Beloved friends,
It's a doozy of a moment in the world, and further down you'll find offerings starting up in which you can discuss that and find support with me: Energetic Integrity: a Workshop for Living begins 2/1 and our free Community Reading of Rebecca Solnit's fine little book Hope in the Dark is underway. First, though, I'm going to tell you a joyful story. Dan Savage affirmed this powerfully in this week's column.
Anyone who tells you that making time for joy — however you define it — is a distraction or a betrayal has no idea what they’re talking about. During the darkest days of the AIDS Crisis, we buried our friends in the morning, we protested in the afternoon, and we danced at night. The dance kept us in the fight because it was the dance we were fighting for. It didn’t look like we were going to win then and we did. It doesn’t feel like we’re going to win now but we could. Keep fighting, keep dancing.
Story is one of my dances. Come, friend, be welcome here. Let's dance.
Perhaps you've read before of the oystershell path that I'm making slowly in our front grove? We walk this path each morning to bring the birdfeeders out and again at dusk to bring them in. How it shines in the moonlight!
Each time we eat oysters I boil the shells, smash them with a hammer, and lay them down in the forest. We choose oysters for special occasions so this path is the physical residue of precious moments gathered with loved ones over good food. This path is made of love. December was full of celebration so the path has grown quite a lot!
We buy oysters from the good folks at Hama Hama, about an hour south of us in Lilliwaup. A few weeks ago they decided to try something new: a Winter Farm Walk. We were lucky to get tickets for the first one. They fed us a wonderful meal, gave us shucking lessons and gloves & knives, then took us out onto the exposed bed of the Hood Canal at low tide under the nearly full Wolf Moon. The tidal range there is 17 feet, so there is huge sprawl of exposed land at that point in the lunar cycle. After long weeks of low, heavy, twilight-grey skies almost all day every day, it was a clear night and seeing up to the moon and stars felt astonishing.
We were led by Lissa whose family has farmed at Hama Hama for six generations. She coached us carefully before we left that really, we were going to have to step on oysters and it was okay, but it was still mind-bending: there wasn't anywhere to step that wasn't oysters. The staff wore tool belts stuffed with squeeze bottles of hot sauce, spiced blackberry mignonette, licorice root mignonette. We picked up oysters from beneath our feet, and shucked & ate them right there out of your hands, dropping the shells back onto the canal bed.
When we had eaten to our heart's content we set about exploring the tide pools, where we met mussels, crabs, hermit crabs, sea stars, gunnel fish, and tiny shrimp. James brought a UV flashlight which showed us what some of the other creatures see: brilliant color! Even the staff were surprised and delighted, and it was sweet to bring them joy on their home ground.
From top left, clockwise: oysters underfoot, a barnacle-covered piece of driftwood, our group spread across the canal bed, mussels, and sea stars. I quite like how the center bottom image shows the contrast between what we can see with our eyes and what the UV light reveals. It was heartening to remember that there is much afoot in the life of the Earth we are unable to perceive, more beauty than we can even comprehend.
Winter is many kinds of dark here: the nights are long and the days are grey. This outing brought us many kinds of light: the stars! That January Wolf Moon! The lights of the saloon at Hama Hama on the winding little road! Our headlamps and flashlights dancing over the canal bed and tide pools. Perhaps the best of lights was the good company: people who thought it sounded like fun to stomp around a saltwater canal at night in January in Washington. Y'all, I overheard a convo between four women as we tromped through 6" deep oyster shells in the dark in which one woman described another's work with Search and Rescue as a side hustle.
Next week we're going out to the water's edge at night again! Our local Marine Science Center is hosting a night-time low tide walk at the seashore. We've been deliberately looking for ways to get out in the dark and the cold, to make sure that this season doesn't lead us to isolation. I wish this for you, too, friend: connection and inspiration, even while we grieve. May winter encourage you to lean toward the people you love and to live the values you hold dear.
Resources
Community Reading
"We don't know what is going to happen, or how, or when and in that very uncertainty is the space for hope." is a fundamental premise of Hope in the Dark, which we began to read last night. It was a life-affirming and hope-fueling evening. My deep thanks to last night's readers, who kindly allowed me to record them so that we could share with you. (Here. 53 minutes. I'll keep it live for the next couple of weeks.) Each chapter of this book is like a little essay which stands well alone, so please feel welcome to join us at any time. We read for about an hour, discuss for about a half hour. Only the reading portion was recorded, and that will only happen this once. We'll begin Chapter 2 next week. Love to see you there!
Kristie Dahlia Home
One of my favorite passages last night was a favorite of Rebecca Solnit's as well, by the great socialist historian, playwright, and philosopher Howard Zinn:
The struggle for justice should never be abandoned because of the apparent overwhelming power of those who have the guns and the money and who seem invincible in their determination to hold onto it. That apparent power has, again and again, proved vulnerable to moral fervor, determination, unity, organization, sacrifice, wit, ingenuity, courage, patience – whether by blacks in Alabama and South Africa, peasants in El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Vietnam, or workers and intellectuals in Poland, Hungary, and the Soviet Union itself.
We are the Life of the Cosmos
The European Space Agency's Gaia space telescope has ceased operations after a successful run. The ESA says,
"Gaia is creating an extraordinarily precise three-dimensional map of more than a thousand million stars throughout our Milky Way galaxy and beyond, mapping their motions, luminosity, temperature and composition. This huge stellar census will provide the data needed to tackle an enormous range of important questions related to the origin, structure and evolutionary history of our galaxy."
This data has been used to create an incredible animation of our home galaxy, the Milky Way, spiral arms, delightfully wonky little wobble, and all. WOW.
Winter with Dahlia: A Workshop for Living
The doors of registration are open for my next big offering. It begins February 1 at Imbolc, the midpoint between the winter solstice and spring equinox; Imbolc means "in the belly" and oh, aren't we just! We'll gather in all sorts of ways in exploration of the Field of Being, a meditation practice which we center, ground, clear, vitalize, and boundary. It's a lush practice, heavily visual and somatic. Having the capacity to nourish ourselves in this way makes us both more self-reliant and more able to engage with other people. It is often glorious and transformative stuff. I'd love to support you! Currently the course is about halfway full.
Kristie Dahlia Home
Boundaries as a Bid for Connection
I love the framing Lori Gottleib brings to answering a question about boundaries as the New York Times' new Ask A Therapist columnist; she's matter of fact and focused on connection. "A boundary isn’t about pushing someone away. Instead, it’s about making a bid for connection. It’s saying: 'I want to feel good being close to you, but when you do X, it makes me want to avoid you. Help me come closer.'" YUM! Thanks to Kirsten.
