Seeping through the liminal space
Recovering from stress and a poem about entanglement
I have been feeling deeply unmotivated lately. That’s also part of the reason you haven’t heard from me in more than a month. Since returning to Amsterdam after our lovely holiday in Sweden, I feel like I’ve been dragging my entire body and soul out of bed every day for no reason. Because, honestly, I don’t feel like doing anything.
Apparently, or so I’m told, this is a normal part of the recovery process after experiencing extreme stress for too long. In an attempt to protect itself, our stressed bodies inject adrenaline into almost every situation in a last-ditch attempt to keep moving forward. Even after stopping work, the adrenaline doesn’t go away immediately. It takes time for the body to realise that it no longer needs to keep pumping adrenaline into the body, and therefore it takes quite some time for the body to fully relax. When the body finally does relax (which is what happened during my holiday), it often comes with some depressive symptoms because basically I’m no longer “high” on this internal drug I was taking called adrenaline.
Fortunately, my mood will swing back. It’s all just a part of the chemical process of the brain. And when it does swing back, I will feel even better than before because I’ll actually have real energy instead of that placebo shit called adrenaline. It’s going to feel great. But that might still be half a year away…
Anyway, it’s all going to be fine. I was super worried for a while but when the doctor explained it all to me, it made loads of sense. And so I feel low and unmotivated and overall really blah. But I’m just letting it be what it is. All I can do is wait. (Impatiently.)
Several weeks ago during a session of The Remix, a wonderful (un)learning adventure from the folks at Becoming Crew, we received a lovely invitation to write a poem. We had just listened to “A prayer for this moment1,” after which we were invited to simply let any words come onto the page that felt the need to arrive, ideally in the form of a poem.
That’s how the poem above came to be.
Considering I wrote the thing in a span of five minutes without any forethought or subsequent editing, I’m quite happy with how it turned out. Like the starting and ending lines suggest, the poem does give me some sort of hope, at least on a macro scale. A reminder that there are forces out there that are much bigger than we are, which humbles me and offers a sense of calm.
That said, calm is not really what we need right now. We need change. We need action—dedicated, intentional, heartfelt action as opposed to the capitalist, panicky and reactive action we tend to see. To take those intentional actions, we also need to slow down and start sensing again so that we can take steps that are actually going to be beneficial for everyone.
But “calm” isn’t quite the quality I want to inspire in others. Determination is stronger. When I think of determination, I think of energy, power, and momentum. I don’t think of speed—determination is slow and steady. And to be determined, one must exude a sense of calm. But calm suggests that there there is not a powerful energy hidden behind the unruffled exterior. Calm is too soft. Determination is force of will that is as powerful as anything else but doesn’t require explosive outbursts. Determination moves steadily. It’s the duck that appears to float effortlessly on the lake, but underneath the surface the feet are moving constantly. Determination may be slow, but it never stops.
My personal motivation to join this creative (un)learning adventure was to start seeking out the ways in which we can tell different stories. Stories of connection as opposed to the story of separation we are all living in. Stories of hope as opposed to the horror stories we see in the news every day. Stories for LIFE2.
And, of course, it is a practice and I am only just beginning. And writing poems, which is not something I’ve done much of, pushes me out of my comfort zone and encourages me to play with language in ways I’m not used to doing.
And there is always serendipity. Just 10 minutes before we were invited to write our poems, I had shared with a small group that my “experiment” for the coming week would be to write a poem and share it on my blog. Because I wanted to start practicing different forms of writing and different ways of putting a word on the page. And 15 minutes later, a poem emerged and here I am sharing it with all of you. (Several weeks late, but so be it.)
I hope you enjoy it.
There was more I wanted to say today, but unfortunately the words just don’t want to come. My energy is low and I find myself in a state of extreme apathy combined with debilitating horror at the current state of affairs. I don’t care at all, and at the same time, I care too much.
How unpleasant.
I keep seeing all of these graphs showcasing the “highest ocean temperatures ever recorded” in the North Atlantic; or the “rate of decline of Arctic sea-ice;” or the fact that it is currently 50°C in Mexico. And all of these things are happening right now in 2023. I’m horrified. And heartbroken. And terrified. I knew we didn’t have much time, but I thought we had more time. All the reports over the last years citing 2030 and 2050 as deadlines for certain catastrophic events, and we’re not even halfway through the 2020s and they seem to be here already.
We live in a system that is harmful by design. Both to humans and to the planetary systems of which we are a part. Capitalism/colonialism was designed to separate us from nature and, unfortunately, it is succeeding. Not only has it succeeded in convincing huge swaths of the global population that we are not a part of nature, but it has simultaneously made so many people miserable3 that we don’t have the energy or willpower to create the needed change to move through this crisis effectively.
I truly believe that we cannot heal the world if we do not first heal ourselves. And for far too many of us, the experience of modernity is causing us emotional and psychological distress. This is part of the reason why I am so determined to take care of myself and to do it properly for the first time in my life. But I also feel guilty for resting because there is no time.
But this is why I follow The Nap Ministry, because I, too, need the constant reminder:
“Capitalism lied. Your worth is not tied to how much you produce. We will rest.”
And so, I will rest.
“A prayer for this moment” came into being during a conversation between V and Bayo Akomolafe at the Democracy & Belonging Forum. You can listen to a beautiful reading of the prayer below.
Stories for Life is part of the “source material” for the program I am currently following.
The global mental health crisis is already catastrophic. Fortunately, unlike the other graphs I mentioned, this is getting some mainstream media coverage but still not enough.
Fun stuff
Some goodies and extras for you this week. 🙃
Read 📖
I had the great privilege to witness Lyla June, an indigenous musician and activist, speak during a session of the Bio-Leadership Fellowship. If you haven’t heard of her or don’t know her work, I highly recommend this beautiful article she wrote in 2019.
Listen 🎧
As mentioned above, you should absolutely listen to this beautiful reading of “A prayer for this moment” by Evva Semenowicz on THE SPACESHIP EARTH podcast.
I also really enjoyed this episode of Accidental Gods with activist Charlie Hertzog Young. It’s a beautiful conversation about activism, mental health, and the climate crisis that moved me deeply.