Grounding into the Senses
Reflecting on Connecting
This morning I sit down to write you. The coffee is warm, black. The air outside is cold and I can feel it through a sliver of window. Breath: in and out. Notebook page open. The seasons change. This is what the calendars say: october; this is what our wardrobes tell us: jackets, sweaters; this is what the ground tells us: harvest, apples, warming spices, root vegetables.
Over the weekend, around a wooden table, I sat with a group to write for our senses. Water from the kettle boils. Clementines piled up, salt of olives, chips. Planes fly by, we notice the rise, peak, and pass of sensations; and we sit and write, we breathe, we listen.
In the early morning of Sunday I grind cardamom in the mill where, later, I’ll grind coffee beans. I am standing over the stove. I fold the spice into melted chocolate, dark like velvet, double boiled, swirling in the black tahini. I pour the spices in and mix, and think about the friend who made a tea latte with cardamom that got me through thick winters in the early parts of the pandemic, a warming moment in a cold time —the friend who handed it to me then, hot in the cup, caring across the bar, saying cardamom is good for anxiety.
Then and now we talk on the phone. Then and now grief and care overlap. Now, instead of a wooden bar we coalesce over phone lines, that same warmth and care continues. This is who I think of when I mill the spices, stir to temper the chocolate, inhale the scent, sip the coffee that tastes vaguely of cardamom and I think of my friend and then think of the phrase “good for anxiety”. I feel the imprint and residue of connections.
Community is our currency. Connections can be powerful, and caring for ourselves and each other is a necessity, especially now. I read the headlines on Palestine, ethnic cleansing, genocide and they resonate in the cells of my body. I am the granddaughter of a lineage of genocide; Odette, for whom this studio is named, was Armenian. So as a child I grew up hearing genocide and ethnic cleansing as I pieced together the quilt of meaning around parts of who I am, who came before me, and what that means. I learned to feel that deeply in my body and notice how shows up residually. Now, watching and reading headlines of bombs dropping, grief flows through, hot tears falling. I think of families and children and low food stores and forced displacement. I write pages and pages and pages in notebooks this week to pour out the flow of thoughts and waves of feeling. I read and pause and make calls and sign petitions. I don’t know if they do anything, but they are there, and I will try.
I inhale the cardamom scent, the coffee in the morning, feel the textures of the paper as I’m writing. These senses ground me, bring me back, reminds me I am here, now, present and that this moment is potent. Feeling, sleeping, writing, thinking, walking, cooking, calling a friend, looking into the eyes of neighbors and recognizing their existence with good morning, watering the plants, and tuning in. These are the grounding places, these tuning in practices.
I don’t know the intricacies of histories but I am reading, listening, and learning. What I do know is that creative practice is a process, an outlet. It is the ground that holds the rivers of feeling, the forces that flow and shift and swell and release. Write your stories. Paint, cook, color, shape. Be well when you can be. Savor the moments that are simple. The pleasures — they are grounding things. Notice the sensations that come up. Let the pain and grief be a mobilizer and reminder of aliveness and not a deterrent. Turn toward the sunlight, the night skies, the people around you, the recipes that ground you and give you spaces to remember. Breathe deeply the warmth. Find your grounding place when you can, feel that strength. Do what you can, and tend to each other in the process.
experiences:
October 19 | Embodying the Artist online
October 22 | Pop Up at Earth & Me irl
October 22 | Pleasure Portal online
October 26 | Build Your Journaling Practice irl
nourished by:
Reading | Embrace Fearlessly the Burning World by Barry Lopez and revisiting Deepa Iyer’s Social Change Ecosystem Map, and articles from ARD. My heart is with all families and communities impacted by this violence.
Making | chamomile, lemon balm tea — good for anxiety, sleep, nervous system things. Chocolate cardamom black tahini everything. Phone calls. Friends.