Sundogs & Ephemerality

Reflections on springtime

This morning I walked downstairs, filled the electric kettle with water, turned it on and started preparing breakfast. I made yogurt and granola with slightly burnt homemade granola and topped it with a handful of last year’s blackberries from the freezer. I noticed the sun beaming in from the East and noted that I’ll be spending much of my day out there while also considering the house cleaning and work I’d like to achieve.

I did some light reading on the local food scene in Minneapolis and also picked up my phone for a bit after leaving it downstairs for the night.

I read instagram threads in which I saw strangers’ engagement photos, geopolitical threat, opinions on beauty standards and was even able to question my own attractiveness.

I looked out the east-facing window and saw my dogs both lying on their sides in the sun; an unintentional invitation. I put on a jacket, stepped out the door, opened the gate, which is typically a signal that we’re heading out for a walk, hike, run, ride - but I assured them we’d do that later.

I closed the gate behind me and found a soft, inviting spot against the house. My jacket became a ground cover and I unzipped my sweatshirt to reveal my abdomen to the sun. My chest and neck felt it too. The dogs settled back in with the human addition to their sun-soaking scene. Louie is close and ready for touch and Cedar looks on from a few paces away.

At one point I nestle my neck against Louie’s, both of us on our sides, facing the light source. His dark coat brought me warmth and I wondered how long it would last until he wanted to adjust. I decided to enjoy it while I could.

He laid on the lip of just-another-hole that they had dug and thought he might relax so much that he slips into it. I thought about when I will have to lower them both into their final hole, lifeless. This is something I think of more often than I would like to. I remind myself that they love to lay on the earth, in holes that they dig and that they will rest well when that day comes. The day that they surrender to the end of their cycle.

This brought me to reflect on spring, something I’ve been doing a lot of lately.

//

Spring is grief, revealed carcasses, crispy plant remnants, brittle sticks.

Spring is arrival, belonging, eye contact, admittance, clarity.

Spring is renewal, baby animals, pastel skirts, small flowers, the ones that grow low and give hope.

Spring is when the end meets the beginning. When the internal has an opportunity to begin to sprout, flower and commune with those around us.

//

I’ve been experiencing bouts of deep reflection since February. I trace this back to receiving a craniosacral session from friend Miriam Khanan, the more intentional movement I’ve been practicing and friend Ben McCabe showing me how to bring my body into the St. Croix River in the winter and early spring.

Since then I’ve found myself able to assess myself, my choices, my lifestyle, my pain. I’m able to let my guard down, to myself, of all people. And others when the time is right - albeit vulnerable. This growth reminds me of the Window of Tolerance concept by Dan Siegel. We are not always able to stretch the edges of our window but I’ve been gently exploring my capacity.

With this I ask - How do we soften enough to feel safe in a world that doesn’t give us a chance to pause?

How do we live more from our hearts?

These are not comfortable questions.

Yet asking them feels right in line with spring and with the uncertainty of { everything } .

Spring invites us to stay present with the ambivalence of life, even when it’s most apparent.

//

A Recipe for Spring Tea:

2 pts what did I learn in my inner landscape this winter? (Self Heal)
2 pts what action do I want to take for myself and my community this growing season? (Lemongrass)
1 pt crying tears of systemic loneliness (Rose)
4 pts radical acceptance even when it feels impossible (Red Raspberry Leaf)
2 pts remembering that my voice and my choices matter (Echinacea)
2 pts sharing healthy meals with others (Red Clover)

//

Let me know if you try it. Thanks for being here and creating some room in life for the full spectrum of yourself and others.

I share my story because we are all connected and I know that I’m not alone in my experience. Take what works and leave the rest.

xo, Jaime