writing

Light

January 5, 2023 By Allison

Balance, beauty, Viriditas, movement

In different seasons of my life, these words have been my aspirational guide posts. At the end of each year a word emerges, announcing a sort of theme for the coming year. I never feel that I choose the word. It inevitably comes to me in a flash and frames my thinking for months to come. For a year or more, the word accompanies and instructs me.

This year my word is light. I can’t guess where it will take me, but I do know where the journey begins. I’m moving into 2023 by tending to my inner light. I have long been aware of the brightness each of us possesses. As a little girl, I would have called it the Holy Spirit, and as a student of reiki, the great bright light. Some call it the soul. Mark Nepo references “the song from within ignited, again and again, that keeps the world going.” Bringing awareness to our inner light brings insight. Yet, I often fail to heed the clear wisdom I already possess. So, I begin the year by examining the hues of my own splendor.

Of course, this expansive and mutable force is not meant to be contained. Our inner selves inevitably move outward, unfolding beyond comprehension as our light connects us to others. In fact, I’ve come to understand that rays of my inner light emerge in this blog. As I compose my 100th post on Creative Sanctuary, it’s fun to take stock of 5 years of writing. The pieces I consider to be my best don’t always receive the most hits, but they still ring true to me. After the fire in Notre Dame de Paris, I wrote about the divine feminine. A few years ago, I wrote about yin energy as I moved into a hectic holiday season. And more recently, I published a piece on burnout versus exhaustion. The gentle play between the inner and outer takes form, and the self shimmers.

Inspiration

The Book of Awakenings, by Mark Nepo

Purple COVID Thumb

August 14, 2022 By Allison

“The body is a document. It keeps a memory of its own. We are made of loops and loops of time.” –Ingrid Rojas Contreras

COVID hit me like a summer cold, but long COVID has been no walk in the park. I was spared excessive fatigue and loss of taste, but the virus nonetheless did a number on my nervous system. I’ve always been emotionally expressive, but in the weeks following COVID, I was exceptionally fragile. Happily, my emotions are slowly stabilizing and the steady progress feels sustainable.

My purple thumb is a wild, disconcerting reminder that my body is still out of whack. The bruises first appeared on day 6 of COVID. They come and go. My thumb feels tight and slightly constricted, and my arm aches when it flares up. After a few days, it fades and then unexpectedly reappears.

My doctor suspects that my condition was brought on by the disturbance the coronavirus caused in my sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous system. He told me that this elegant, well-designed system regulates the autonomous processes of the body, including the fight or flight response during a threat or perceived danger. If the body is under attack from a virus, physical trauma, or emotional upheaval, that regulatory part of the brain is affected.

My doctor is perplexed but not worried. I have no definitive diagnosis, but we believe that the trauma of COVID likely sent my fight or flight response into overdrive. Long COVID is uncharted territory, and symptoms vary from patient to patient. A few weeks ago, I opted to receive a nerve block to pause my fight or flight response. The simple procedure was soothing and settling. I consider the injection a useful tool but not a cure. My nervous system will come back into balance over time, and I must give myself the time and space needed to heal.

I feel validated by the medical community and remain open to more injections and/or talk therapy as I recover. As always, my friends and family hold me up. And I’ve chosen to treat the purple thumb adventure as an opportunity to deepen my knowledge of healing. When my purple-hued thumb sends me looping through my mind and has me pacing my house, I am reminded that healing rarely proceeds in a straight line. I try to pause and practice deep breathing as a way to soothe my nervous system. More than ever, I pay attention to emotional triggers and my reactions to them. How can I step back and recalibrate? What helps me keep my emotions in check? Moving forward, how will our society deal with long COVID? Given that health is a personal, private subject, how can we facilitate healing for others?

I hemmed and hawed before writing about my COVID thumb because the condition frightened me. I keep it bandaged so that I don’t catch glimpses of the bluish-purple splotch. As much as possible, I set it aside and focus on the more pleasant aspects of my life. So why did I choose to post this story? Writing has the power to restore wholeness. Sharing does too.

Embroidery

September 23, 2017 By Allison

Flea markets are therapeutic. My eyes do the initial sifting as I make my way down the aisles and through the booths. When I am drawn to an object—a hand-painted tray, a copper planter, a Limoges teacup—I approach for a closer look. Where was it made? What is its story? Can I make space for this object in my little house?

The visual and tactile experience of an overflowing flea market allows me to move beyond my internal, distracting chatter. Yesterday, in the company of a friend, this dainty needlepoint purse found me. The handwork is intricate—much care and concentration went into this old-fashioned piece. I wonder who made it and who carried it…

Embroidery has long been a form of feminine expression. My self-taught needlework is precise but sporadic. Usually, I choose to embroider through language. Both written and spoken, words form my stitches. Clean, fumbling, or elegant they lend texture to my creative work. Pauses are perhaps more important than words. Spaces of silence, they allow my chains of words to function as thoughts. At the flea market, I sometimes find myself existing in the spaces between the stitches of everyday life. The precious pause leads me to small treasures, sharpens my curiosity about their pasts, and inspires me to imagine new places and purposes for them.