A letter from the pause: the magic of makers, even when it’s hard, especially when it’s hard.
1st: What is this?
My Letters to you?
My buddy Beata, wasn’t my buddy yet when she innocently asked me what it was I did exactly? Poetry? Teaching poetry/writing? Making something?
Of course, we became fast friends. & she wasn’t alone when she told me that my writing inspired her, encouraged her, and resonated in a way she needed.
It’s the artist's way -being multi-faceted, with depths outside of our “fields”. I recognize it in so many of you.
So I thought once in while I’d share my thoughts in the form of letters to you, short writings about the times, the folds of my heart, and the wrinkles I’m proud to be growing. This wondrous world can be weary making. And I wonder, and ponder, and work through what it means to be “just an artist” in a world full of ache, maybe you do too?
So this is for you, and this is for me, and I hope it helps us all grow a better world.
A letter from the pause: the magic of makers, even when it’s hard, especially when it’s hard.
——
A couple years ago, my mama shrunk the skunk out of my favorite cream wool cashmere sweater. It was during the early months of helping us with our newborn & you know those sleepless nights & days, -you can’t blame your mama when she is helping with laundry and ruins your best.
I threw it in the wash & double shrunk it so that it might fit our little one when she’s around 5, though we all know cream isn’t an advised color on a kiddo. Maybe we’ll dye it with some natural dyes too…
For the past couple of weeks we’ve been visiting family and vacationing in Minnesota, the homeland of my spouse, full of fabulous: Don’t-Ya-Knows, sweet toddler cousin moments, and that grand place they simply call: The North Shore.
I won’t say that I totally unplugged but I mostly unplugged.
The news and the world has been, as they understatedly say up there, “A bit much.”
I’m not good at not having my heart busted over the local and national news and happenings. And try as I might my screaming into the wind, or the social media void doesn’t really do much to shift things, though I think we all feel that saying nothing is a different problem unto itself, so what to do?
Well, I lamented, I had in-person conversations. Then I did something very different for me, I grew quiet & I rested. I didn’t want to miss this one family vacation of the year to my beloved North Shore.
I did things my sweater-shrinking healer mama has always told me to do:
I laid my whole body on the ground. The volcanic rock that’s been lapped smooth by the cold clear muted aquamarine waters of Lake Superior is a mighty fine place to lay, but finding any nourishing place in nature will regulate you all the same.
I swam in the frigid cold waters, because they make me feel alive. My buddies, when it’s hard give yourself the gift of doing things that leave you no choice but to feel present & alive right where you are.
It’s hard to hear the song of our inspirations, the call of the muse, see our dream world through the wardrobe door, & create when we are frozen in fear, grief, and lamentations.
Yet it is art that helps us move through. How many of us have read the quote by (Minnesotan) Louise Erdrich in the past few weeks? :
“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and being alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You have to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes too near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could.”
-from The Painted Drum
Those words add wisdom & give aid don’t they?
While in St. Paul I saw a most out of place piece of art in the conservatory by Dean Lucker. I seemed to be the only person pulled to it in a sea of humans. Its delicate magic held solace for me, reminding me that we artist types call and croon to one another in a loud, and at times, painfully harsh world.
The magic of making and sharing creates pockets of divine mystery, appreciation, wisdom, comforting connected-ness, and rest.
On our only day away from the siren shores of Lake Superior, I met a kindred in a little fiber shop. Naturally, we got on splendidly & she told me of another shop & shopkeep that I had to visit. I met Kristofer, & I found a oatmeal wool sweater fit for a selkie, a replacement for that dearly departed sweater from long ago, but this time it has pockets. Proving if we hold out and find what we’ll cherish meeting magical makers and shakers on the road, we can nip into rooms of comfort & connection. We can still believe in & build better worlds.
On my strong days I can see her there, just before the dawn breaks, outlined in pale gray, hand outstretched, powerfully walking towards us, saying: I’ve been missing you for an eon, I’m so glad we’re here.
& I’m so glad to be on the road with all of you to what will be.
Keep your heads up, keep your hope on. Find a way to play. Find whatever cool (or warm) waters soothe you. When you can, reconnect to the mythical creature, or muse that inspires and urges you onwards.
Until the next time,
Sarahbeth (a fresh water selkie)
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