Sun, Water, Fire

My thoughts have officially turned to all things sunshine, water, fire. It’s a connection I made a long time ago with the rhythm of the seasons. June is a time when the sun moves to its peak and then begins to recede, when water saturates from the spring rains and any snow melts that occurred during the winter, when dryness begins to emerge and portends the droughts of high summer, and fires manifest in fire circles as well as inside in creativity. It’s a time of growth and rest. Balancing of extremes.

For the past couple weeks those seasonal extremes and balances have had me considering my Grandpop’s Garden.

I only interacted with my grandpop a handful of times. He was intense and I found him more imposing than anything else. First generation born in the USA, son of a German immigrant and a Donauschwabian immigrant. There were a handful of things my mother shared with me about her father when I was a growing up: 1. He was on the team that built the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and the Conowingo Dam. 2. He had a fascination with photographing car accidents. 3. He was an amazing gardener.

Grandpop was a retired operating engineer who spent his summers in Ocean City, Maryland and his winters in Clearwater, Florida. He had gardens at both homes but it was the one in Ocean City I saw. I only saw it once – it was awesome. What struck me the most was the abundance that grew in an environment that was challenging and extreme for most gardens where I live. 

Grandpop’s garden was on the edge of a marsh in Ocean City. Ocean City is a seaside resort town on a barrier island that extends a little more than 9 miles from the southern inlet to the Delaware state line. During the summer, it is the second most populated area in Maryland (https://data.census.gov/all?q=Ocean+City+town,+Maryland). In other words, its crowded with people, buildings, and impervious surfaces. Gardens are not something regularly found in Ocean City. Beautiful potted plants on porches, yes, but not full blown vegetable gardens.

Garden, circa early 1980s

Grandpop’s garden was 12-feet wide and 20-feet long. The local newspaper did an article on him in the early 1980s . The interview took place on July 4th and noted that his garden had already produced several two pound turnips, 18 inches around and the “garden is also teeming with green bell peppers, cabbage, lettuce, squash, zucchini, beans, cucumbers, parsley, red beets, and onions” (Tip-off leads to stash of radishes, turnips, beets by Dale Walter). The article stated that the bounty from the garden was such that he would not need to purchase produce.

“Convincing vegetables to grow in his garden wasn’t all that easy, Mr. Gramlich reported. Ocean City’s soil is so sandy, he said, that  he had to import soil from Berlin [Maryland] and lace it with horse manure and fertilizer to create his garden. Mr. Gramlich worked hard keeping weeds down and the plants well-watered, but his efforts have paid off with a rich vegetable crop” (Dale Walter). Incidentally, in this article I learned a bit about my grandmom, who I knew less about than my grandpop. She cooked the turnips with mashed potatoes and cooked “beautiful stuffed peppers.” Boy, do I wish I had those recipes.

I was down in Ocean City the other day and the salty sea air was so rejuvenating to me. And, yet, how hard it must have been for his garden to thrive. Or, did it do so because he had figured out how to be in collaboration with the salty sea air, marshy Earth, and intense sun? I like to think that there was a little bit more to it than his explanation, that there was a collaboration with the spirit of the place and the beings.

It is that collaboration whose pull I feel so strongly, especially this time of the year. So much transformation and new growth happens in June. High school students graduate. Flowers start to bloom. Vegetables begin to sprout through the soil. Baby bunnies are born and begin to romp in the garden.

My hand, head, and heart practices for June are all about intentionally being open to collaboration with nature and the more than human beings we are in relationship with in this Earth community  (Orion magazine was the first place I heard the phrase “more than human beings” rather than “non-human beings” and I think it more aptly captures the spirit of the interrelationship).

Hand – The lavender starts blooming this month. It is the first herb I collaborate with during this time leading up to the solstice and midsummer. “The name lavender comes from the Latin word lavare, “to wash,” originating from the Romans who used lavender to scent their baths. Lavender has long been used for cleansing purposes, and was strewn about households to ward off plague and tucked into cupboards and drawers to repel insects.” (The Herbrarium). Some of the lavender I harvest will be dried for later uses (such as incense, oils), some will be used fresh in the kitchen (such as cookies, lemonade), and some will become lavender bundles.

As the solstice approaches, the lavender bundles throughout the house will be replaced with new ones. Lavender is said to encourage peacefulness and discourage negative energy so we hang ours in rooms where people gather and over our main door. I’ll harvest the lavender the day after a rain, once the plants have completely dried. This will help to prevent mold after they are bundled. The bundles from last year will be burned in our summer solstice fire.

Those who follow on the newsletter will receive instructions for making lavender bundles. There is also more information on how I use herbs and plants during midsummer.

Head – Stories for summer solstice are stories that include transformation, rebirth, journeys, light, and magic. In prior years we have read The Return of the Sun King by Christine Natale, a story full of fairy folk, gnomes, dwarves, water sprites, and seed babies.

This year, now that the girls are older, this year we are going to explore the story of Persephone from the Homeric Hymn to Demeter and The Descent of Inanna. The Descent of Inanna is the older of the two, thought to have been composed some time between 3500 BCE and 1900 BCE. Both stories tell the story of a young woman descending into the underworld and then returning. Both represent, at some level, the change of seasons and the cycle of death and rebirth.

Consideration of the differences seems as important as consideration of the similarities in these two stories. We will be focusing not only on the connection to the seasons but also to what these stories have to tell us about navigating life and transitions.

Outside meditation space, June 2023

Heart – Between the summer solstice and midsummer my meditation practice moves outside. I have a dedicated  space, a comfortable Adirondack chair surrounded by Hydrangeas, Azaleas, Cosmos in pots, and Dahlias in pots.  I have a focal point, or an altar, that is composed of stacked rocks with two shells at the top: an Eastern Oyster shell and a Gryphaea shell (a genus of oyster that went extinct about 34 million years ago).

I sit in a comfortable seated position, bare feet on the ground. I roll my shoulders backwards, then forwards. I slightly lower my chin and just breathe. Some days I set an intention. Some days I chant. Some days I sing mantras. Some days I ask a question and then listen. Some days I focus on a natural element – earth, air, fire, or water – represented by a special rock or crystal, an aromatherapy blend, a candle, or a bowl of water. Some days I focus on an ancestor through a family heirloom. Some days I just sit and focus on 108 breaths.

This time of the year I focus on growth, expansion, place, feeling based knowing, collaboration with the more than human world. I am aware of how my body is entering the space, what my feet, my back, my arms are each touching. I am aware of the sounds/light/smells/etc. Then, I simply ask, “what do you want to me to know.” And, then I listen and breathe. When I come out of morning meditation, I am able to carry the awareness that arose into the day.

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Memories and Dreams

The other day my husband said to me, “Your memories are always with you.” My dear friend used to say, “your mind is a steel trap,” when I would bring up some long ago memory. I started pondering this. Then I remembered what my best friend told me in the 1980’s, “Don’t look back at the past, the only way to get to the future is through the present.” I work so hard at decluttering and letting go of “stuff,” why is my past right here with me?

Let’s be clear, I have a natural tendency to look back to inform the present. I majored in History, I am a genealogist, and I love stories, the older the better. I believe we can learn from the past and I believe reflecting on the past can provide insight into navigating today. I also live in the same city and the same house I grew up in. But that’s not exactly what my husband and friend were referencing. It’s about the mental clutter and the emotionality tied to it  So, why is my past right here with me? The answer, as always, was more complicated than expected.

I was born with pneumonia and spent an extra week in the hospital. When I finally went home, I was sent back to hospital in an ambulance for another stay. At some early point thereafter I began to have night terrors. Johns Hopkins All Children’s Hospital explains:

“A night terror is a sleep disruption that seems similar to a nightmare, but is far more dramatic….During a night terror, a child might:

  • suddenly sit upright in bed
  • shout out or scream in distress
  • have faster breathing and a quicker heartbeat
  • be sweating
  • thrash around
  • act upset and scared

After a few minutes, or sometimes longer, the child simply calms down and returns to sleep. Unlike nightmares, which kids often remember, kids won’t have any memory of a night terror the next day because they were in deep sleep when it happened — and there are no mental images to recall. Night terrors are caused by over-arousal of the central nervous system (CNS) during sleep…We have dreams — including nightmares — during the rapid eye movement (REM) stage. Night terrors happen during deep non-REM sleep. A night terror is not technically a dream, but more like a sudden reaction of fear that happens during the transition from one sleep stage to another.” That fear reaction is the night terror.

As is the case with night terrors, I don’t remember them, and I don’t know how often I had them. I know I was terrified and I know the episodes were disruptive to my parents. The episodes were frequent and disruptive enough for my parents to seek medical intervention.

The doctor my parents worked with decided that medication was the solution for my night terrors. Dilantin. Dilantin is the brand name for Phenytoin. According to the Mayo Clinic, “Phenytoin is used to control seizures (convulsions), including tonic-clonic (grand mal) and psychomotor (temporal lobe) seizures, in the treatment of epilepsy. It is also used to prevent and treat seizures that occur during brain surgery. This medicine is an anticonvulsant that works in the brain tissue to stop seizures.” Dilantin reduces neuron activity in the brain. Its a powerful medication that alters how the brain functions. I can only guess that the doctor approached my night terrors similarly to seizures and prescribed the Dilantin to interrupt the neuron activity that he suspected was causing the night terrors.  The prescription commenced, and then, the dark period began. I don’t know if there is a correlation between the two. The timing certainly make me curious.

I remember naming it “the dark period.” No dreams. Few memories. Little creativity and imagination. In junior high my parents would ask me if I remembered some incident or occasion from earlier in my life. I would simply say, “no, that was during the dark period.” 

To this day, I have no answer when someone asks me my earliest memory. Was it when I saw the boys tormenting the Doberman when I was 5? Or when I hit a golf ball across a major road when I was 5? Or accidentally dropping my pen in the storm drain at school when I was in kindergarten (age 5) and trying to get it out? Was there anything earlier? By fifth grade (age 10) I could sleep without a nightlight and without Dilantin. And, there were no more dreams of any kind. I have lots of photos of things that happened from age 4 to fifth grade that I should remember and don’t. Imaginary play and costumes with a friend. Horses. Halloweens. Birthdays. Weddings. But I don’t.

What I do remember, was feeling a pull to defend and protect . The doberman. Students who were teased and bullied, including myself. At this time, dogs roamed the neighborhood and ones needing assistance to get home would end up at our front door or would find me on my way home from school and follow me home. I remember anger. I also remember being happiest in the garden, the water, or the nearby woods. 

Once seventh grade came so too did my passive compliance to expectations set by society and others. This was the state of things for the next seven years or so. But a funny thing happened along that seven year journey. I began to meet people and have experiences I wanted to remember. Beginning in 10th grade the most amazing individuals entered my life. These are people, who together, we created unbelievable experiences and adventures. We grew up together and, most importantly, we grew.

In 10th grade I also began journaling. Some entries were recounting our adventures. Some were daily lists of what happened. Some were creative entries. Some were sleeping dreams. What I discovered was that the more I wrote, the more I remembered and the more dreams I had while I slept. To let go of the memories that no longer serve me is to confront the fear of going back to the dark period. Of not remembering. And not remember means losing track of myself and my journey. 

My word for this year is freedom. When I selected it I was thinking about my retirement and the freedom being awakened by it. It also applies to this. Memory is just our interpretation of events, and the narrative we create about them. The present is all there is. There is no guarantee of tomorrow. The past does not determine the present or future. It may inform my decision-making, my approach, but just because it was, doesn’t mean “it will be.” It can be inspiration but that doesn’t make it reality. There is freedom in letting go of the emotionality of memories. And, that is what I have decided to do. I have decided to go for the goosebumps. The goosebumps that come from the daily act of living, and diving into each moment with the full breath and awareness it deserves. I’m going with Henry David Thoreau:

You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment.

Here are some of the ways I am doing this.

Hand

Part of living in the present and going for the goosebumps involves paying attention through my hands and feet. At least once a day, I walk barefoot outside in the grass or in the garden as a way of grounding and connecting to the Earth. It recharges my spirit as I absorb the energy the Earth and Sky offer. Even in the first few moments I feel the shift, my breathing eases, I feel calm, light. Sometimes it is early in the morning while still dark, and sometimes it is later in the day. I try to notice all I can with as many of my senses as possible. If you are interested in taking a deep dive into how connecting feet to the Earth impacts our autonomic and parasympathetic nervous systems, this is a good starting place: Journal of Environmental and Public Health.

I also make sure I connect my hands to the Earth as often as possible. Gardening has been a part of my life as long as I can remember. I planted my first garden when I was a little girl. I had two gardens – a sunny garden and a shade garden. My sunny garden was filled with forget me nots, rabbit ears, and other sun loving perennials my magical gardening neighbor Mrs. H shared with me. My shade garden was more of a secret space. Jack-in-the-Pulpits, Virginia bluebells, hostas shaded by evergreen trees. My mother had a flower garden and my father grew tomatoes. My grandfather had an amazing vegetable garden. Gardening is just something we did, and I still do. Flowers, vegetables, herbs, native plants are all members of my garden community. Getting my hands in the soil, the Earth, provides an opportunity to dive into each moment with the full breath and awareness it deserves and to the future growth that will result. Digging. Feeling. Smelling. Listening. To notice the colors, images, sounds, smells, words, all the details, while gardening. If you are interested in how gardening benefits a range of general, physical, mental, and social outcomes, I recommend starting with What is the evidence for the impact of gardens and gardening on health and well-being: a scoping review and evidence-based logic model to guide healthcare strategy decision making on the use of gardening approaches as a social prescription,”  by Howarth M, et al. in BMJ Open 2020, with particular attention to Figure 3. From this article, it is possible to dive into other studies.

Head

I have a dear friend who shares his dreams with me; his actual sleeping dreams. For him it is part of the process of honoring the dream, the persons in the dream, and the message. I am profoundly honored to be in these discussions with him. Nobody is an expert here, in this life, and it often takes us coming together to find our way. After our discussions of his dreams I find my self wishing I had dreams again. I do occasionally dream but I often do not remember them. I am often left with a feeling from my dreams but nothing real to dive into. So, in my effort to live in the present and launch myself on every wave, I have decided to delve into dream work. Not only to learn about dreams, but also welcome dreams back into my daily life. To notice the colors, images, sounds, smells, words, the details, in my dreams. To do this I am taking my usual nighttime practices and fortifying them with additional practices. This is my process:

Regular Practices:

  1. Tracking my sleep habits. Since vivid dreams typically occur during our REM sleep cycle, my sleep analytics provides me with valuable information about my deep and REM sleep, how long I was restless, amount of time awake versus asleep, all of which can clue me in to the quality of my sleep.
  2. Ensuring healthy sleep habits. I cannot control REM sleep, however, I can adopt habits that will support REM sleep. Habits such as, no alcohol three hours before bed, no blue lights (i.e. cell phone) one hour before bed, regular sleep time and wake up time, etc.
  3. Practicing yoga nidra for sleep. “Yoga Nidra is a systematic method of inducing complete physical, mental and emotional relaxation. The term yoga nidra is derived from two Sanskrit words, yoga meaning union or one-pointed awareness, and nidra which means sleep…..yoga nidra is often referred to as psychic sleep or deep relaxation with awareness,” explains Swami Satyananda Saraswati (Yoga Nidra, 1998). Yoga nidra involves resting and listening, no physical movement at all. Swami Satyananda Saraswati  did not intend for yoga nidra to be used to induce sleep. Since yoga nidra is “a state of mind between wakefulness and dream,” Swami Satyananda Saraswati reminds that “the most important thing in yoga nidra is  to refrain from sleep.” Yet, practitioners have evolved ways to use yoga nidra to support sleep. Yoga Nidra Network has a free Yoga Nidra Library that I often use. For those new to Yoga Nidra they have a section called Yoga Nidra Made Easy Audio Files that has 13 audio files that take the listener through the yoga nidra process.

New practices:

  1. Reading about dream work and experiencing dream circles.
  2. Dream Tea before bed. My tea includes rosemary (Rosmarinus officinalis), peppermint (Mentha × piperita), chamomile (Matricaria chamomilla), skull cap (Scutellaria lateriflora), mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris), damiana (Turnera diffusa), and rose (Rosa spp.) petals. All of these herbs support memory and relaxation. Some folklore suggest that mugwort encourages intuition and dreaming. To learn more about these herbs, visit  The Herbrarium.
  3. Rituals to enter the dreamscape. I keep a doomahitchie on my nightstand. It doesn’t matter what it is. Its nonsensical and really doesn’t even belong there. Before I go to sleep I tell the doomahitchie that in the morning I will tell it my dreams from the night. Then, in the morning, I look at it as I get out of bed, before writing in my dream journal, as a cue to remember.
  4. Placing a dream pillow over my eyes. Since I am focusing on my dreams I have made a new dream pillow, one that contains mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris), lavender (Lavandula spp.), and rosemary (Rosmarinus officinalis).  Mugwort for dreams, lavender for relaxation, and rosemary for memory.
  5. Dream journaling. When I awaken each morning, I lie in bed and stretch and breathe a bit. This gives my mind time to process any dreams I had the night before and to prepare my self for moving. Then I get up and write in my dream journal, even if there isn’t a dream I make a note of that so that I can notice emerging patterns.

Heart

There is a new moon and solar eclipse on April 20th. The combination makes for a great time to focus on transformation, planting seeds for new personal growth. As I am striving to let my heart be free and wild this year, I will be lighting a candle and taking a ritual bath that night to support that intention. Ritual bath’s were part of my ancestors celebrations at various times of the year and I have been exploring adding them into my practices.

Here’s my process:

A green candle will be set on the windowsill near my bath. Green represents sowing seeds and growth. I will write my intention, to let go of the emotionality of my memories and to dive into each moment with the full breath and awareness it deserves, on a small piece of paper and fold it three times. I will light my candle and set fire to the piece of paper. The candle will then burn while I take a hot bath using a homemade bath salt blend which includes sea salt, pine (Pinus spp.) needles, juniper (Juniperus spp.) berries, violet (Viola spp.), cedarwood (Juniperus virginiana) essential oil, fir (Abies sibirica) essential oil, and a splash of new moon water collected during the last new moon.  These plant allies are a nod to my ancestors as well as supportive of emotions, relaxation, forgiveness, self-acceptance, and grounding. To learn more about these herbs, visit  The Herbrarium. After the candle burns out I will bury the residue by the Juniper tree in my garden. 

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