Copy
View this email in your browser
On the Connection Between Our Minds, Our Bodies, Our Souls 

I've been meaning to share this newsletter last month in celebration of the Autumnal Equinox but I kept putting it off, despite the weekly reminders I set for myself. Weeks of insomnia laden with anxiety about work, financial stability, transitions, ghosts from the past and health crises in my family have kept me from fully offering myself to my art.  

When you're physically exhausted, even the smallest task feels like an enormous burden.

Rather than keeping it all in, I allowed myself to feel what I needed to feel: anger, frustration, guilt. I communicated to my loved ones about it, I journaled about it, I spoke to healers about it.  Intuitively, I felt energetic blockages all over my body. My tired mind made me believe  I had no place to release all my worries about the past, present and future. So I'd stay awake from 2 AM - 5 AM, tossing and turning with my incessant thoughts. 

"Are you creating? I mean, are you writing?" friends who are healers asked me.

"I mean, no. I have no motivation to write. How can I? I'm tired all the time." 

"Yes, you have to take care of yourself. But you also need to go back to creating, Jenn. You have a lot to share but you are holding on to that energy, when it needs to be released. Journal, hike, dance, move...do what you need to do to create space for your art. It's imperative." I always knew creating was a source of healing for me, but I never imagined that if I stopped creating, it would impact me so deeply. 

My body knew, though. Our bodies are incredible teachers. "Whereas the mind lives in the past and the future, the body resides in the now and never doubts itself. It knows the truth and will guide you towards the most evolutionary choices" (source). It was clear to me that my body was signaling me to act quickly, that I was not balanced within.

I devoted most of my day to my daily commute and work, I stopped meditating, I internalized all of my frustrations and worries: I stopped living consciously and neglected my physical health. I kept feeding this cycle until my body finally broke down and I started listening.

I went to see a community acupuncturist who taught me the connection between my kidneys and my insomnia. I improved my sleep hygiene through a regular nightly ritual. I journaled regularly. I was more conscious of my spending habits, of how I spoke to others/myself and my own body. When I felt tension, I did more restorative yoga, more pranayama.

Of course, it took time and a lot of effort. It took saying "no" to myself when I had the urge to make plans, saying "I can't" to my creative partners whom I've committed to for future projects, and advocating for myself at work.

The work never stops, especially for those of us who have experienced historical trauma...the kind that leaves an imprint on our bodies. We can try to cover it up, try quick fixes....but the body knows, the body always knows. 

"Your ancestral spot is right there." My acupuncturist moved my hand to the space behind my heart. Because my mother has a long history of insomnia, he believed it was passed down to me. He showed me where it originated on the soles of my feet. He then burned dried mugwort (moxa) near that spot to help clear my energy centers. His care and concern for me left me feeling more open, more expansive. I knew I needed to bring this healing to my mom.
 
As I reflect on those moments, I feel enormous gratitude. The more I listened to my body, the more I felt closer to myself. I learned to listen to my intuition more clearly. I've had premonitions of an important shift at my workplace and within my own relationships. My intuition led me to some wonderful friendships. There is nothing more powerful and beautiful than trusting ourselves. It's the greatest gift. But, it takes time to get to this point, especially if you've been conditioned to dismiss your own voice.

A few week ago, I used my voice as a platform to speak openly about mental health, as part of my organization's "Arts in Diversity and Inclusion Initiative." A number of us submitted original artwork - poetry, paintings, photography, videos - that focused on a number of topics, from immigration to historical racism. It wasn't easy to allow this much vulnerability in our workplace but we turned that collective fear into collective strength by building a supportive community.  Our creative submissions opened up powerful conversations. When I introduced my work at our opening reception - I created a series of short videos of myself performing my monologue on anxiety, "Breathe" - I recited lines from Audre Lorde:

“My silences had not protected me. Your silence will not protect you. But for every real word spoken, for every attempt I had ever made to speak those truths for which I am still seeking, I had made contact with other women while we examined the words to fit a world in which we all believed, bridging our differences.”

Each one of us in that room had a story to tell, we just didn't know how to begin. The arts opened up a safe portal for us to share and connect with each other. A close friend at work who submitted a stunning series of poetry and photography exploring the experiences of being a black woman in America shared with me how "alive" she felt in the days that followed the opening reception. How it gave her the fuel she needed to continue working on her craft. How she needed these outlets to express her rage. Without these outlets, we carry that anger and pain with us, storing it in our bodies. Sharing our experiences is not only healing, but an act of resistance.   

"Thank you for being brave and sharing about anxiety and depression. You spoke openly about issues that many of us connect with so deeply." It was clear to me that I needed to continue this work, because my silence will not protect me. By choosing to be brave and vulnerable through my voice, as an artist and mental health advocate, I was able to connect with others. We discovered together that we were not alone. I recall feeling overwhelmed that week, with both gratitude and uncertainty. It was a lot to take in, a lot to think about. Where do we go from here? How can we make institutional changes? How can we translate this collective rage into collective action? 

Experience has taught me that nothing can be done if I'm not feeling okay. So let's start there. By taking deep care of ourselves. 

I invite you to check in with your own body and ask for what it needs to feel expansive and nourished. Start small. Remember that everything you need is already within you. You do not need to be anywhere but in your body. Get curious about what arises for you.  

In this issue, I'm honored to share poetry from one of my dearest friends, Kimberly. My deepest gratitude to you for opening your beautiful and enormous heart. -JPC 
Opening Reception of Open Society Foundation's Arts in Diversity Showcase 
Falling Into Grace 
By Kimberly Salome Greenberg 

W I N T E R
Sweet family, gathered round, illuminating dark winter nights. 
Home // a place of no goodbyes —and a heart ever full.
All seasons reside here, so too do sorrows. 
Suffering, our nosy teacher, asks us to cherish each other, our imperfect & impermanent home. 
Joy today, not tomorrow.
‘Do not put off your duty,’ the winds of change whisper.
I obey.
More Change is Coming///
As arctic winds and temperatures take Europe captive, I am in France at last, mother’s homeland.
I sleep on grandpa’s floor.
He calls it the « cure » as I sleep on and on in a fit of good and bad dreams.
Grandpa’s zen spirit mends my heart.
I stay silent about my grief and the never-ending « Whys and Hows....» 
Walking the streets of Strasbourg in the dark hours, the silhouette of the lovely cathedral of Notre Dame provides solace and daily redemption. 
I light candles and pray for many generations.
Grandpa and I discuss: Life, love, death, sex, travel, feminism, philosophy, religion, identity.
I ask him, « who are you? » and he smiles knowingly back, « I am everything and nothing. » I nod.
His courage and inner light carry me, move me.
Three roses gifted on my 33rd birthday; an auspicious trio that bring joy amidst loss.
A reminder: soon, spring will arrive, just as the roses will lose their petals one by one by one.
But not yet! Each day, we admire our companions who bloom bright with the intention to live, without a care about the snow outside --sharing their heady perfume with us.
When these roses return to the earth,
Grandpa and I embrace. 
« I love you » we both say, and I fall one last time into his soulful eyes, cerulean blue. 
To see and be seen.
May we meet again, my faith pounds as you walk. Away. My last grandparent. A legacy of love, a life fully-lived. 
Not a single regret.

S P R I N G 
Winter holds on, keeping her at bay.
Mother Nature abides by her own ways.
And so I walk, on and on, in the dramatic landscapes of the Himalayas. 
The Annapurna region flourishes with grace; a kingdom of life bursting forth from every root, brook, animal.
Home again, the winding river fills with my sorrows and gratitude; Pacha Mama ever ready to catch us.
I feel my heart grow with each day—this, the joy and freedom of being one of the universe’s secrets.
We needn’t ask Spring why or how.
Tibetan gongs and prayer wheels spin & spell secrets. I listen, I learn. I switch off my thoughts, and step delicately one foot at a time and...
The way reveals itself. Hundreds of kilometers later, spring triumphs. 
Space and vibrant color transform the mountains into an oasis. Emptiness gives rise to the answers deep within as, « the one who knows, » awakens.
Spring accompanies me. Safe and whole, out of your violent snowstorms whose shape now take form as blossoming Rhodendrums and fields of butterflies, I too, feel the quickening of my heart. 
« Namaste » I see the G-d in you, Mother Nature and I say to each other as I bow, following my oldest dreams up over peaks higher than I ever imagined. 

S U M M E R
After Spring’s awakening, summer encourages us to live our new truth. To cooly commit.
My journey intensifies. I start to see myself again in the brothers and sisters I meet on my way - Tibetans, Mongolians, South Koreans, Thai, Indians.... An eclectic tribe, we are a grand family more alike than different in our aspirations and our ways. 
I bike, paint, laugh, cry and live with you, see the world with our hearts’ eyes.

Summer, I hold your hand bright.
When most unexpected, in Lhasa, I find love. Alas, in this spiritual epicenter:
I love you with my whole fractured heart. Loving again is living again. I weep as your presence floods me with joy and infinite space.
Milk and honey fill me as I bow again not just to you, but also to summer, the barefoot goddess that helps us swim far out in the ocean.
In your arms, I reap, a benediction.
Short-lived, yet an integral part of my healing. My gratitude to you and for your life, distill your painful silence after our paths separate. 

F A L L 
A symphony of redemption.
Fleeting love, you cleared the way. For something even more vast.
In silence, in community, in the forest monastery, in the land of smiles, my heart radicalizes.
Yes, Dharma friends invoke the greatest love of all:
The love for oneself.
The love we are all looking for...
The love that got away.
The love that was too much.
The love that was not enough.
My heart, is back, in my hands again. Pounding gloriously.
The truth is, 
I have wandered the earth to find this // peace // stillness // joy // redemption // 
The truth is, 
I am finally home. This refuge within. Alone, yet connected to all beings.
My radical heart 
// is family
// is Mother Earth
// is divine
// is not mine.
 
Kimberly Salome Greenberg
Why Decolonizing Self-Care Fuels Our Resistance  | Lara Witt 
Selection of the Month

Dear Marguerite, 

You’re itching to be on your own. You don’t want anybody telling you what time you have to be in at night or how to raise your baby. You’re going to leave your mother’s big comfortable house and she won’t stop you, because she knows you too well. 

But listen to what she says: 

When you walk out of my door, don’t let anybody raise you — you’ve been raised. 

You know right from wrong. 

In every relationship you make, you’ll have to show readiness to adjust and make adaptations. 

Remember, you can always come home.

You will go home again when the world knocks you down — or when you fall down in full view of the world. But only for two or three weeks at a time. Your mother will pamper you and feed you your favorite meal of red beans and rice. You’ll make a practice of going home so she can liberate you again — one of the greatest gifts, along with nurturing your courage, that she will give you. 

Be courageous, but not foolhardy. 

Walk proud as you are, 

Maya

- Maya Angelou, "What I Know Now: Letter to My Younger Self" 
Copyright © 2018 Homecoming of the Human Spirit, All rights reserved.


Want to change how you receive these emails?
You can update your preferences or unsubscribe from this list.

Email Marketing Powered by Mailchimp