Tag: nature

My Ten Days of Christmas: Day 10

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Mismatched Striped Wings

I awoke from a bad dream. My head was aching. I made coffee but then went back to bed. Echos of the dream reverberated in my brain so I got up, took coffee to the beach and sat in the sand allowing the residual fear and anxiety to drain away. This was my last full day in Chicamacomico and gratefully, I’d established an agenda for myself.

I drove to Frisco, which is about 38 miles south of Rodanthe, to go horseback riding. I hadn’t been on a horse since I was a teenager. But strong memories remain. I loved everything about being around horses, even the smells — leather mingling with a horse’s sweat, the hay, the manure, the sweet feed, the horse’s breath.

I arrived at the stable in Frisco and was met with the familiar smells. I felt like I was home. Horses are in my blood somehow.

The horse I was to ride was named Bo. As soon as I met him, he began kissing my face. Not licking it. He gently pressed his muzzle up against my face and held it there for a seriously long time. He never tried to lick me or nibble on me. He just nuzzled me with his muzzle. Prickly whiskers, nostrils flared and snorting air, musky horse breath. For way too long.

I mounted Bo and thanked him constantly for bearing my weight on his back for two hours. I was acutely aware of the fact that the reigns in my hands were attached to a bit in Bo’s mouth. The saddle cinched around his belly and the stirrups hanging down his sides were instruments I used in conjunction with the reigns to make Bo do what I wanted him to do. It seemed an unbalanced alliance. So I offered many thanks, much praise and a few I love you’s as he walked in sand and through woods to reach the ocean.

The path through the woods was narrow with lots of obstacles for him to negotiate: hills, tree roots, water holes. But once we reached the ocean and Bo could run, he seemed happy. I was happy, too.

Like I said, I hadn’t been on a horse since my teenage years. I had forgotten all the muscles that are used in riding a horse. I’m feeling them after the fact.

After my ride, I went to the Frisco Native American Museum. This was an odd place. It was established by one man from his own personal acquisitions and it really seemed more like a collection, less like a museum. There were beautiful Native American artifacts from across the United States and a bit of general information on groups of items. I had so many questions and the only person working there was a woman in the gift shop. I imagine she could have answered all the questions, but I did not want to distract her from her post.

It is hard to look at items that come from people that my ancestors annihilated: items that had been made with intention, that carried a meaning and purpose of which I was not cognizant.

There were a couple of clubs that I fixated on. I wanted to look away but could not. There was a life to them that spoke of conflict, of counting coup, of the sacred bonds of community and the desire to secure that community’s interests. Could it be there is a reason for violence? This was a question I was not comfortable with, and I lingered looking at these clubs for longer than I did any other item in the museum. One of them had a demonic-looking face which I could not fully see because of the light reflecting off the glass. And from the expression on his half-hidden face, I got the feeling he wanted it that way.

There were so many incredible creations: kachinas, beadwork, sand paintings, and of course, masks. I held a sustained discomfort as I lingered over objects, photographing some of them.

I lingered in the gift shop, looking at jewelry. One of the jewelry makers was there talking with the person behind the counter about the properties of different stones that she uses. When she mentioned that carnelian is a courage stone, I replied that I have a carnelian bracelet that I shall need to call upon in that case. She asked what I needed courage to do and I said, “I need to speak my truth. And live according to my own dictates.” She nodded thoughtfully. And then she showed me a stone, a hematite tiger’s eye or tiger iron. She said it dispels a lot of negativity while bolstering you with courage. And she offered it to me, this beautiful stone. It is hard for me to accept a gift. But I felt comfortable accepting this one. I was so deeply moved by her generosity. I will take this stone with me everywhere.

After leaving the Native American museum, I went in search of the Cape Hatteras lighthouse. My phone wasn’t getting any sort of signal and I got turned around when operating by my internal exploratory gps. I decided to turn around, go back from whence I came and skip the lighthouse.

As fate would have it, I was driving along Highway 12 when I saw a sign for the Cape Hatteras Light Station! Silly me, I had passed by the entrance hours ago and it hadn’t registered. I followed the road that the sign pointed to and it lead me to right to the lighthouse! I was happy to be reunited with the it. I’d had the opportunity to climb it as a teenager when it was in its original location closer to the ocean. Now, it sits a good way back from the ocean and it was not open for climbing. Still, it was really good to see it again. It is such an impressive structure.

I left the lighthouse, and headed back toward Rodanthe. I drove through the stretch of land that held no structures save a row of poles by the road. I was struck by their vulnerability’ of the row of poles lining the road. How quickly and completely this island could be removed from modern conveniences. One major storm could destroy one’s quality of life here, if not one’s house itself. Everything here seems perched on a precipice between ease and struggle.

My snacks were gone. I was hungry. It was time to hopefully find an open restaurant. This task is much more daunting than it would seem because it is, after all, the off-season at the beach and we are still having a pandemic. I had discovered one reliable deli about five miles from my base. However, on this particular occasion, it was closed. I managed to find a Mexican food truck just before it shut down for the day. They were out of nearly everything but they whipped together a tasty quesadilla for me.

The sun was nearly below the horizon when I returned to my home base. I took my final evening walk along the beach. The sky was dark with an approaching storm. A dozen fishing boats dotted the horizon. I walked halfway to the pier, took some photos and walked back.

I sat in the sand briefly and found a fragment of a shell that reminded me of the stone the jewelry-maker had given me. I pulled the stone out of my pocket and laid it next to the shell. They were like a pair of mismatched striped wings. I decided the shell was to come home with me so I it went into my pocket beside the stone.

I walked back to the house and started packing up the rest of my stuff. I carried the bulk of it to my car. I readied the coffee maker for morning. I gathered all foodstuffs and toiletries and when I felt like I’d done all I could do to prepare for a fast and easy departure in the morning, I went out on the deck and reclined in the hammock.

I pondered the anxiety and fear that had been conjured by the bad dream. In the dream, a situation had stripped me of my agency, and circumstances took on a life of their own. I understand why I had this dream. Up til now, I have not been adept at steering my own course. And eventually circumstances overtake me. I realized that when I return home, I might again place myself into situations that strip me of my agency. This was the source of fear and anxiety. This was the cause of my dream.

From this point on, I must take the reigns, and direct the course of my life. I can do this now. Bo reminded me how.

This time has been packed with weeping, healing, exploring, and expanding. This has been a time for spreading my wings. A pair of mismatched striped wings that now, I know how to use.

I rocked back and forth in the hammock looking up at the clouds in the sky, and I made up a little thank-you song. I was singing this little thank-you song over and over again and I noticed right above me, there was a little break in the clouds in the shape of a heart.

My work here is done. It is time to return to my regular life and incorporate all the new discoveries I’ve made about myself. I am ready.

My Ten Days of Christmas: Day 2

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Everything is Temporary

I had a mercifully good sleep last night. My alarm was set for 6:30 this morning. My plan was to get an early start, head into Kill Devil Hills where a mechanic would look at my car, tell me why the battery light was on and hopefully rectify the situation. However, when the alarm went off, I did not care about getting up to see a mechanic. Instead, I cared about fortifying myself with extra rest. And so, I followed that impulse and slept an extra hour.

Upon waking, I felt timid about doing all the things I ordinarily do first thing in the morning. Pee. Make coffee. Drink some water. Get dressed. I felt awkward in this room that felt not at all like my room. But I breathed through the discomfort and slowly and methodically did the things I ordinarily do first thing in the morning.

I think the moment that I splashed water on my face was when I experienced my first taste of gratitude since arriving here in Rodanthe. What a gift it is to cup one’s hands under a running faucet, catch some water and bring it up to one’s face. What a gift to have an indoor bathroom with running water! The gratitude was immense. So much so that I wondered what had happened to the anxious being of the previous night.

What is there to be anxious about? I find things. 2021 was the most anxiety-filled year I’ve experienced in a very long time and over the past several weeks, my anxiety went through the roof. It’s probably going to take a good long while to untangle all the causes and resulting manifestations, so I am going to have to learn to be patient during this time. Untying knots is a painstakingly tedious process that cannot be rushed.

I took a cup of coffee with me outside and walked to the ocean. It isn’t far. Just up the road — which ends abruptly in a sand dune. I think it probably was not always this way. I think at some point the road had a proper end. Possibly there were stairs leading over the sand to the beach. I get the sense that the sand has gradually encroached upon the road, covering the stairs in my imagination, so that to get to the ocean, one simply climbs the sand dune. Once atop the dune, the ocean is right at one’s feet.

A small house to my right had a “For Sale” sign on it. It’s name was “Ebb Tide” which I found ironic. Because the tide had clearly flowed much more than ebbed, repeatedly encroaching upon the hopeful little house. It appeared that sand had piled up around it and under it, making it much closer to the ground than it had been designed to be.

As I climbed down over the sand dune, I observed how close the tide was to the little house. I felt sorry for it and its owner. They know it will one day be under water. They are just hoping to turn a profit before they experience that great loss.

I was a little startled by how little beach there was. The water rolled up to my feet several times. There was space to walk along the water to my right / south. But there would be no walking to my left / north. The water came all the way up to the houses.

I headed south and paused when a feather captured my attention. It was small with markings similar to a blue jay’s feather without the rich blue hue. I bent over to pick it up and the wind blew it away from me. I then remembered a Native American tradition of asking the entity, whether a rock or shell or feather, permission to take it home with you. But you have to listen because sometimes the entity does not want to go home with you. This feather did not want to go home with me.

I happened upon another feather. It was extraordinarily long with a very strong rachis. I asked if it wanted to come home with me and it too said no. I asked if I could pick it up and it reluctantly said yes. So I picked it up gingerly at the calamus and measured its heft. It was an impressive feather from a large bird of some sort. I laid it back on its spot in the wet sand and took a photo of it. As I did, I remembered that today was Sarah Browder’s birthday. A beautiful feather of a girl who was blown off this planet by a man with a gun. I remembered this because taking the photo of the feather reminded me of the time I took a photo of a dead butterfly in the sand during a previous beach trip. I’d placed the butterfly’s body in a sand memorial I built on the anniversary of her death.

Thus was the onset of crying spell #1 today.

My coffee cup was now empty and I decided to go back to the house to refill it. Outside the house where I am staying, I met the person who owns the house and another person who lives in the house. They were jump-starting a truck. Which reminded me to test my car and see if it would start. It did.

I went inside to call the mechanic as it was now much later than I had intended for it to be. The result of that conversation was the decision to wait until tomorrow to drive into Kill Devil Hills. I followed my body’s cues to take it easy today.

I had more coffee and created a little altar for the Solstice. In my own silly hierarchy of trip preparations, I had the foresight to include items for such an altar. I forgot all my toiletries. But I had altar pieces. I burned candles and palo santo and indeed brightened the corner where I temporarily live.

I participated in a four hour ceremony via Zoom designed to set one’s intentions for the coming year. I was in a very tender heart space during this ceremony and found many opportunities for tears to be shed. I struggled with the hurt in my heart. It was so overwhelming at times. I observed the happiness in the other people on Zoom and asked myself, “where, where is the happiness in me?” I breathed through the difficult moments, found sparks of inspiration and hope, and felt a great deal better at the end of the four hours than I had at the beginning. However, after the ceremony ended and I was alone in the room that was not my own, I felt that familiar anxiety rising. And here’s the thing: just like the tide, harsh feelings rise and then they recede. That is the way of it. If you can just hold on, you’ll be able to experience peace after a storm.

Many times today, I thought of a Thich Nhat Hanh teaching. With young children, he explains that strong emotions are like a storm and the person experiencing the emotions is like a tree. The limbs may blow violently, but the trunk stays steady and strong. He tells the children to focus on their trunk to find their strength and stability during strong emotions. Eventually, the storm will pass.

Yes. I am worlds better than I was this time last night. Because that storm ended. Other, smaller storms hit today. But I tried very hard to remain steady despite the violent emotions.

My body is telling me to go to sleep now. So I will end this missive here. Because night will shift into day when there are things that I must do. Now is the time for rest.