The collective 'ooomph'
Whenever I feel like I am experiencing something a little more intensely than should be, I reach out to friends to see if I'm the only one "feelin' that."
This week I have felt like my brain is not quite coming back online—it wants to rest, or it wants the body to move--it doesn't want to sit in front of a computer. And when I do push my brain past the comfort zone, it seems to melt. Not just soften a little in the heat, but straight up go-to-puddle. This isn't normal for my brain, except for the period where I was recovering from a concussion. In fact, the energy right now kind of feels concussed. The heat is oppressive. The word on the street is struggle or overwhelm, and the consensus is summer is coming early, and it would be nice for a siesta.
So I reached out to my crew to see if I was the only one feeling this, and sure enough, I wasn't. "I haven't gone live in weeks, I just don't have the energy to," one friend said. "I am sleeping later and taking more naps right now," another remarked. "I just want to hide until it goes away," even, was one extreme.
I haven't dug deep into the astrology, but maybe I don't need to... We just had a full moon, summer solstice is coming up, and we're in between eclipses. All of these energies combined will push us to the point of exhaustion.
I always think of this time of year—the ramp up to the longest day, feels a little like a roller coaster, or a crescendo. Up and up and up the energy, effort, and sun go... and we feel that on a deep level.
So here are a few of the things I've done to support my brain and energy during this week:
Here's to summer! Enjoy the melt.
And a message.
Before we left Colorado, I broke my baby/pinky toe on my left foot while trying to shut the veggie drawer in the fridge. I missed entirely, and kicked the fridge. I was hurrying to pack up the house, I was distracted, and I went down like a sack of potatoes, but I didn't cry out because initially I couldn't tell if it hurt. Then the pain came. I was sitting on the floor holding my foot and doing reiki on it when Craig came in. He saw me quietly sitting there and asked if I was okay. I replied that I didn't know, because I didn't. Because of my calm demeanor, he thought nothing of it. My toe didn't swell up right away, and it didn't change colors. But within a few hours it was puffy and blueish. I'd already put comfrey salve on it, and reapplied at that point, and then iced it down.
The next day, it was definitely worse. So I looked up pinky toe in Louise Hay's You Can Heal Your Life book, filled with messages from all body parts (see our All I Learned From video on this one if this is your first exposure to it, it's one of my staples!), and the message for pinky is "don't sweat the small stuff" basically--let go of the little details. And the mantra she gives is "all details take care of themselves." Okay, I thought, that makes sense.
Craig kept insisting it wasn't broken, but I knew it was. I didn't make a big deal of it, because I knew there was nothing I could do but ice it, and salve it. So that's what I did for the next 3-4 days until the pace quickened—we spent the weekend down in Denver, and then came back to Steamboat to put everything in the U Haul and roll out. I didn't ice it, I didn't salve it, and by the time we got to Tennessee it was worse. Throbbing if it wasn't elevated, painful to the touch.
It didn't help that I kept falling on it. It's been a week now since we've arrived, and I think I've fallen off 3 curbs, twice off the driveway, and once off the ramp to the U Haul—no major falls, just a roll to the left and bam, it's insanely painful again. I know from years of using this book that the left side is receptivity and femininity, and that when something on that side is injured, it's helpful to realign your masculine and feminine energies. My do-everything, get-it-done attitude isn't always helpful. Sometimes, I need to rest and receive.
Every time I seem to roll it/trigger it, I am reminded to slow down, let go of the details, and let someone else help me (or ask for help).
Since we're all connected, perhaps you needed that message too. And perhaps I could use everyone's collective good thoughts to help my little toe finally heal. TIA — Thanks in advance for that!
Receive my friend, receive. Abundance is your birthright, and sweating the small stuff certainly is not.
Dip your toe into that one and see how it feels.
Full circle and "coming home"
I was born and raised in northern Virginia and grew up playing in the woods and in the waters of the small lake community we lived in, as well as going to some form of overnight camp for a few weeks to two months from about 8 to 16 years old. Needless to say, my love of the outdoors and the adventures within them runs deep.
So moving to northeastern Tennessee feels like "coming home" to me. The woods look and smell the same, there is water everywhere, and we are just 11 miles south of the border of Virginia. Each state is different, there is no doubt, but when I roll down Sweet Creek Road to the edges of our property, it feels very familiar.
It feels like what's old is new again, and that we're coming full circle.
What we're establishing on this 40 acres in Eidson, TN is a mouthful – in short, it's going to be an intentional community with a permaculture education center – in the long run. How do you do this? Chunk by chunk.
But let's back up... we often get asked "why here?" And for that answer, we have to look at why we're leaving Colorado... skyrocketing prices, interminable drought and resulting fires, and change. You can't buy 40 acres for less than a mil$ anymore, you can't grow a lot of food without a lot of water, and there simply isn't much water, and the winters are just too long for what we want to do. There are other reasons for leaving too, but those are the big ones.
So on the other side of the coin, that leans to "why Tennessee." My short answer has been, "it will have water for 50 years." I'm sure it sounds crazy to be thinking that far into the future, but that's the kind of thinker I need to be for this project – this legacy.
When I am gone, I want someone to inherit this food forest and heart-centered communal way of living that we are intending to create. If those concepts are new to you, do a little digging, and keep reading our emails and socials. Soon we'll be unpacking much, much more.
Until then, here's to a mobile business I can take with me, here's to working from home, here's to manifesting big things, and here's to food security.
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