Each Day

“Today felt better than all the other ones,” I said to Samuel, then remembered starting the day with an extra dose of CBD oil. It seemed a good idea due to the anxiety bubbling in my belly that is in addition to the usual daily challenges with it.

Normally a full dropper is taken at night before laying down in bed, under the tongue for five minutes before swallowing. It is a helpful habit to keep until safer days arrive. It may also help with sudden wakings due to an increase of nightmares. We gut laughed during a TV show. It has been weeks since laughing like that. 

Interestingly, food cravings stabilized almost immediately with the additional dose, meals becoming healthier frosted with a greater capacity to connect with my body. 

The current of anxiety thrumming deep down has vibrated constantly since the crisis began, rising as it crept closer and closer finally arriving within the community. Waves of apprehension heighten during news reports. That gratefully lessens while outdoors. Bird songs, fresh air breathed in fully, and the current of the creek meandering by comfort the ragged edges.

A beaver appeared, then a weasel slipped in and out by the bank where it made holes in the mud looking for roots to eat. A fox appeared only yards away. The wild gardens are full up with snow-drops with many bulbs popping up growing taller each day. Yellowy jonquils are almost ready to open, my term for them ‘miniature daffodils.’ The majesty of solitude, peace, and quiet smooths away unease offering respite. 

Meditation helps to settle my core, concern rising again during news reports, feeling the buzz as it erupts internally. The draw for the most current news has reduced feeling assured we are doing all that can be done to protect ourselves and others by self-isolating. 

The jerk of a president refutes the numbers of ventilators desperately required en mass, choosing instead to let the older population die. He bizarrely talks of filling up churches by Easter relaxing social distancing before the pandemic has hardly even approached it’s peak.

It is more of the same lunacy. Networks don’t broadcast his long-winded reports anymore which are full of lies interspersed with self congratulatory propaganda.



Feelings Need Comfort

photo by Patricia

Listening to news brings deep vibrations of fear coupled with anxiety. Maybe not watching would relieve it, yet every scrap is consumed needing to know, be prepared, and to be preventative. Like a moth to flame, or to safe ground?

Trying not to feel what is there doesn’t work only pushing me to old habits of stuffing my body with unwanted food, no longer an escape that helps much. Causing great dis-ease instead, intensifying fears because now my own actions are causing harm. And it is a very big clue that emotions need tending to with care, gentleness and compassion.

So feel the feelings. Oh that. Yes, feel it. These feelings don’t run through dissipating like others moving on to the next issue. These rumble on as the emergency heightens.

So continue with the things that keep my body strong and healthy. Meditation. Time in nature with the relaxing repose by the creek after lap 5, healthy nutrition, sleep, and past-times that unwind stressed nerves.


Que Sera, Sera

As the start of spring unfolds, so too the impending virus, marching across the country like a plague. My mind says, go ahead eat. Because eating numbs anxiety replacing it with an anxiety accustomed to— self-hate. And that doesn’t feel good either.

Face the terror. Yes, death might come to either myself or Samuel. My mind takes off; sick, out of respirators, death, alone, unloved, cold. Or vice versa, Samuel hospitalized without the ability to sit with him due to his quarantine, and death, leaving me alone.

And there is the more real probability of neither of those. Yet the low thrumming terror has been blotted by eating leaving me deadened to fullness or satiety eating things in a way that began at age 8. Eat to numb the pain, terror, and abandonment.

Stop. Face it. Feel it. If the worse happened is living paralyzed until it might come any way to live? Stuck in a chair eating because I’m too scared to move? Or walking the meadow taking in every moment with openness loving what is there.

The sun broke out in the late afternoon calling me. Grabbing hiking shoes that are waterproof to the muddy path, donning coat and hat, the walk, despite so much dull drab browns and greys, was stunning in its earthy splendor. Birds singing, sunshine burst through the puffy clouds.

Movement of my body brought sweat. Off went the coat, lap after lap. My body loved it. Work begins on facing the crisis internally where numbness was achieved by old patterns of eating that make me feel sick not well.

Face the anxiety, sit with it, feel it. Seriousness has been a state of being since age 8. Because survival is a serious business. But other feelings have emerged over time, especially a connection with my central core, or soul, no matter what is happening externally.

That is lost when any form of numbing is initiated. Connection to self. Numbing is rejection of self, even if for decades it saved me. My path now craves wholeness, connection, and peace.


This morning’s moon- photo by Patricia

And he came again. This time we were prepared bringing out rubber boots, a coat saved for getting dirty, and old pants meant for little boys, mud, and water.

Samuel still made ‘tsk tsk’ noises when he jumped in muddy puddles covered with a slick of ice. But my hands came together applauding our little grandson for breaking the ‘glass.’ Soaking his mittens, he picked up the ‘glass’ to throw it down smashing it.

“Don’t you remember being three years old?” I ask Samuel.

“No, I guess I don’t,” he replied, still trying to hurry the puddle jumper back to the driveway to ride the three wheeler.  

“Go ahead if you’re in a hurry. There are still a few more ice puddles to break,” I add in exasperation.

He shakes his head and stays, as my delight soared watching the action. The spring day continued to unfold its pleasures heightened by an exploring grand-son, everything new and wonderful.

Later after he left, as the sun drifted low in the sky, we sat on the porch. The warmth heated relaxing to my core. An hour went by easily with birds singing good-night as the orange orb dipped behind trees with a kiss of ease filling and complete. 

This morning the huge, full, yellow moon descended where last night’s sun went down while the sun dawned in the east. Excitement barely containable explodes within as spring explodes. Wanting to run marathons, a walk will have to do.

Tiny green buds almost indiscernible begin to grow on the wild honeysuckle along the hedgerow. Innumerable pleasures await. My being grows in this plot of land as the landscape wakes and grows.    

Routines and Environment

Feeling out of place with the main rooms covered in plastic while Samuel paints, the only place left to retreat was the bedroom after the grand-kids left. Tired, the soft bed and movie comforted, yet the feelings of displacement and upheaval in routine and environment was more disconcerting than imagined.

My routines and the comfort of our home bring centeredness, with something to latch onto each day to ground me. Without it, all else flies away scattered with each thing out of place, boxed away, or put on the porch. That’s how my insides feel, one part here, another there, some gone altogether.

Where is that voice of reason and comfort? By days end Samuel replaced all that was misplaced because the next step of doing the walls is much easier than painting ceilings where he wanted to cover everything.

The comfort of routine and everything in its place has returned, crucial to well-being after a life of chaos and upheaval.

Freedom to Become

Sitting in the living room rather than by the fire, looking out to the snow-capped land because the dining room is in disarray due to Samuel’s painting of the walls and ceiling, leaves me a little discombobulated.  

The winds blew in the cold last night, but the sun will come out turning tomorrow back into spring with temperatures in the 50’s.

That is much how it’s been in upstate New York all winter. The changeable nature accelerates shifting daily. Perhaps that is what caused the tossing and turning when the night before I slept like a zombie. But upon waking memories of the dream stayed with me throughout the day.

The sadness of the dream and what has been lived with ruminated within. That Tom got close trying to cuddle and kiss. Brothers don’t do that, though mine did. No wonder closeness even with my husband never came.

I wonder about reincarnation. Returning to life to live it better until you get it right. No thank you. Pretending to have a family that wasn’t one. The harshness of surviving. Consuming blackness that didn’t begin to be exhumed until writing about what my mother never wanted told.

Freedom unraveled internally as each one died, Tom the last to go. A feeling of safety. Learning about authenticity of self, a process growing and evolving each day, each moment. These years have brought joy, peace, and a wholeness not experienced before. Gratitude fill me.  


Achieving Tranquility

March is a long month, yet in-between transitions from ethereal highs and tired lows, equilibrium can be found with some focus and work. Living the day with evenness brings joyful satisfaction without drama or chaos; something my life has been filled with since early childhood traumas. Without it, life may feel boring. Boring is good. Boring means tranquil, and that is pure pleasure.