Hello dear ones,
I’m sorry I didn’t send out a mid-week post like I said I would. This is something I’ve struggled with my entire life. Biting off a bit more than I can chew sometimes. Even as I typed last weekend I thought, “Annie, don’t say you will do something & then not do it.” Oops. Pretty much when the sun goes down these days, I go down with it. I’m exhausted & I pull the sleepy blanket of darkness over my head. I burrow into my worn couch, tuck myself under an electric throw, with my two beasts–three if Matthew counts. Even though it feels quite primal, like I don’t have a choice, I kind of like it some evenings.
I saw a meme of the Celestial Seasonings Sleepytime Tea mascot, the bear in his cozy nightshirt & hat, that said something like, “Me every day at 5:37 p.m.” Last Sunday, it was as if Matt & I had been powered down. First I fell deeply asleep on the couch. Then he did. We would both pop up & out from under that sea of zzzs & say something like, “It’s only 8 p.m.?” Or, “Should we eat dinner?”
What a spell the seasons cast on us. What an imagining it is that leads us to believe we are less animal than we are. I am ruled by the sun. I understand this about myself by now & I will soon break out my sunlamp so I may trick my brain into producing more happy chemicals.
My mom & I have been talking about the unique properties of light this time of year. It almost feels like we’re always behind it. The morning light is like the afternoon light & in the afternoon, it’s as though the evening is leading it away on a leash, the impatient light. In my optimism, I imagine if it were sentient it may want to stay with us a little longer like a good friend. Although I’m comforted that it isn’t sentient. That it just is. So, too, the hush of darkness is. I am & you are & the Earth spins madly on. Kookookachoo.
Still, in its perpetual waning of this season, light is. Part of my poetic recipe consists of being obsessed with light. It is one of my most favorite perceptions. How it drags everything along with it: up or down or sideways. I will always try to take a photo of the moon, as I did the full Beaver Supermoon on Friday, only to have the moon appear as a streetlight, a blurry blip. I am eluded, mystified. I appreciate the mystery.
At the pool on Friday, I wasn’t able to do a long workout, as I’ve been a bit flared up & fatigued & also had to spend 10 minutes locating my keys within my car. Using a kick board, I reached the end of the lane, my face looking down in the water. When I arrived, I saw the diving block suddenly washed out in bright sunlight from the window. I placed my hands in it on the edge of the pool. In the nearby lane, there was a sparkling blob where scintillating lightwaves shone on the water through one of the aquatic center’s portholes. Just like that, the overcast sky had opened.
Before this, while driving home after dropping Matt off at work, there was a small circle of clear blue sky over the lake, as if a tunnel through a wall of gray storm clouds, like when you telescope your hands for perspective.
What I’m trying to say, dear ones, is that even as we feel heavy with the weight of uncertainty, under an encroaching storm or thick blanket of night, the light of a clear blue morning waits to find you. Last week, the day after the election, I held the light in my hands as I cupped the precious faces of my little nieces. As I teared up at my mom’s utterance that she doesn’t believe Americans will elect a woman president in her lifetime, I realized I’d felt that pain before & it was just as sharp this time around if not sharper, which means, yet again, I dared to hope.
It’s okay if you are sad, depressed, worried, & disappointed in this moment in time. We have to mourn, then learn, then sink our roots in deep, & cast our nets wide for the future. We can trade off days. We can nap & be replenished by the restfulness of the colder months. But I think we have to be the light for each other. If you see a glimmer in the night, know I am keeping a small flame lit for you, burning across the miles.
Until next week,
Sleepytime Tea Bear aka your friend, who loves you, Annie
New extra bit if you’d like to indulge! As music is always on my mind, here’s a little soundtrack to accompany this week’s letter:
“There Is A Light That Never Goes Out” by The Smiths
“Light of a Clear Blue Morning” by Dolly Parton
… & this harmony-rich version I also love by The Wailin’ Jennys
“I Am The Walrus” by The Beatles
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