Hello First name / Kindred Heart!
My heart is hopeful as I write to you. It feels good to be sending something heartfelt to your inbox and to be connecting with you across seasons and time zones.
My heart is grateful as I write to you with my left hand awkwardly attempting to type while wrapped in a brace. The past month was challenged by a fall that resulted in a shattered wrist, followed by my
first-ever surgery. I am gently reclaiming movement in my wrist and grateful to have access to decent medical care. I'm told my bones will heal by September, while the soft tissue will take longer. I've been learning how much I use my left hand and how the loss of full function impacts the rest of my body. Nothing is truly isolated, is it!? Eating feels clumsy even though I am right handed. I feel the strain on my brain as it works to renegotiate each task. Not being able to utilize my left hand to type freely has proven to be unusually awkward, since I think faster than one hand can type. I am reminded how adaptable I am and also how much I need others. I am getting good practice with asking for help and welcoming support. I am grateful to the reminder that I don't have to go it alone.
My heart is full as I write to you, now just with my right hand to give my left wrist a break. The past week has felt tender as I keep vigil in my heart for one of my Elder guides,
Joanna Macy. She went into hospice care and is nearing her transition from this life. It has been deeply moving to have her daughter and dear friend keep a thread of connection and share her dying process with those who love Joanna and her body of work, The Work that Reconnects. At age 96, she leaves behind a long legacy of deep care, love and commitment to our Earth. I am so grateful for the ways her life has touched mine.
My heart is tender as I write to you. One of my favorite poets,
Andrea Gibson, died this week after a 4-year journey with ovarian cancer. Andrea was a gifted, love-centered human whose gifts will live on much longer than their 49 years. Andrea's death hit me hard, unleashing wells of tears that I didn't know needed to be released. Life is long. Life is short. I am holding the grief of this loss along with deep gratitude for Andrea's poetry and heart. A vibrant light in these often dim times.
My heart is buoyant as I celebrate the first tomatoes in my small corner garden. After five years of believing we couldn't grow tomatoes in the short growing season of a high desert climate, I am delighted to see three small cherries near-ripe on the vine. I am equally buoyed by the clean air that we've had this summer, especially with fires in surrounding areas. Each morning that I can open the windows to let in the fresh air is such a gift. Each day that I get to go for my walk and breathe deeply, also a gift. I am savoring these sweet gifts as long as I can.
