Tiny Glimpses of “It’s All OK”
Gentle, Wild Stories for a Modern World Spinning Out of Control
I hope your Thursday is as __________ as possible.
(I don’t dare assume what anyone needs when the entire modern experiment is failing in real time and we’re all just trying to find parking.)
That’s the text I just sent my friend Jess, who I’ve known since fourth grade. She responded with the little “HA HA” button.
It really is the only reaction that makes any sense.
I hope your own Thursday feels full of possibility, dear reader. (And I hope you have chances to walk rather than drive today.)
My own prayers of wild possibility aren’t the sort that can be woven into words right now.
I’m immensely aware of the beauty of the earth, but I am even more aware of the pain held in the hearts of her people.
Put another way: I am holding the pain of my own beloved people.
Though your own lived reality might be different right now, those nearest and dearest to me are simply not OK. They’re feeling crushed by modern systems and expectations.
The office, the factory, the classroom, the social worlds. Things just aren’t ok there, and if you’re paying any attention at all, you can’t feel ok in those spaces either.
As for moments of real, connected joy? The real stuff we all live for? When my family and I are surrounded by forest, ambling beside a waterfall, gathered around a backyard bonfire?
Those moments are all too fleeting. The specter of their Monday instantly dashes the gossamer loveliness of a Sunday.
As an entrepreneur who works from home, this treacherous liminal space between weekend freedom and weekday obligation doesn’t really exist for me anymore. For now, what I can do is try a little harder to root into the fluidity and the white space I do have in my life and offer them more compassion, patience, and support as they navigate (and stumble) across this “typical American” terrain.
None of this is really sustainable. It’s abundantly clear that something must change for the brilliant, fragile, resilient souls with whom I share this life. But for now… we take it one week at a time.
Here I am writing paragraphs after I just said I didn’t have any words to weave… I am an incorrigible Gemini. Forgive me?
Stories and Conversation When You Need Something Gentle and the Wild
In Becoming Animal, David Abrams talks about the power of printed letters and the way they “domesticate the bursting-at-the-seams agency of the wild.”
With that in mind, I’ll stop crafting sentences and I offer you links to the latest KnotWork Myth & Storytelling podcast episodes instead.
Erica O’Reilly’s story, The Coldest Day in May, is a gentle one, but it’s wild to the core. She takes you on a quest to understand the elements (AKA, the weather), and along the way, you meet the wildest guides you can imagine, including the Cailleach, the eagle, the otter, and the salmon.
And then, Rónán Ó Raghallaigh brings along A Mythic Journey Through Wicklow & Kildare, connecting the modern landscape to the myths and rituals of the deep past. I love the way my conversation with this visionary artist dips and meanders through the desire for numinous experiences in sacred places - and how we tend to share such liminal spaces with dog walkers and folks just out for a stroll.
I hope your week is marked with wild gentleness. I hope that you, and those you love, are finding more moments of OK than not, even when we find ourselves in such “not OK times.”
Let me know how you’re doing, and what stories and practices are sustaining your right now?
Mark Your Calendars
On June 25 from noon - 3 PM ET, all paid Myth Is Medicine subscribers are invited to join us for a half-day writers’ retreat.
We’ll explore mythic landscapes and your own imaginable terrain, and set a path for the next six months of creativity and possibility.
More details coming soon!