Tag: Winter Solstice

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.

My 10 Days of Christmas: Day 1

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The Wake

A few days ago, I was driving a little outside the city limits of Kernersville, NC when I saw a group of black vultures. This was the second time in two weeks that I had observed this type of gathering. The first time, the vultures were making short work of a deer carcass by the side of the road. This time, there was no obvious food. They were all just standing around. I pulled over to take a picture of them. One of them looked my way and I said, “Hey buddy! What’s up? Do you have something to tell me?” Because like all magical thinkers, I believe animals have messages for me.

Immediately, the following words appeared in my brain: “Carry on living your life in your own manner.” This was an unexpected response from a black vulture. So I said, “Thank-you! Anything else?” Again, an immediate response came to mind, “You are beautiful.”

I had to research what one calls a grouping of vultures. For example, a group of crows is called a “murder.” A group of dolphins is a “pod.” I didn’t know what to call a group of vultures. Perched vultures are a “wake.”

I’ve been grieving over the loss of a relationship, which — even though it was a year in the making, it was still in its developmental stage. The grief is still pretty fresh. And to be honest, I’ve been distracting myself from feeling it. The grief has been compounded by unkind words spoken by family members at me about the person with whom I am no longer in relationship. I very nearly fell apart from the weight of trying to please everyone. But I managed to hold on until I could get out of town.

Today, I drove to a string of barrier islands known as the Outer Banks in North Carolina. I’ve rented a cheap room for ten days so that I can avoid the traditional Christmas get-together with family. I felt I would not be able to handle the chaos and commotion with any degree of integrity, so it seemed best to remove myself altogether. Since my birthday is three days after Christmas, I figured to be safe, I’d stay away til a few days after that.

The drive provided me with the freedom to cry. I cried a lot. Random song lyrics, sights, and thoughts triggered me and propelled me to sob.

I packed up an assortment of books, my painting and drawing supplies, and some needlework with which to occupy myself. I’ll have the great outdoors while the sun’s up. And afterwards, I can busy myself with self reflection and self improvement exercises.

I am alone.

I drove the first quarter of my journey before I needed to find a bathroom. I took an exit that advertised gas stations but quickly realized the bathrooms were 2.5 miles off the exit. This annoyed me and so I decided to get back on the interstate and take an exit where bathrooms were immediately available.

You just can’t bank on this expectation when driving through rural areas. I had to drive a mile and half through winding roads to the first available entrance ramp for the interstate. I was face-to-face with the immediate gratification monster that contemporary society had turned me into and it was not pretty. I started feeling a heightened anxiety made worse by the discomfort of my full bladder.

Mercifully, I found a ramp just up the road a ways and found a gas station pretty immediately. I noticed a strange creature on the roof of a CashPoints® and made a note to self to explore it more carefully after I’d relieved myself.

Right outside the bathroom was a display of T-Shirts that said “Lizard Lick, NC.” How was it possible to end up in a town called Lizard Lick without even realizing it!? I purchased a shirt and dashed outside to examine the strange creature. It was indeed a large lizard perched atop the roof of the ATM island.

For further verification, I took a close-up.

Feeling pleased with myself for discovering Lizard Lick, I soon left it and continued on my journey to Rodanthe.

The name Rodanthe obviously conjures thoughts of the giant Pteranodon in the Godzilla universe, a.k.a. Radon, Monster Zero-Two, The Fire Demon, and Titanus Rodan. I questioned my decision to book a room at a place with such a fear-inducing name. Especially as I neared it.

To reach the Outer Banks, one must drive across a couple of rather long bridges. The longest is 5.1 miles and as I drive over Croatan Sound, images of Godzilla and Rodanthe — er, Rodan — ripping up bridges, cars plummeting into the murky depths, play out in my brain.

What the hell am I doing?!

It was nearly dark when I arrived at Nags Head, the most convenient stop at the Outer Banks. I had to drive further South where there is much less development, much more wilderness. And just as I veered away from civilization, my check engine and battery lights came on.

I don’t know if you’ve ever found yourself driving along a narrow stretch of land surrounded by the sea — a stretch where there are no stores, no gas stations, no mechanics — at dusk when the check engine and battery lights in your car come on, but I can tell you from experience, it is anxiety-producing.

I pondered whether to turn back or push forward. To double back would put me at my destination much later than I cared to be and I was already exhausted. Plus, there was no guarantee I would be able to find anyone to help me should I double back. So I asked for grace to descend upon me and shower me with her good favor as I proceeded on my way, driving across yet another bridge. This one was only 2.8 miles long. But at night, and with its extreme curve, it was much more frightening.

I drove between sand dunes that towered overhead, sand billowing across the road. I watched the lights on my dashboard as I counted down the miles remaining before I reached my destination. My eyes darted nervously from the car’s dashboard to the navigational app on my phone. Would I make it?

The navigational app’s voice guided me to the road where I would allegedly find the house I would stay in. The road led me to a row of houses that were predominately dark. No porch lights. No lights from within. My cell phone lost service right as I parked. My anxiety mounted. Fortunately I was able to connect to the Airbnb’s host’s wifi and all was figured out from that point.

Road weary and exhausted by the sudden onset of rather dramatic crying spells, I staggered up the front steps of the house in the dark, went into a dark house where I staggered up more steps, trying to determine which door in a series of doors led to the room I had booked. I found the correct door with the correct keypad upon which I punched a series of digits that allowed me access to a dark room. I flipped a wall switch and no light came on. I felt my way to a lamp and cut it on. I texted the host to determine whether the overhead light worked and discovered it was just “finicky.” I needed to pull on its chain out to the side a bit rather than simply pulling down. It took several tries before I succeeded in mastering the finicky chain. And then I was able to see what I’d put myself into.

It’s fine really. But upon entering it, I became aware of the distinct lack of Christmas cheer, the distinct lack of personality, the distinct lack of company. And I suddenly wondered again, “What the hell am I doing?”

We’ll see what the daylight brings.