My 40th Solar Return Request

I’ve spent much of the week swimming with/in the deep grief of these times. Reflecting on all that I receive daily from Gaia that makes my existence possible. Wondering what the hell is happening with humanity…

I nearly passed out yesterday from a grief surge that couldn’t seem to liquify. Instead it wrapped around my body, humming with weight that nearly dropped me to my knees. Perhaps the perfect place for me to be, down low in the humus of creation listening to the wisdom of soil and clay.

Even now I’m tearing up writing this.

I went to bed wondering about all of the people (human and more-than-human) that share this birthing day with me. All of the beings coming into the world on this day, and all of those departing.

And then I knew what I wanted to do for my birthday, but it means I need something from each of you reading this. Please humor me if anything else.

ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴏᴇᴍ ᴡᴏᴠᴇɴ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ʙʏ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏꜰ ᴜꜱ. ᴀ ꜱᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴀɴᴢᴀ (ᴀꜱ ꜱʜᴏʀᴛ ᴏʀ ᴀꜱ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ’ᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ) ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴘʀᴀʏᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴᴄᴇꜱᴛᴏʀꜱ.

𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙤𝙚𝙢-𝙥𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩, 𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩, 𝙗𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧.

I want to offer care and breath to the greater assemblages that make this breath-giving world possible.

Just hit “reply” to this email and I’ll receive it. It could be a single word. A dream. A song shard. A scream. A deep laugh. A gesture. A Mudra.

ʟᴇᴛ ɪᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴄᴀᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴅᴇᴇᴘʟʏ ᴅᴇꜱɪʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴏʀ ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱɪᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ɪɴ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴇɪʟ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪꜰᴜʟ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ’ꜱ ᴏɴ ꜰɪʀᴇ.

And once compiled I’ll share it here for all of you to carry, share and speak.

I’ll start:

I woke in the night,
my menopausing body sweating.
Sometimes I think my whole body is crying.
Heat releasing the love words could never speak.
As I burn with the world,
I find myself pleading with the ancient crones
to show me a way.
Their cackles bounce off the darkness,
poking at my tender bellied naïveté.
And as if cooing over a newborn, they say
“Silly creature… you are a way.”