#147: You can’t pour from an empty cup
Hello.
It feels like weeks since the last newsletter. Time has become an almost jarring notion, and it's hard to keep track of days and weeks. I remember being in lockdown this time last year, and how the days just flew by. Time is far more tedious now, a year later, and the days have become excruciatingly slow. The uncertainty of everything, the arrival of black fungus amidst the second wave, the genocide in Palestine and the cyclone Tauktae in the midst of it all. It's all just too much.
I'm so grateful for the frontline workers, for those delivering essentials and supplies from door to door, for everyone raising funds, fact-checking and verifying helpline numbers and helping complete strangers out. It’s crucial to have empathy and do one's bit to help. But a recurring thought I’ve had these last few weeks is that you can't pour from an empty cup.
I like how elegantly Alessandra Olanow gets this across:
We are all dealing with loss and isolation and hopelessness. These aren't normal times. And it's more important than ever before to take care of yourself and be mentally and emotionally strong to fight the good fight. I remember feeling this way during the 2019 protests. The sense of complete depletion. The lack of headspace to do anything but worry. As a dear friend put it, "We will have to deal with PTSD scenes and we will be there for each other." This isn't going to end anytime soon, and we need to build resilience, one day at a time. So please take care of yourself. Remember to hydrate. Be mindful about boundaries and what you allow into your body, mind and soul.
I've been trying to stay sane by experimenting in the kitchen (I just made my first batch of kimchi ever!), mothering plants and making art. I'm learning animation, making collages and getting into the habit of drawing everyday.
What do you do to prevent yourself from losing your mind? I'd love to know.
Poetry Corner
For today's newsletter, I thought we could all do with some powerful poems on new beginnings and fresh starts:
How to Begin by Catherine Abbey Hodges
Wipe the crumbs off the counter.
Find the foxtail in the ear of the old cat.
Work it free. Step into your ribcage.
Feel the draft of your heart’s doors
as they open and close. Hidden latches
cool in your hand.
Hear your marrow keep silence,
your blood sing. Finch-talk
in the bush outside the window.
You’re a small feather, winged seed, wisp
of cotton. Thread yourself
through a hole in the button on the sill.
You’re a strand of dark thread
stitching a word to a river. Then another.Starting Over by Tova Green
Each morning after breakfast, through the glass doors
to the courtyard, we watch two robins fetching food
for their fledglings — the nest, the three open beaks
nearly invisible through glossy leaves and pink camellias.
One morning we see baby birds fluttering in the grass,
fallen from the nest before they’ve learned to fly.
Their parents flit from one to another, trying to feed them.
One dies, then the second, the third. We bury the bodies.
Within weeks we see the robins building a new nest.
The eggs hatch, and this time the fledglings fly –
the way lupines blued over mountain meadows
the spring after fire swept down hills into Tassajara,
the way I twice relearned to walk – in my twenties
after a bike accident fractured my pelvis,
and again, decades later, when a titanium
hip socket renewed my love of locomotion —
the way we meet our fear of invisible droplets
that can lead to death, and begin to venture out
after sheltering in place, hungry to touch
and be held, still not knowing what is safe.Quietus by Aaron Fagan
Before my memory leaves,
I would like to say, one late
Summer afternoon, daylight
Was at its peak intensity,
The lights were off inside,
Everywhere, then through
The windows, the light made
Its own light in the absence
Of light, and an effect, quite
Real, grand and ineffable –
As precisely inscrutable
As the present moment
And as quickeningly sublime –
Raked through the room.
I stood there a long time,
Alone, and had to live
With a distinct feeling,
Radiating from the condition,
Something complete had been
Filed with the terrible library
Of dreams and experience
That were about to begin.Happiness (Reconsidered) by Judith Viorst
Happiness
Is a clean bill of health from the doctor,
And the kids shouldn't move back home for
more than a year,
And not being audited, overdrawn, in Wilkes-Barre,
in a lawsuit or in traction.
Happiness
Is falling asleep without Valium,
And having two breasts to put in my brassiere,
And not (yet) needing to get my blood pressure lowered,
my eyelids raised or a second opinion.
And on Saturday nights
When my husband and I have rented
Something with Fred Astaire for the VCR,
And we’re sitting around in our robes discussing,
The state of the world, back exercises, our Keoghs,
And whether to fix the transmission or buy a new car,
And we're eating a pint of rum-raisin ice cream
on the grounds that
Tomorrow we’re starting a diet of fish, fruit and grain,
And my dad’s in Miami dating a very nice widow,
And no one we love is in serious trouble or pain,
And our bringing-up-baby days are far behind us,
But our senior-citizen days have not begun,
It’s not what I called happiness
When I was twenty-one,
But it’s turning out to be
What happiness is.Rain Travel by W.S.Merwin
I wake in the dark and remember
it is the morning when I must start
by myself on the journey
I lie listening to the black hour
before dawn and you are
still asleep beside me while
around us the trees full of night lean
hushed in their dream that bears
us up asleep and awake then I hear
drops falling one by one into
the sightless leaves and I
do not know when they began but
all at once there is no sound but rain
and the stream below us roaring
away into the rushing darkness.
Recommended Listening:
-Arran to Aboyne - Jim Ghedi (In awe of his album A Hymn for Ancient Land)
-Moonlight in Vermont - Ahmad Jamal
-Donkey Boy - Sebastien Schuller
-Sleep Apnea - Beach Fossils
-The Sunday Soother's podcast (On authentic living and compassionate and holistic personal development. Thank you for the wisdom, Catherine!)
Links of the Week:
-At the Crack of Dawn (Italy-based muralist and artist Millo has painted oversized people inside cities who represent the transitional state between deep sleep and waking)
-Max Dalton's illustrations reveal how famous artists create masterpieces in their Studios
-A Message from the Future II: The Years of Repair (an animated short film that dares to dream of a future in which 2020 is a historic turning point)
-Take a ride with me (Mesmerised!)
-David Hockney on joy, longing and spring light
-Ada Limón on Preparing the Body for a Reopened World (so powerful!)
-Start your day on a more joyful note + An Evening Routine in Spring
-The power of sketchbooks in schools (I wish I had had teachers who had encouraged us to keep sketchbooks!)
This is my newsletter: Sawani Kumar
“This is a letter of heartache.
Let me make no bones about it.
Times when I’m feeling whole-
I breathe. I am present. My notebook is blank.
But when I'm feeling half or broken-
I gasp. I lose agency. I write.”
A painful and beautiful edition of This is my newsletter from the plateaus of Sawani Kumar's mind. Read it here.
New in the Journal
1. Artist Showcase: Montania Draw
“My name is Anna (Ania) and I like to create simple but meaningful art that expresses emotions and other people can relate to. My inspiration is everyday life, movies and books. I like to observe the surroundings and people, and when I sit down to draw I remember different moments, words and emotions which help me to create. The process of creating doodles in my case can be both traditional with pencil and paper and digital with computer programs and tablet. The best feeling for me is the fact that through a doodle, I can make someone smile or feel understood.”
-Anna (Montania Draw)
2. Survival by Yogesh Wagh (Excerpt)
“These days,
my plane doesn't roam around the universes of songs,
especially the songs I can derive the meaning from.
They pass by & smell like discomfort, the lyrics which I understand,
they are suspected of witchcraft.
The languages in which I think,
have started to bomb my neural tombstones.
No wonder why the letters in my poems look distorted,
and wear the semblance of thingness.”
Read the full poem by Yogesh here.
A gentle reminder before bed: Neuroplasticity is real. Your brain has the ability to modify, change and adapt both structure and function throughout your life in response to internal factors (thought) and external environment (lifestyle). It is never too late to start becoming the person you dream of becoming. K?
Hang in there. You got this! :)
Love,
Rohini
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