Greetings [:
What does it mean to be well?
I allowed that question to dangle by my side for close to 3 good years. It started out as a valuable inquiry for me; on leaving my job and being on the road for awhile, I was starting to see the variety of things that added up to, or detracted from one’s sense of wellbeing. To be conscious of our own preoccupations, and the extent to which we are able to pursue them while guided by a good understanding of what makes us feel well — that to me, is wealth. And also a privilege.
Somehow, that question receded in my field of consciousness.
It was not until recently that I’ve started to think about it again.
Well, partly because of these strange ‘rona times.
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There’s an overwhelming lot that needed tending to this year.
Some of which, concerns my physical body. Virus aside, I found myself trying to recover from a bruised tailbone, attempting to repair and live with a strained wrist, trying to maintain a certain level of activity while waiting for the strained wrist to heal, enduring some monthly uterus wrenching.
It was in learning to deal with all of these that I learnt how much value I had placed on an all-functioning body. Any signs of decay or malfunction was met with contempt and impatience — I felt entitled to a body that performs at its peak. There was a frustration that I was not used to. In recognizing that, I saw that I had been lucky for most of my life. I also learnt that I was, perhaps, in a way, not quite willing to be confronted by signs of ageing.
The year so far has also been terribly harsh and I believe it is this way for everyone, the way it took a huge toll on emotional health. The upside? Rapid prototyping about what works and what doesn’t. I say this in jest, but I think I am walking away (i know, not so soon…) with a much deeper understanding of what it takes to hang on to the rope - not too loose, not too tight. My personal middle way.
For many months, I maintained a state of hypervigilance, constantly guarding myself from having my cup tipped over and emptied too quickly.
It took a lot of understanding what having boundaries — and maintaining them — look like. It took a lot of courage to ask for what I need. At first it felt like a risk because there is always a lingering fear — we all have a few chances. Strike 3 and we’re out, lonely and without community. I learnt to take a rest, and not quit. I learnt to be unapologetic for what I need. I appreciated all the grace extended to me during these instances, all the hands that remained open and extended, so I stay connected. I have a tendency to withdraw, so these were precious gifts. I learnt to recognize them.
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What does it mean to declare triumph about personal good health on my own?
What does it mean to be individually well before we tend to others? Can each of our wellness be tended to in private and in isolation? This recovery in sociability (and “worth”) is shrouded in mystery when taken behind closed doors; do we stay there until we feel a certain level of acceptability / readiness? What price do we pay when we maintain these standards of secrecy?
Our bodies are like clay vessels.
Our bodies will inevitably hold traces of the substances that someone puts into the earth, into the waters, and the air. Much like how our physical bodies bear the marks of a society’s health, our emotional bodies as well.
Our bodies will hold signs of stress, like how they bear marks of affection and intimacy.
Our bodies hold the collective impressions of grief; the grief I hold is not mine alone.
How did we come to draw such bold lines and make such declarations about what’s private and personal, and what’s public?
The illusion of separation runs deep.
There was a line that kept circulating during the peak of Black Lives Matter protests earlier this year following the death of George Floyd:
Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.
Fannie Lou Hammer
When one sees this all the way through — see that the organism is also but part of the environment, it’s clear that we are all somehow implicated. All part of the collective field.
What does it take to not be sucked into the doomhole? Knowing how to celebrate small wins and microheadlines.
One needs to remember, and then catch the cosmos doing something right. For more pronoia x spirit lifting resources, I follow the amazing Rob Bresnzy who consistently offers me magic-fortified salve for the soul.
I don’t feel obliged to neutrality, but I think I prefer it at this moment as I write. So, on a more neutral note, I would share (and offload) a perennial question:
If, according to J. Krishnamurti, that “it is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society”, what then, are we — people yearning to be, or already are, in a helping/healing profession — orienting and turning towards? What would seem consolatory?
May kith and kinship flood the margins; banana bread, small and flickering fires.
of Note:
The word “solipsism”
currently reading:
How to do nothing, by Jenny Odell
The Wisdom of No escape, by Pema Chodron
poignant reminder from a drawn card:
to do the work that is in front of me, while remembering — all the time — precision+tender devotion to the inquiry.
Understand I will quietly slip away from the noisy crowd when I see the pale stars rising, blooming over the oaks. I'll pursue the solitary pathways of the twilight meadows with only this one dream. You come too. — Rainer Maria Rilke
Thank you for reading this, it means alot for me to me to know that there is someone on the receiving end; as much as I write for myself, I also write for you. I hope this has enriched your life in one way or another. Feel free to reach out, drop a note, or something. I’m here, promise [:
If you know another kindred soul who may enjoy this, do spread the word. There is much weaving to be done.