and a wish about cultivating hope like a plant, or like tending to a fire, from spark to spark, can hope grow and how does it grow…

But first I need to write about the painful things that are so painful, the hard and, I hope, the good, if we get to it, but maybe that’s a hope spark too.

As always, but somehow more so right now, I am glad you are here. I am glad we are here, even if I have not been able to say much lately.

Hi sweet friends / entry

Hi sweet friends, people who read what I write here, I did not show up here (or anywhere) last week because I simply could not.

And I was going to just tell you that, then, and I could not even do that, and I am sorry about not having words, not even a few words to explain about not having words.

Actually I was feeling not great about any of that, but then Etgar Keret, one of my very favorite writers, wrote in his newsletter this week that he also has not been writing, has not been able to write, he said:

“Words had suddenly felt empty, and my heart had dried up.”

Words empty, heart dried up, yes, that is the gist of it.

Empty & dried up

I think that sums up where I have been and what I have been doing, or really, not doing.

Not sleeping, not eating, not writing, not anything.

Not particularly lucid, not particularly capable. Unable to show up in any way, because grief, sorrow and worry have emptied me of the ability to communicate.

What a week, my loves

What a week. Are we okay, maybe not, probably not, I am not.

But I am here. Let’s get into it.

Actually let me first say this

I hope you are somewhere cozy and safe, a sanctuary space for you, and that everyone you love in this cruel messy world is safe, or will be soon.

And if that is sadly not the case, then I am glowing love, support, strength, or whatever it is that you need.

And before I even give all the boring necessary qualifications that sadly do need to be qualified and expressed in words because of the way this world works, I’m just going to start with this:

Do you want to hear my favorite holocaust joke?

Do you want to hear my favorite holocaust joke?

If you don’t have a favorite holocaust joke, this can be yours too, you’re welcome.

And if you don’t yet understand why so many holocaust jokes exist for this to be an option, or why you’d want a favorite holocaust joke to begin with, well I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe the joke itself will explain.

In fact, if I had to explain Jewish humor to aliens I would start with this joke, because I think it might be the most representative of how we deal with trauma.

Okay, here is the premise of the joke: that Elie Wiesel (1928-2016), famous holocaust survivor and writer who wrote about being a Jewish prisoner at Auschwitz and Buchenwald, has just died. Yes?

Nu

Elie Wiesel dies, goes to ha’olam haba, the world to come, the afterlife, whatever that is, call it heaven if you like even though Jews don’t really think that way. And it’s a big deal because it’s Elie Wiesel.

So god godself comes out to greet him personally.

They look at each other for a while in silence and Elie Wiesel says nu (yiddish for “soo…”), and god also says nu…

Awkward silence. Finally Elie Wiesel says: Well, tell me your best holocaust joke. And god goes, WHAT.

Elie Wiesel: Your best holocaust joke, hit me with it, I want to hear it.
God says, I’m sorry, I can’t do that, there’s nothing funny about the holocaust.

And Elie Wiesel says: Huh, guess you had to be there.

Talk to me about not

Yes, talk to me about not, tell me how not to sink into the pits of despair. What are the secrets of not-sinking…

I keep listening to this song by James from the album Laid, a favorite 1993 album, Say Something.

Say something say something, anything, your silence is deafening…

I say this to myself when I don’t have words, or maybe I have them but can’t bear to let them into the world.

And I say it to the radio, waiting to hear word that the hostages taken by Hamas terrorists have been returned, alive, please. Alive, please.

Say something, say something, anything

Say something, say something, anything.

Tell me how to stay out of the pits of despair, to emerge from the pits of despair, I do not know how.

Tell me what I can hope for. Tell me that I can have hope again.

The pre-qualifications

Oh right, I was supposed to give pre-qualifications, in order to not be misunderstood by what I say next, because there is a lot of misunderstanding and being misunderstood going around, as well as a lot of people who are not pre-qualifying their stances, whatever those may be.

And sometimes not pre-qualifying a stance results in that stance being pretty horrifying. Pre-qualifications matter, I think. For clarity, and for us to be able to reach across barriers, both real and perceived.

Here are mine..

Here are mine

Like all progressive, left-wing Israelis, my friends and family included, I remain passionately against the Israeli Occupation of the West Bank and Gaza, against the brutality, cruelty and racism that characterize many actions of the Israeli army, particularly of mishmar ha’gvul which is the Israeli version of Border Patrol, and much like the American version, a lot of bad apples in that barrel.

Like everyone I know in Israel, I have been to dozens of protests there against the Israeli Occupation, these protests take place constantly, though I have not once seen mention of this in American media.

Like every progressive left-wing Israeli I know aka pretty much everyone I know there, my heart is with Palestinians in their pursuit of sovereignty, safety, self-determination; my heart breaks for their suffering.

I despise Netanyahu, a corrupt fascist, and Ben-Gvir, a religious fascist, a true believer, which is worse, and hope dearly that their fall from power will be swift and permanent.

And I understand and continue to believe, both because I just do and because I have to, that Hamas, a brutal terrorist organization, does not and cannot represent the wishes of the majority of Palestinians, who of course want and deserve to live their lives in peace.

As many of you know, I was able to get out of serving in the Israeli army, and I would not have stayed there had I not been fortunate enough to have that option.

(I hope not)

Do I further need to qualify things? I hope not. Do you need to know how I voted in every election there? I mean, I can tell you, though I don’t think it matters.

It is important for me to say these things because I think everyone should know where I stand in general.

And at the same time it hurts my heart that I feel obligated to say them first, that I have to say these things as a preface, that I cannot express my pain and distress over the Israeli captives, survivors, the dead and the people who love them without carefully delineating where I stand on the broad issues.

Things are very grim, my friends

I am hurting. I am hurting so much. I assume you are too. The news is so grim.

The massacre in Israel by Hamas. The Palestinians who were already suffering harm now suffering even more harm from the as-expected Israeli response. The awful, horrifying hate crimes and threats of hate crimes here in the United States where I am and in other places around the world, it is so much, for all of us.

So much pain, and too much to be able to take, the hurt is too intense, too close to home.

Where I’m at (emotionally?)

The terrible massacre by Hamas at the music festival on Saturday, October 7, some have called it a pogrom, which feels accurate, took place in my former back yard, by Re’im, next to Urim.

I have hiked there many times, I have been to the place where Hamas murdered over two hundred and fifty young people, kidnapped some, bodies still being found a week later.

I will not speak to the other atrocities that happened there.

Similarly, I will not describe the scene at Kisufim & Be’eri, places I have visited with friends, quiet peaceful communities where Israelis were tortured and murdered in horrifying ways, I have seen video of the burnt and bloody homes after the bodies were removed. I have seen more than I ever wish to see again.

Lighting a candle

The town I lived in and called home was miraculously evacuated in time, my close friends and extended family are safe, though many of their friends were murdered, and someone we know is among the captives, each day I light a candle for his safe release and return home.

Though of course that home no longer exists, everyone has scattered.

What is home? Where was god?

You had to be there. You weren’t there. I wasn’t there, and I feel very fucked up about that, specifically.

The ongoing panic, among other things

Caught up with a friend I haven’t heard from in twenty years. One of his extended family members is among the abducted too. My friend’s kids are having panic attacks. I get it.

I get it. I don’t know what to do.

Lighting a candle, what else can I do?

Ten breaths, and then ten more. We are strong, we are tough, one step and then the next step.

Shock

I have to say that I am still entirely in a state of shock, a week and a half later. Waiting to wake up to a different reality.

At the hardware store, trying to resolve my various plumbing woes, no one is crying, no one is upset, it is just a regular day for everyone.

And I resent them because they don’t know about the absolutely gruesome things I have learned about and will not describe here or ever, the horrors that were enacted, with great intentionality, by Hamas, to friends of my friends. Or of the bravery of the people who did what they could to save others.

Gathering

Meanwhile I have to gather myself together in the car because I am mostly too distraught to function.

I sweep myself up like shards in a dustpan, I don’t see a way to be put back together. But that’s what the hope sparks are for.

For the first week of the war, I wasn’t able to get more than three hours of sleep a night, and never all at once.

Unfortunately I don’t eat enough to begin with, and have been really falling down on that front lately. Nothing appeals. I suppose that is an element of shock too.

What I’ve been doing

What have I been doing actually, other than crying, lighting candles, checking on friends and family, staring blankly, not-writing?

Vacillating between overdosing on news and no news. For the first week, I watched Israeli television streaming, all day every day, switching to radio when it was too much, then music radio with a brief hourly news moment when that was too much.

Then I took three days to decompress and refused to interact with any news at all. Just music.

Avoiding social media. I am sure that the various takes are as unhelpful as they are many, and I do not wish to interact with them.

Oh, and hauling water from a hydrant, because I am having a plumbing emergency that no one can fix, and water to my home has been shut off for eleven days now, with no solution in sight.

Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that either, so let’s find our way, somehow, to something better…

The epistemological instinct

My friend who is finishing a PhD in psychology offered this:

“It’s maybe not helpful, but psychoanalysis writes about the ‘epistemological instinct’ as one of our self preservation instincts and a defense against anxiety. That desire to KNOW is so powerful.”

Yes, so there’s that. It is not helpful for me to soak up more and more bad news, and also there is the part of me who desires to know, as if knowing will tell me something. Say something, say something, anything.

Here is something, too

Perhaps it is naive the way I continue to hold this hope spark in my hands, the hope spark of someday peace, peace is possible, we can figure this out somehow, someday. The way I insist on holding onto hope, even now, especially now.

But I do. I never thought I would see Israel have peace with Jordan or Egypt in my lifetime, and yet both of these came to pass. Other miraculous things can come to pass as well. I will keep whispering to the spark of hope, saying live, live, thrive.

And I always return to the beautiful friendship between Etgar Keret and Sayed Kashua, two writers I admire, and the story that Keret wrote for his friend in another scary time, called A Story With A Happy Ending, which you can (and should, please) read here.

Hope sparks, in general

The hope sparks that I hold, tend to and cultivate in times of hopelessness and at all times are not just related to this particular, devastating-for-everyone, terrifying and grim situation of grief and despair.

Oh no, I hold hope sparks for all sorts of things.

Still I cherish

Even in a pandemic where I am severely immunocompromised, very ill, and it hurts my heart to see how the world moved on and almost no one is doing anything to keep me safe, not even a symbolic gesture.

Even in a climate emergency in which we can see ourselves hurtling swiftly in real time towards each new point of no return. Free fall, nothing to be done, and still I cherish these tiny hope sparks.

Even living where I do in the southwestern United States where Border Patrol enacts terrible cruelties on people seeking refuge and asylum, with no consequence, no matter who we vote for.

Terrible things are happening, hope-defying terrible things, and still I breathe new life into my hope sparks.

Breathing life, hope sparks

This is what I keep coming back to, how the practice of hope sparks and finding small good things in the moment is both hard and brave. And important.

Where can I find hope and how can I tend to my hope hearth. Breathing life, hope sparks.

Breathing: life.

Hope: sparks.

Breathing life and hope into all the challenges, large and small

Even when relatively small things (getting running water set up again in my house please) feel entirely hopeless, I know there will be a way, I’m just not there yet.

I haul buckets, breathe and hope, breathe and hope. One step and then the next step.

What helps me stay grounded and centered amidst this great despair (political, environmental, health), and the smaller daily despair pits and pitfalls?

What helps

Trying very hard not to sink into the pits of despair (though mostly have been hanging out there), and to focus on the known things that help. Known small things.

Known small things to interrupt the cycle of grief rage terror sorrow despair, for example:

• Clean dishes.
• Hydrating. Washing my hair.
• Wrapping up in blankets. Slow stretching on the rug.
• Movie night.
• Looking at the sky.
• Sixteen breaths.
• Asking how much of this pain is mine…
• Crying some more, yawning it out, release release release release.

And this, too

Friends have been reaching out to me with kind and helpful words.

For example: “Havi, this feels a like a week when it is absurd to ask how you are doing, but I am thinking of you and I have some pictures of dogs in hoodies for you.”

And: “Hi my dear. It’s too horrifying to talk about …there are no words. So just sending an embrace of comfort, letting you know you are in my mind and heart.”

It helps. It is very lonely to be in this state of grim despair, but people know that I’m there and they stop by.

It helps.

Returning to the hope spark that I cultivate in my heart

A song playing on Israeli radio in the background, “even if all the stars show there’s reason to worry, there’s still no reason to despair”, that’s something too.

Trying to find small hope sparks where I can even though it is harder than ever.

It’s necessary, and it’s how we survive.

And part of hope spark life, this devotion to hope sparks, is knowing or at least remembering that the hope sparks will return even when I can’t see them or remember what they look like and feel like.

HOPE. SPARK. LIFE.

It’s part faith, part luck, part practice, part repetition.

Part faith, part luck, part practice, part repetition

Let’s keep trying.

Let’s keep pointing our hope sparks towards something better for everyone.

Let’s hope as hard as we can when we can, and care for ourselves lovingly when we can’t. Faith, luck, practice, repetition, or whatever works for you.

Let’s keep trying, let’s keep going.

Come play in the comments, I appreciate the company

You are welcome to share anything that sparked for you while reading, or anything that helped or anything on your mind.

Or anything you’d like to toss into the wishing pot, the healing power of the collective is no small thing, companionship always helps.

You can wish any wishes that come to mind (come to heart?), or echo “Oh wow, what beautiful wishes!” for my wishes or anyone else’s.

I’m happy you’re here with me.

Bonus question

I’m making progress on bonus material about how I relate to time and map out my quarters, let me know if there anything you want to know more about specifically? Drop any questions or thoughts here…

Anyone who gives to Barrington’s Discretionary (see below) will get these by email as soon as I finish editing, I hope soon.

A request

If you received clues or perspective or want to send appreciation for the writing and work/play we do here, I appreciate it tremendously. Working on some stuff to offer this coming year, but between traumatic brain injury recovery & Long Covid, slow going.

I am accepting support (with joy & gratitude) in the form of Appreciation Money to Barrington’s Discretionary Fund. Asking is not where my strength resides but Brave & Stalwart is the theme these days, and pattern-rewriting is the work, it all helps with fixing the many broken things.

And if those aren’t options, I get it, you can light a candle for support (or light one in your mind!), share this with someone who loves words, tell people about these techniques, approaches and themes, send them here, it all helps, it’s all welcome, and I appreciate it and you so much. ❤️

Happy weekend

It’s Friday for me, maybe weekend for you, I said this last week and say it again: an absolute madness-inducing moon (for me), and here we are.

FYI I am still on twitter which is a wreck (@havi), or find me on bluesky, same handle: havi.bsky.social

Last week we talked about how Newness Does Its Own Work, and before that we covered the technique or approach of A Mystery Guest…

Casting call (of the wild)

Okay: not okay

I have not been writing because I am extremely not okay, and even that is an understatement.

But then (aka just now), I decided that this state of being extremely not okay, which is sometimes part of the human condition and definitely my current reality, is, in this specific case, not a reason to not show up.

That’s a lot of negatives to put into one sentence, but hey, it’s a negative state of mind, and I don’t have the brain power to do a rewrite.

Here’s to the superpowers

Here’s to the superpowers of naming what is, in the moment.

To knowing (or trying to remember) that it is of the moment, and the moment will shift and change, as moments do. That’s what moments do.

Here’s to whatever other superpowers want to reveal themselves through showing up.

Preface as practice…

Is that a thing? It is now. This is my practice: noticing where I’m at and then saying it.

That’s where I’m at. Not okay.

And, also: I am showing up today in a state of not-okay, and I want to be upfront about that, to preface all of this with that bit of Loving Clarity.

Here I am, as I am

Here I am: extremely not okay.

That’s what I have in the moment.

Here’s to the superpowers of naming what is, add compassion and stir. Sometimes the only ingredient you have is hurt, or raw honesty. Okay, it’s a starting point.

Naming it, showing up, let’s see what happens.

What does not okay even mean

I am not okay lately, in every sense of not okay.

Physically I mostly feel like I’m on the verge of passing out, like that is my baseline normal, my all day every day; and on a good day I only occasionally feel like I might pass out.

My ears ring more than they don’t. I can’t remember basic things, and nearly everyone in my life wants me to either get better already or to stop thinking about it or at least to stfu and stop fucking talking about it.

Some days (and nights) it’s more of an ongoing agonizing emotional nosedive, cycling through grief, sorrow, rage and terror in various configurations.

Casting

I love the word cast, it means so many things.

I love it when a word means as many things as possible.

Let’s name them, or some of them…

You can cast a spell, for example

You can cast a spell. Casting as conjuring.

You can cast something off. Casting as releasing. Or embarking, setting sail.

You can cast a shape, like metalwork. Casting as creating.

You can cast a shadow, and, in doing so, change the scenery or mood or setting…

You can cast something into, a body of water, for example, in this sense, casting is actively letting go.

A cast of characters is a gathering.

A casting call is an invitation. Call of the wild: come in, come in.

Tonight

Tonight is nine years (if you go by the Hebrew calendar) since my mom died.

If you want to read a piece I wrote about this eight years ago, it is about treasure and grace and Roy Orbison and the word Mercy, and it is one of my favorite pieces of writing on here, out of 1,842 essays written on this site (1,728 published, I have a lot of drafts!) in these many years.

I think she would appreciate the complexity of the verb to cast. It’s a good Ruth word.

That’s all I want to say about that right now.

When you can’t let go

Years ago, my friend Jenny and I were each going through our own terrible recovery from a breakup situation, I dealt with my grief through taking as many dance classes and movement classes as I could, and screaming in the car. She went swimming every day.

She told me about how she would go to the pool and ask it to help her let go, but she could not let go.

She would say, LET IT GO, knowing she could not let it go. So one day she decided to say, “I let it come.”

It’s not something I know how to do (yet?), but it’s a reminder.

That’s all I want to say about that, too.

To the water, to the water

There is a Jewish tradition called tashlich. On the first day of Rosh Hashana (or the second day, if the first day is on shabbat), you go to a body of moving water, a river or a creek.

You toss in bread crumbs to represent all the things you regret from the past year, things you said or didn’t say, things you did or didn’t do, ways you may have been unkind to others or to yourself. Whoosh, goodbye, into the flowing water.

It’s like a counter to the communal repentance of yom kipur which is about gathering to atone together, you apologize together as a collective, for all of it.

Tashlich is a personal reckoning, a private moment between you and the river, and possibly god, if that’s your thing, being Jewish doesn’t require belief, it just asks for you to show up.

A simple quiet here I am by the water, if you can get there.

Casting away

Translation is not where I excel, but if I tried to describe the word tashlich, it’s like, you will throw!

Yes, it is a casting (off and away), a releasing, a letting go.

This word that describes casting is active, not passive. It describes the tossing, you can hear the motion in the word, if you speak Hebrew.

It is a sending (not to be confused with ascending, though maybe also that), because to throw in Hebrew is a cousin to the word to send, and also to the word for a mission.

It is my absolute favorite ritual of the year, and I was very sad this year when Rosh Hashana came and went, and I was not able to go because I did not have energy to leave my bed.

Timing timing timing (see also: location)

I saw someone online say they prefer to perform the ritual of tashlich on yom kipur, to combine the personal I Am So Sorry with the communal.

And it turns out that technically you can perform this ritual all the way up to hashana raba, which is at the end of sukkot, anyway, the point is, there is a lot of leeway about when you can do this, a three week period just about.

I love this sort of temporal leniency. It’s like when I forget to do new moon rituals, and my witchiest friend reminds me that the whole week is new moon actually.

It was freeing to think about. So I rested for several days, and on Monday, I packed up a bag of honey cake crumbs, got myself into the car and drove up a winding road into the forest to find my favorite creek.

Location location location (see also: timing)

This year monsoon came very early, and the late summer rains have been less than usual, and my creek was dry! Sounds like a metaphor.

Sounds like Otis Redding. You don’t miss your water until your well runs dry.

But I mean it quite literally. There I was, in a flash flood zone, and yet no water in the creek, just barely a trickle if you followed it down the path. Not close enough to toss in crumbs and regrets, and not enough water to carry them downstream.

I turned around.

A new something, yes please to newness

Much to my surprise and delight, I found a new spot down the road aways, one I might like even better.

Secluded, in a clearing, surrounded by ponderosa pines, the water running merrily.

Everything felt sweet and holy, promising, a sanctuary spot. Just the right place to actively let go through tossing, through casting away.

Always the silliest worry imaginable

Sometimes, just for fun, I like to worry about the most ridiculous things possible, and so on the drive, I was worrying that I have had so little interaction with people this year that I might not have accumulated enough sorrows, or things I wish I had handled differently.

Spoiler: I have more than enough regrets.

Some of my regrets are about not being as good of a friend as I could. Some are about not protecting myself as well as I wish I could. Some are about times I was not completely honest with myself. Some are about feelings not expressed.

Casting

Anyway, you do what you do at the creek.

Casting, into the water, with sincerity and hope.

Releasing the silliest worries, releasing the great sadness, let it go, let it come, let the creek do its job.

Now is not then

That’s what I try to remember.

Now is now.

Here we are.

Some Ruth Advice

I was listening to Roy Orbison at top volume, as I do on the anniversary of my mom’s death, and on her birthday, among other Ruth-pursuits.

And I lit the yahrzeit candle but first I had to go look for matches, because she thinks it’s rude to light the candle with a lighter, even if it’s a very pretty lighter. So I found matches, and it worked out.

She said that I should stop trying to solve the big things and focus on trying to solve the small things. Focus on the small things.

There’s some Ruth advice, if you would like it. It is a good and helpful clue for me. I think she is right, I have been wearing myself down trying to solve the big things. Solve the small things.

Here’s to the [fill in the blank, as you need to]

Here’s to:

casting and casting off (like a boat, but also to release),
casting and casting away, but not being a castaway, that’s different,
a cast of characters aka my incoming selves,
a good obsession,
a slightly cleaner house,
solving the small things…

Here’s to all of that, and more and better, may it be so…

Here’s to a new start

What if i can be obsessed with embracing hermit life, or taking tiny steps on projects and not just with the pain of sad things and cycling through the grief rage terror, that’s a start, right? We love a start.

Here’s to a new start. We’re not alone.

And: I said this last time but it’s still true…

I love you, I’m here, let’s keep going. Steering towards sweetness, newness and aliveness.

Come play in the comments, I love company!

You are welcome to share anything that sparked for you while reading, or anything on your mind.

Or anything you’d like to toss into the wishing pot, the healing power of the collective is no small thing, companionship always helps.

Bonus question!

I’m making progress on bonus material about how I relate to time and map out my quarters, let me know if there anything you want to know more about specifically? Drop any questions or thoughts here…

Anyone who gives to Barrington’s Discretionary (see below) will get these by email as soon as I finish editing!

A request

If you received clues or perspective or want to send appreciation for the writing and work/play we do here, I appreciate it tremendously. Working on some stuff to offer this coming year, but between traumatic brain injury recovery & Long Covid, slow going.

I am accepting support (with joy & gratitude) in the form of Appreciation Money to Barrington’s Discretionary Fund. Asking is not where my strength resides but Brave & Stalwart is the theme these days, and pattern-rewriting is the work, it all helps with fixing the many broken things.

And if those aren’t options, I get it, you can light a candle for support (or light one in your mind!), share this with someone who loves words, tell people about these techniques, approaches and themes, send them here, it all helps, it’s all welcome, and I appreciate it and you so much. ❤️

Happy weekend

It’s Friday for me, possibly weekend for you, an absolute madness-inducing moon (for me), here we are.

FYI I am still on twitter which is a wreck (@havi), or find me on bluesky, same handle: havi.bsky.social

Last week we talked about the technique or approach of A Mystery Guest, and before that we covered the opposite of loneliness…

Newness does its own work

This week has been rough sailing

You might have gathered this from social media or from my lack of an essay this week.

This has been a really hard week for me (understatement), and I spent it mostly in bed.

It’s partly due to seasonal stuff (the anniversary of my mom’s passing is a week from today, for starters), and partly due to loud neighbors being loud.

It’s partly due to how deeply miserable long covid is, I wish more people talked about how miserable it is, and partly due to the intense cognitive dissonance I feel about seemingly no one doing much to avoid it.

And also

It’s partly due to circumstances — not having running hot water, for example, but can put many things in the category of [circumstances]

And, also, putting aside all the instances of partly this and partly that, it’s mainly due to a very intense reaction I’m having to someone who was in my space being very pushy about something they had no business being pushy about to begin with.

And then they did not stop pushing when I clearly wanted them to stop. Just more and more pushing.

Forever in reaction to pushing

It’s always about more pushing (for them). But what is it about for me?

Okay, so then for me it becomes a question of whether or not to disappear.

It becomes about all the ways I choose to disappear or choose not to disappear.

A crossing of boundaries

Unwanted pushing is of course a symbolic replication of other forms of violations and violence I am still upset about, so there’s also that.

Better said: I went through a crossing of boundaries that impacted me more than I expected, a violation that I wasn’t fully able to clock as a violation, and have spent this week in bed, trying to get a sense of who I am and the why/how of everything.

The repercussions (for me) of boundary crossing

Like I said, I either disappear or I don’t disappear, and honestly both of these are less than ideal.

I either blank into blankness, a steady receding, or I am here but fucked up, too fucked up to function.

There must be a third way, I just haven’t found it yet, so I’ve been back and forth between my two known points: receding and fucked up, receding, fucked up. Here.

Waiting to be restored, or waiting to begin the process of restoration…

Restoration, a process

I was feeling very angry this week about what happened (and about many other things that are happening, ongoing), and I am thinking, as I so often am, about what Karla McClaren said about anger.

She describes anger as a messenger with only one message; a boundary has been knocked down and needs to be restored.

Yes, this is the crux of it all. How to restore and be restored.

Which, if you think about it, are good questions for this time of year anyway.

Here we are: the good questions for this time of year

What restores me to myself?

What needs to be restored, repaired, revisited, re-visioned and re-envisioned?

I don’t know yet, but remembering that I am the one who gets to ask the questions is both what put me into this state and what might get me out of it.

What do I mean by this time of year

Fall equinox, here in the northern hemisphere, as we make peace with the seasonal shift towards winter and towards 2024, which here in the United States where I live, will be a gruesome election year.

In the Hebrew calendar, this past week was new years, and new moon in the month of Tishrei, Monday is Yom Kipur and then Friday is Sukkot

A lot is happening.

A lot is happening, what is happening

The air is crisper in the morning. The sun sets surprisingly early. When I wash my hands, I remember how miserable it is to only have cold water and I feel the waves of dread about the coming cold days.

Everyone I know is in some sort of crisis or mini-crisis. It’s just a time of big change, I don’t know how to describe it better than that. It’s a time of in-between and possibilities, for better and for worse.

Sometimes it feels hopeful, sometimes it feels grim. Just really fucking grim. Waiting for the hope to return, but I know it will.

What is needed, what is here

That’s the question, isn’t it?

What is here? What is needed?

What needs to be restored and how do I approach the restoring? With gentleness, sweetness and compassion, of course, but what do I do next?

Let’s name some of the superpowers of becoming restored in this new year, this passage into what is coming.

What are the superpowers

I am invoking the superpowers of Expanding My Capacity for Handling Joy, and the power of Nourished on a Fundamental Level, which might even be the same powers amen or at the very least extremely related.

I would like both please.

In great quantities, as much as I can handle. See also: expanding my capacity for handling good things.

What is an example of these beautiful wishes

I love whipped honey and never buy it, and until last week, I did not know that you can make it yourself! It’s so easy!

These discoveries always mess with my head. On the one hand, it’s such a delight to discover that something you thought needed to be produced can be replicated easily in your own kitchen.

And on the other hand, I get mad that I didn’t know! I feel frustrated, everything is a lie!

Anyway, it’s very easy to make whipped honey, which is such a luxurious way to consume honey, if you consume honey.

A memory of chopping ginger by the window

Last August, in 2022, I chopped up a bunch of ginger and put it in a jar of local mesquite honey. I remember standing by the window, chopping, when I could stand to chop. Now I do most of my chopping seated, it takes too much energy to stand.

There’s a joke in here somewhere (can’t stand, can’t stand it anymore), but also nothing is funny.

This is one of those thing people don’t talk about when they are not talking about what covid can do to you. Remember standing to chop things? It’s gone now. Only on special occasions when I magically having standing and chopping energy, but mostly I do not.

Anyway, I turned this ginger-infused honey into whipped honey with cinnamon and vanilla, and it is extremely intense and very delicious, a punch of flavor, a luscious delight…

What if delight can be easy, actually?

Invoking the superpower of what if delight is surprisingly easy, actually?

Low effort pleasure? Low effort pleasure!

Low! Effort! Pleasure!

I live for this and all its variations. What if things can be easy? What if even easier than that?

What a beautiful thought: It comes to me! With ease!

What comes with ease?

The new windows

Last year, when I had chopping energy, I stood by the window.

A year later, I have finally replaced two of the windows that got tweaked when my tiny house got dropped when it was brought here from the coast.

It was a long and arduous process from measuring to researching to acquiring to installing, and just about everything that could go wrong did, don’t ask.

A barrier quandary

Thinking now about how I’m so grateful, so deeply thankful for these windows (a better barrier, double paned, with screens, they will keep warm air in when winter comes) but also they had to come into place via the three people I have the most barrier issues with.

Do you see? A window is a beautiful boundary, a source of clarity, delivering light and a view, a refreshing evening breeze when needed.

And also wow, the boundary issues, it’s really a thing.

Hard and then easy, easy and then hard

Things are hard and then easy, easy and then hard. I wrote that and then I forgot what I was writing about.

The process of installing windows, maybe, or the process of restoration.

Or am I talking about whipped honey that contributes to the most delicious holiday cake, and accidentally finding my way into a new new-year tradition…

I don’t know. Would you like to know how to make whipped honey?

How to make whipped honey

Note: this works best with light colored crystallized honey.

You put the honey in a heat proof bowl above a pot of hot water until it’s soft (not hot), aka the double boiler method cheat, because who has a double boiler, not me, I live in a tiny tiny house.

You give it a good stir and when it’s cool enough, it goes into a blender with whatever spices you like.

Or you could use a hand mixer if you have one.

Leave it out or in a cupboard if you can — if you keep it refrigerated, it will seize up again but no worries, you can melt and re-blend as needed.

Variety is the spice of life, spiced honey is a source of variety

Not just for dipping sliced apples. You can also use your flavored whipped honey in baking and cooking, not just for dipping everything into it, or eating by the spoonful.

A third of a cup of whipped ginger cinnamon vanilla honey went into the bourbon chai honey cake I made for Rosh Hashana, new tradition, we love a new tradition.

And I added a generous spoonful of the whipped ginger honey to the cilantro lemon chili crisp tahini sauce I make each week and put on everything. (Have we talked about homemade chili crisp yet? This has ruined my life in the best possible way.)

The point is, you can’t go wrong. Add it to everything.

Incredible…

I always thought whipped honey was something you had to get in a store? I assumed it was complicated. It is not complicated. I love things that are not complicated.

What else is uncomplicated or has the potential to be uncomplicated. What else am I over-complicating unnecessarily, through not knowing that it can be simple…

My mom used to buy a brand of whipped honey for Rosh Hashana, the tagline was INCREDIBLE, IT’S SPREADABLE.

My brother and I would lose our minds laughing about that bit of copywriting, but also the honey was so delicious.

Newness

I don’t have my mother’s holiday honey cake recipe, or my grandmother’s, and I’m sad about that. But that’s where new traditions come in.

And I had to figure out how make my bourbon chai honey cake gluten-free, dairy-free and egg-free, so even if I had the family recipes, I’d have to change them until they were new too.

Can I let the newness be comforting, even when I am longing for the familiar? Maybe. Can I find some magic in the not-doing, when I cannot be in a state of doing…

Finding some magic in not doing

This new year transition and fall equinox time have been extra challenging for me.

In part because of low energy, and in part because I really thought the new window install would be the perfect new year’s gift to myself but what actually happened was having them installed was so unbelievably stressful and exhausting that it sent me into bed rest and a deep depression.

So most of my usual rituals and practices didn’t happen, which means it’s time for something new.

Instead of seeking the symbolic forms of newness that I am familiar with and crave, I need to trust the newness of the year itself to do its own work, or to work its own magic.

Newness does its own work

That’s a superpower too.

And so is letting newness do its own work, work its own magic…

Not pushing, not disappearing. Letting the newness do what it needs to do.

Maybe I don’t have energy to welcome the year or to do any restoration.

But I’m calling on the newness to do it for me for now.

Words on words

I had other things I wanted to tell you about. They will wait.

In the meantime, I hope you got some good clues or threads to follow, something to accompany you on the transition into the new season, or whatever passages you are currently going through.

Wishing you all the support, sweetness and insight you need, or something even better.

I like to think we can find new ways to virtually share honey cake or companionship, or whatever is needed most. Here’s to restoring and restoration, with sweetness and a new twist.

I love you, I’m here, let’s keep going. Steering towards sweetness, newness and aliveness.

Question!

I’m making progress on bonus material about how I relate to time and map out my quarters, let me know if there anything you want to know more about specifically? Drop any questions or thoughts here…

And! Anyone who gives to Barrington’s Discretionary (see below) will get these by email as soon as I finish editing them…

Come play in the comments, I love company!

Share anything sparked for you while reading, anything on your mind.

Or anything you’d like to toss into the wishing pot, the healing power of the collective is no small thing, companionship always helps.

A request

If you received clues or perspective or want to send appreciation for the writing and work/play we do here, I appreciate it tremendously. Working on some stuff to offer this coming year, but between traumatic brain injury recovery & Long Covid, slow going.

I am accepting support (with joy & gratitude) in the form of Appreciation Money to Barrington’s Discretionary Fund. Asking is not where my strength resides but Brave & Stalwart is the theme these days, and pattern-rewriting is the work, it all helps with fixing the many broken things.

And if those aren’t options, I get it, you can light a candle for support (or light one in your mind!), share this with someone who loves words, tell people about these techniques, approaches and themes, send them here, it all helps, it’s all welcome, and I appreciate it and you so much. ❤️