Hello friends, 

The day I heard the phrase death by a thousand cuts something in my mind was freed. In its origin this phrase is in reference to a penalty that was reserved for the very worst criminals in imperial China called lingchi. In modern times it is common to hear it used as an expression that something that appeared survivable once (a small cut) was not realized for its cumulative potential as NOT survivable, but rather deadly, a little at a time. over a long period of time—one cut at a time.

Some suffering in our world we see occur in one whole swipe. Others, one. cut. at. a. time.

Juxtapose this reality with another enduring Chinese Proverb: “The thousand mile journey starts with one step,” and in a momentary glimpse of wonder, a world of potential lies before us. How wonderful that a momentary glimpse is all we need!

What I didn’t know about either of these possibilities for a long time was how we each get to choose which potential that is.

Suffering as well as joy felt like something that happened to me, to us, not a choice. Now I believe that is not the whole story, about either.

I like to listen to stories from all over the world and I like to listen for them through nature, walking among the trees or as my new suburban life has it more often, among lawns and occasional green spaces where the wild things still are. A theme that has risen in my listening of late has been the life-death-life nature of our world. We won’t find this rhythm in happily ever after stories meant to lull us into “magical thinking” (as my dear friend Leslie often puts it) but rather in our world’s oldest folklore and myths when and where life was more grounded in the cycles of the seasons and the winds of the earth and the stars of the heavens. I find delight there. I find a place for humanity and mistakes and returns from those mistakes that are richer and make life wider and better there than they ever could have been before.

These are stories of meaning, they hold an expectation of death but also life from death. I am listening to Inuit story-keepers and Latin American curanderas as well as indigenous healers of the land I was born in—trying to understand more of what was before me and still exists even when my eyes are not yet adjusted. 

As I write to you from a rainy Pacific Northwest afternoon I am grateful to get to tell you I’ve gotten to do some exploring and travels in recent months with hopes for more to come. New strolls, hikes, bookshops, and hot spring bathing in the Columbia River Gorge, as well as an exploration of some iconic places in Seattle, the Puget Sound/Salish Sea and Oregon’s rolling lush wine country, none outdone in my heart by it’s epic coastline. After living in Washington for eight years I still have so many sights to see, but most of all I feel anticipation for the exploration of the depths of joy and gratefulness for all the tiny things that adorn the moments that make the days, that make a life.

As joy and suffering become clearer choices and life and death and life again come into view as a natural and good course of events, small cuts seem to be more able to be tended to and small steps more hope-filled to take. It’s as though suddenly thousand mile journeys can be an exhilarating idea and momentary glimpses of wonder don’t feel far away. They feel near and possible.

I listen to my son, Daniel, tell me about the trees. He’s been taking his time reading a book by a “natural navigator”, Tristan Gooley’s, How to Read a Tree and often stopping in the neighborhood or on the trail to tell me the story he can see within the barks and seeds and growth patterns, and I see again the way we are surrounded by story-waiting, every moment, to be seen. 

I know it’s been a while since I’ve written here again but even when you don’t see me I still have little letters in my heart to you all. In my pondering lately I thought to write and title the blogpost How to Stay in the Breath (Even When Your Nose is Clogged) in hopes to be an encouragement for the difficult cold/flu/allergy season many of us are enduring right now—little cuts that add up to certain suffering, real pain, exhaustion and loss (whether from income due to time-off or literal oxygen to our brains due to restricted airways!).

On these windy, thorny, paths of our own wilderness wanderings the possibility of it being a thousand step journey can feel demoralizing not to mention if the initial struggle turns into a secondary infection, or worse if you are facing something more grievous in your days like my mom in the hospital recently willing and praying her kidneys and heart connections to work in balance and coordination like a delicate orchestral song, one. breath. at. a. time.

How to Stay in the Breath, Even When High Blood Pressure Threatens to Steal It? 

 

Aren’t these sufferings happening TO us? TO our loved ones? It’s easy to wonder where and what matters of momentary glimpses of wonder or stories in trees after I heard from my friend whose son thinks killing himself seems like an option worthy of consideration or another loved one having trouble staying on her feet for seeming neurological reasons unknown… How to Stay in the Breath, Even When Grief…

These are the moments of no words and often tears. But, I protest, I’m a writer! I want to bring insight and connections and healing like the old story-tellers, curanderas and medicine women so I sit awhile after the tears and pray some words will come… and I think of Daniel on the trail and the way he smiles at the very thing that makes someone else I love sneeze with his careful study of the trees, one of the strongest most universal symbols of life-death-life and I write another journal entry to my younger self…and I heal a little more as I take another breath. I suppose if you’re still here with me you’ve taken another breath too. We did it, together.

And that’s all the how to I need for today, or could ever really give. 

We could get fancy, proverbial! “Life, by a thousand breaths—together” 

Even when you don’t see me I still have little letters in my heart to you all, I’m still here taking one breath at a time too. 

I had a pretty incredible meeting and interaction with a German gentleman during a recent layover in the Denver airport, we both sought fresh air and found an outdoor seating area. Once we began to share with one another we sat and talked a long time with a view of the sun getting low over the awe-inspiring Rocky Mountains. One of the things I hope I remember for as long as I need to was when he said, “Better to end with a shock than be in a shock that never ends.” 

Every day many of us here are unraveling and moving further out of shock from far too many cuts, states that we lived and loved in for an extensive time. It’s gonna take us more time but we’re doing this and I so much understand times of feeling defeated and discouraged overwhelmingly, but here again together with our feet on our own soul-ground let’s live another day to the best of our ability. Many teachers have taught me that time is for wonder.

John O’Donohue in Anam Cara wrote about how it’s more precious and difficult to live one day well and worthy than it is to write an entire book. Trust with me today that every breath, every step, holds great irreplaceable worth as we write the story of our lives, one day at a time? It will help us slow where needed, see, be in wonder, cherish, and L I V E.

Love,

Raynna Christine