After the storm
Death, decay and gatherings
Winter is gathering its skirts and folding us all into a time of death, decay and deep slumber. Out walking along a narrow trail, perched just above the water today, I met glorious fungi dotted along the path like jewels. Scattered in open grass and under trees, their shapes and colours thrill me.. What fabulous and eerie bounty appears at this time of natural die back. The path reminded me of parts of the Wales Coast path and I smiled to see familiar blackberries hanging on, unripened, soon to shrivel.
Death is close by. I feel very present to the rise and fall of life. Being in nature reminds me of the absolute perfection of these cycles. The fallen giant trees host more life than their towering, upright neighbours. As they slumber and decay, fungi, insects, moss, lichen and even new trees sprout and devour the goodness of the rotting timber.
Tonight another storm, this time I spent a diverting few minutes reading about a bomb cyclone. In our sheltered spot we are set to miss the worst of it. Other communities up and down the coast and in the foothills of the Cascade mountains are forecast to get hit by high, damaging winds.
The road behind the house is already closed from fallen trees, so I see on the community Facebook page. I am once again in the basement, with a torch at the ready, drafting my Substack!
The time after the US election has been at once unsettling and at the same time, our days and weeks are much the same. There was a palpable sense of shock at the result after the polls had been showing such a tight race in the run up.
I put off reading much about it as consuming too much of other people’s urgent need to reach for explanations was unwelcome. As with the UK’s unexpected decision to leave Brexit back in 2016, a torrent of words poured out at the time, but we can never really know the full ripple effect of these seemingly momentous decisions until many, many years down the line.
Here there is elation and despair and desolation.
Catching up on some of the editorials this week and seeing posts on social media I find myself wanting to pay attention to what is happening close in, here in my community. I am probably guilty of living in a bit of a bubble, hearing mostly views that concur with my own. I am realising that the idea of separate realities is playing out in an extreme way here in the USA.
I observe there is unanimous agreement that things are broken but wildly different opinions about causes and remedies.
People’s idea of the country is radically different depending on what news sources you read and believe in. It is such a vast country I have no way of knowing what is going on, day to day in all 50 states. All I can go on, is my interactions on the street, in the groups I have joined and conversation with friends and family.
There are fears and concerns about the future. There is the continued shared interest in community activities and supporting each other.
One beautiful development I am noticing is people gathering. Days after the election we were invited to join friends for a shared meal. A personal invitation to a gathering around meditation and writing showed up in my inbox recently. I received an invitation to a movie night and a Brit Ladies Afternoon Tea.
Gathering is such a wonderful thing to do. In my previous work as a facilitator, sharing the Three Principles, I often hosted gatherings online. Some focused on books with time for quiet reflection, some brought together groups with particular interests. One of my favourite social gatherings is a pot luck, where friends or family bring a dish to contribute to a shared meal. It’s even more fun if the offerings are not co-ordinated before hand.
It looks to be a human instinct to gather to celebrate (American Thanksgiving approaches), to mourn, to share interests and to learn. Families spread across the globe gathering on Zoom for regular catch ups, people gathering to worship, to party, to make or listen to music, to dance, to exercise. Where would we be without gatherings?
An absence of gatherings can make us grow dull and too introspective, lonesome and isolated. I am guilty of that at times. Gatherings full of warmth and cheer are nourishing like a good soup. So let’s gather and strengthen the bonds between old friends and new, with family or found family, with our neighbours and communities.
Where and how might we gather this month?
Writing these Substack publications is a type of gathering. I gather thoughts and put them down in words while the wind blows. All the while, you the reader are present here with me, cosy in the basement.
A collage of fungi for you.
Thank you for reading.
Gratitude
A shout out to all those who joined gatherings I have been part of and a big thank you for the recent invitations to gather.
Threads that pull me
All these storms have me wanting to make soup. I made a fabulous lentil and squash Mullagatawny stoup from Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall’s book, How to eat 30 Plants a Week.
So much fungi around I was inspired to make Mushroom risotto with chanterelles, shitake and chestnut mushrooms. Shop bought. Not confident yet to pick my own.
Listening to Dido’s 2003 album, Life for Rent. Such great memories of dancing round the living room when my children were small and my daughter Evie, singing along to White Flag. Thanks to my brother Nick for introducing me to this artist, way back then.
Book: The Heroine’s Journey by Gail Carriger - thank you to Douglas from the Writer’s Circle who lent this to me - a fascinating look at the heroine’s journey in ancient myths and pop culture. Highly recommend to my writing friends and lovers of film and books.
Book: Reason for Hope, A Spiritual Journey by Jane Goodall with Phillip Berman, 1999. A book that jumped out at me in the library. The fascinating story of Jane Goodall who travelled to Gombe in Tanzania to study chimpanzees at the age of 26, with no formal training, only a notebook and binoculars. Now age 90 years old she continues to tour the world with a message of peace and hope. It has me pondering again on the power of where we place our attention. To pay attention to what you love - deepens and nourishes that love.