As a child in Central New York I remember seeing incredulous news coverage each New Year's Day of people plunging into the icy local lakes at wintertime. As a young adult, I was taken by a friend to sweat lodges led by Káruk medicine man Charlie "Red Hawk" Thom. Sweating was hard in the dark of the lodge, Charlie's voice in song and prayer washing over me as I pressed my face into the earth, desperate for the cooler air down there. Between rounds of sweating we walked to a little creek to rinse. It was winter in Northern California, nothing like those New York Winters, but still, it was cold and I occasionally wept on my way to the water, repeating the little mantra I created for comfort, "I am giving myself to the water. I am giving myself to the water."
Learning to love to sweat came easier to me, but I understood that cold was also healing, so I persevered. For many years I visited a Japanese bath house in San Francisco after my Friday morning client to sweat in the dry and wet saunas and plunge in the cold pool. There were two small groups of elderly immigrant women who came at that same time, one Eastern European and one Japanese. We never spoke; I was still quite shy. These women were great teachers to me nonetheless: their ease in their nakedness was a wonder. The chance to see natural elderly bodies was a blessing. The careful way these people tended to their bodies and to one another was a marvel to me. I learned, too, that I could read the state of my nervous system by how willing I was toward the cold plunge: more resistance meant I was more keyed up, even if I'd been convincing myself otherwise.
Harbin Hot Springs offered cold immersion, too; the silent people moving, the wind chimes twinkling as people walking past lifted a hand to mark their passage. The quiet prayers at the altar to Kuan Yin. The way, as I moved back and forth between the hot and the cold pools, my body lost the ability to tell the difference and sometimes told me that the 113 degree pool was icy. I led retreats at Harbin for a decade, and often rose at 5 to walk to find a little solitude in that intensive service, walking the pools for a soak before ringing the waking bell for everyone else. In Harbin's pool I began to cherish the cold.
When I moved to Port Townsend in early 2023 I heard that there were people who did cold plunges in the sea. I wanted to go but did not drive yet, and my request to the group did not turn up anyone driving from my side of the peninsula. During the winter that year I led a reading circle for Katherine May's Wintering: the Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times. Cold plunging is one of the things that she explores and it was intriguing and terrifying: all of my experience with cold was with the comforting contrast of heat. Getting into the icy sea seemed... very intense. I was fascinated and repelled by the idea.
In August, my friend, neighbor, and yoga student Deb – knowing I love body adventures and things that support health – invited me to plunge with her. A shift in my usual schedule meant I could make it, and I commited – then forgot until checking my calendar the night before. I was... really not happy about this when it came around again. My morning message to my meditation buddies:
Adventure Dahlia did love it, (Thanks, Deb! Love you!) so as you can see from the photo atop this missive, I've kept it up. There is a group who meet up on the beach at 9am a few days a week. Karyn Stillwell leads us in a little warm-up movement, then we all turn and walk into the sea together. We count it out: ONE! TWO! THREE! And then we drop in all at once, down to our shouldertops. One cold morning the involuntary Ooooo! that we all released upon sinking in became a round of spontaneous howling. A couple breaths later you can hear ahhhhhhhhh pass through as bodies adjust. Last time I knew, the water here was about 50 degrees Farenheit; I haven't asked since the temperature turned colder, heh. Some folks stay for a minute or two – newcomers are encouraged to do that – and when we hit the ten minute mark, Karyn calls it aloud and the rest of the folks slog on up out of the sea.
Depending upon when you go, there might be a handful of people or dozens. This Sunday I counted 48 people during the warmup circle. I made a new friend in the water when I saw someone grimacing with her hands in her armpits, in only up to the waist. No longer the shy woman I was in my youth, I went to see if she wanted help; I walked over with a big smile and said "Hello! Would you like to be distracted with conversation?" Yes, it turned out, she would. She'd been a regular plunger but hadn't made it for a while, so her body wasn't acclimated to the cold anymore, and it was good to have something to focus on that wasn't her body. We had a lovely chat as other folks had lovely chats around us. I've been told that there is one rule about conversation: "We don't say the T-word while we're in the water!"
Yes. Excellent.
It turns out that people who gather to plunge into a very cold sea are life-loving people. Plunging does some really wonderful things for my body and my mood; I feel steadier afterward, more resilient. Gathering with people to laugh and suffer and enjoy the wild life of the Earth together is a solid touchstone for me in this time in the world. Tomorrow I'm going to join the small group that meets at sunrise for the first time. I've been reading this Mary Oliver poem in my classes all week and it suits this practice so well:
What Can I Say
What can I say that I have not said before?
So I'll say it again.
The leaf has a song in it.
Stone is the face of patience.
Inside the river there is an unfinishable story and you are somewhere in it
and it will never end until all ends.
Take your busy heart to the art museum and the chamber of commerce
but take it also to the forest.
The song you heard singing in the leaf when you were a child
is singing still.
I am of years lived, so far, seventy four,
and the leaf is stinging still.
There is much to grieve, rue, and fight right now, but I'm grateful that the horrors of this time are pushing me to live my values with more determination. More on that in the Resistance section, below!
Resources
The Best Medicine
Last week I mentioned that I've been crowdsourcing suggestions for liberal comedy and that I planned to share these. I'd love to hear your favorites! James and I fell in love with Julio Torres's work in Los Espookys when we were living at sea – being bilingual and subtitled made it a great way to work on our Spanish. Here's the trailer. His slightly surrealistic standup show My Favorite Shapes is outstanding; here's that trailer. And here's 4 minutes of standup for a quick taste. Julio is a young, gay, vegan Salvadoran-American man who notes that "Another fun fact about me is that I am almost always doing exactly what a Trump supporter imagines that I am doing, and let me you, it's a lot of fun." Thanks to Laurel and Rachel
Clear Communication
In my teaching I have long used "unconditional love and exquisitely clear boundaries" as bywords for action. Last year I realized that there was a step missing here and I amended it to, "unconditional love, clear communication, and boundaries." The rest of today's resources are in service of that communication piece!
Boundaries
Kami Orange is a boundary coach whose work I met via Instagram. I saw a brief video of her talking about verbal boundary-setting while she potted a plant, and I was smitten!
Hay House LLC
I quite enjoyed her book as well. It opens with a brief story of how she came to this work and a description of the basic templates she works with for boundaries for three kinds of situations: Public Now, Private Now, and Private later. I appreciated the templates; for instance, the Public Now template is disrupter, statement, transition. "Hey! I do not agree with you about that. Let's return to the work we need to do here." "Wow! That was rude. I am going to leave now." The bulk of the book is examples; she gives thousands of scripts for stating boundaries about different topics. If you struggle with being able to express your needs, feelings, or boundaries, this is a great resource.
Awkwardness
I loved the suggestions here to simply name difficult moments. "Well, that was awkward!" as a way to defuse them.
Tone
This episode of Alison Green's Ask A Manager is from her podcast. Her column is excellent as well, but the podcast format is vital for this piece, What your tone should sound like in tricky work conversations. I think it's useful for considering tricky conversations in all sorts of settings!
Resistance
No Kings!
This Saturday, October 18, there are No Kings rallies alllllll over. Come out! Sing! Get your heart lifted and your voice heard! There is little as joyful as a rally. Come with signs, in costume, or just with your warm body, there to be counted, there to stand up against tyranny and evil. James and I have taken a new step in and volunteered to be part of the Safety Team for our local rally. Hope you'll be out there, too! You matter. Your presence matters. Together we are vast.
My Love Is Killing Fascism: So Can Yours
Two weeks ago I shared how in meditation I had sought the comfort of an elder version of myself and how, as she held me in her arms, she whispered with great compassion, "You have to fight harder." This lit me aflame; I heard this call to action seriously. I did what I do when I want to make change in my actions: I created a plan and sought support. I rounded up a couple of friends for a daily check-in. My plan was to follow Jess Craven's suggestions from her daily Chop Wood Carry Water actions email Monday-Friday. I set a recurring calendar item for 5pm for making calls or writing letters.
I'm astonished by how this has changed my lens on the horrors. Knowing that I am part of the resistance eases my heart. Bearing witness to the horrible events in the news strengthens my determination to do more. Supporting the friends in my tiny action group points me toward the resources they are using, which expands my options for action. Everything I do makes me want to do more. As I speak to friends about how good this feels, they are often moved to act as well. It's a virtuous cycle. The resistance is growing! Are you stepping in? IT FEELS SO GOOD. Do you have go-to resources you haven't seen me share? Send 'em my way!
Feeding My Neighbors
My local immigrants' rights group has a meal train going for two immigrant families with small children who have moved to our community and whose housing doesn't have kitchens. I'll be cooking chicken, rice, beans, and roasted tomato salsa next Friday. If that moves you, the meal train accepts financial donations as well. (Please don't go for the gift card option as we do not have chain restaurants available here.)
Supporting Me in Supporting You
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If you are a supporter, thank you; it means the world to me to know you value my work in the world, and it puts food on my table.
