⬤ eClips: Layers
Last time I wrote to you, in mid-July, the days were long, hot, languid. Now, the weather is crisping, and we’ve passed a couple of tipping points. With the equinox behind us, daylight is quickly diminishing. And after this week’s new moon, the crescent is filling out again, little by little toward full. Rosehips are rounding out on their thorny branches, and dahlias are still forming showy spheres. I’m layering up against the brisk air, collecting yellow leaves, and daydreaming to the sound of rain.
Or, to the sound of … the crows outside my window, who have been nonstop cawing for hours. I can’t see whatever threat they’re upset about, but their cacophony is making for a unique soundtrack. I like being reminded — even loudly — that I’m not the only kind of creature who lives here.
In early August, I received an email from myself. I’d sent it a year prior through FutureMe, and then promptly forgot. In the email, I only briefly mentioned the intense circumstances of 2020. Mostly, I wanted to know: Was I following through on my deepest desires? Was I better able to honor my future self by putting my current self through a little discomfort? I’d signed off, “Keep trying to find that deeper spark. It doesn't come from comfort!”
I was surprised to read these words, because I was again considering comfort, with no conscious memory of having already considered it a year earlier — during a pandemic, no less, that had challenged every notion of comfort I’ve ever had. I recognized the self who’d written the letter, and felt connected to her. She didn’t know what I’d do in the coming year. She didn’t know who or where I’d be in August 2021. But she did know what she hoped I’d do, and she knew those hopes had remained pretty consistent throughout her — my — life. And some of those hopes involved letting go of comfort.
I’m not really talking about the physiological comfort and safety that I’m lucky to have and that many lack, like food, water, shelter. I’m talking about the discomfort of growth, and the discomfort of integration — of my fears, my experiences, and my values with my actions. I knew then, and know now, that much of the growth I’ve undergone in the past handful of years hasn’t come from doing things that felt comfortable at the time. Going sober wasn’t comfortable, but it led to a much greater kind of comfort — that of learning to trust myself, and to prioritize my health. If I’m seeking maximum comfort at all times, then I’ll only stick with the status quo. Challenging myself to learn new things can’t compare with the comfort of watching television; moving my body can’t compare with the comfort of taking a nap; eating nourishing foods can’t compare with the comfort of stuffing my face with cookies. (Which, don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll keep doing.) In August 2020, and again in August 2021, I was looking for a way to balance my desire for comfort with my desire for challenging my mind and body, and in the process, honor the wishes of my past selves and the well-being of my future self.
And it is a balance. The pandemic has been taxing, driving me to seek some kinds of comfort more than normal. Sometimes I do need a good show, a nap, and a snack. I do want to resist the capitalist imperative to be productive at all times. But I also want to be able to stop wallowing, when necessary, and to be free of the fear that sometimes keeps me feeling stuck.
And, as with sobriety, there’s also a balance between how I currently define comfort, and how I might rework “comfort” to include things that previously felt uncomfortable. I used to find sobriety excruciating, but now, I don’t want to give up the comfort of being clear-headed. With practice, being in a pattern of moving my body, however strenuously, feels more comfortable than sitting still all day. And using fewer resources might challenge my current notion of what’s “comfortable,” but the moral alignment I feel when conserving and trying to use my fair share is a kind of comfort too. My definition of “comfort” can be expansive as I push myself in new ways and adapt.
After receiving the email from myself, I quickly wrote out another one, which I’ll receive next August. I already don’t remember what I wrote, but I hope it’s full of words that will be useful to hear a year from now. In this week’s Spotlight, you’ll read that Kate has a practice of writing herself yearly letters — a correspondence with her selves across time. I’d like to follow her lead and switch to written letters — but I’ve also included the link to the digital service I used, in case you want to try it!
⬤ FutureMe. You can have your letter delivered one year, three years, or five years from today, or choose your own delivery date.
⬤ Would You Give Up Air-Conditioning If You Knew It Would Save the Planet? “The problem of the 21st century is the problem of the comfort line: Who gets to be comfortable and at what cost to others?”
⬤ rise up! good witch podcast, ep72: herbal mutual aid, somatics & centering disabled bodies in healing work. “I think a lot of times in, you know, ‘wellness spaces,’ the fantasy is, like, ease. … That wasn’t my reality. So, I’ve just always been really interested in how to build those complicated realities into … how I’m going to engage with my community, and how my work is going to impact the earth, and how it’s going to impact the people around me.”
⬤ Pocket Coven Podcast: Self Worship ft. Cordelia Rose Black. “It gets really messy. It gets really difficult to navigate it. Because it’s like that thing where you’re like, ‘I’m gonna do this because I love myself so much, but holy shit, it hurts so bad.’” Kate loves this podcast, and played me this episode after our interview.
⬤ Quilting is a spell. “Quilting is shape shifting. Quilting is knowing something could be finished and can change yet again. Quilting is knowing nothing. As soon as you show up thinking you know how it will turn out the less delighted you will be.”
⬤ I’m on a mushroom kick again, wanting to rewatch Fantastic Fungi, and with three books on hold at the library: Mycelium Running by Paul Stamets; The Mushroom at the End of the World by Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing; and The Wild Kindness by Bett Williams.
⬤ Potato Peanut Curry Recipe. Kate mentions stews in her interview, so I thought I’d share a recipe for one of my go-to stews. Is this a stew? What constitutes a “stew”?
⬤ lofi hip hop radio - beats to sleep/chill to ♫♫♫
Spotlight: Kate Flaming
Kate Flaming is a bi femme goth witch. Kate and I met in Kansas, and grew close in Seattle. We share many of the same passions, but I appreciate the unique ways we express and experience those interests, and I love learning from the places where they diverge. We often joke about how many times our paths must’ve unknowingly crossed as kids, growing up as we did only 45 miles away from each other, each of us wandering wild on our own family farm.
We’ve been talking already this week about the transition of this season. And I know how you love active, sunny summer days. But I’m hoping you can tell me what fall is usually like for you, or how it is specifically this year!
When I think about fall, I’m thinking about all the falls that I’ve ever had, you know? As I come around to that season, it’s like I’m stacking these memories on top, on top, on top of each other. So I’ve got these layers of fall that I think about when fall comes. It’s kind of like how you mentioned that, for the people that we love most and see all the time, we don’t really “see” their physical face when we look at them, we see all our memories of them — it feels very similar to me, with the seasons coming back around. So, when I think about fall, I’m feeling the feeling of the weather outside in Kansas while I’m waiting for the bus on the first day of school. And I’m feeling this memory of skipping college class and driving around with my friends. I’m feeling all these different fall feelings that I’ve felt before. So it feels really comforting, I guess, to be thinking about all these times that were usually fresh beginnings. Fall always felt like, you know, growth. Not as much as spring…
Yeah, it feels like growth of a kind, of interiority. It’s interesting to think about that in juxtaposition with some of the death and decay that happen.
Right. Which, as I got older, I resonated with that side of it more too, that fall became this time to look inward and to focus on myself, especially with having my birthday during that time. It always felt like a time to center and reflect.
What are some of the sensory signals to you that it’s fall?
Definitely the crispness of the leaves. Being able to hear that, and feel the briskness in the air. And it’s been different — I miss Kansas falls, the feeling of being outdoors at that time. But I also really love what I feel from the fall here — it feels like there’s this giant, grey, velvet blanket encapsulating the city, and it’s just hovering over us. And it’s more of a cozy feeling, that it’s grey and soft above us, and verdant green around us.
I feel that way too. Months from now, I’ll be like, get this blanket off of me! But right now I’m like, wrap me up!
One-hundred percent.
So it’s Libra season, also, and we’re both Libras, so I want to ask you about the concept of balance. When you think of balance, what comes up for you, or what are things you do to stay “balanced”?
Balance has been coming up everywhere for me recently. I feel like that’s been one of the main messages that’s come from the last four or five tarot readings that I’ve done or cards that I’ve drawn. There’s been a lot of Temperance, you know? And the balance I’ve been trying to work on recently is the balance between the energy that I devote outward, and the energy that I devote inward. And that one’s been tough, especially with feeling like the world was kind of opening up again, and feeling that rush of wanting to expend this outward energy of socializing and meeting people and being with my friends all the time. I want it so badly, but it becomes unsustainable if I’m not trying to balance that out with time by myself and time spent journaling, or in the tub, or just doing nothing on the couch with my cat. Summer always makes it feel really difficult to match that balance. But it’s kind of like the equinoxes too, you know, we’re hitting the equinox time, that balance time, that Libra time of fall, and it’s like we’re tipping over into the cozy side and into the time to be looking inward.
Yeah, that’s beautiful. So what are some of your fall rituals or ways that you mark the season?
I’m thinking about bonfires right now! And all of what that used to bring up for me as a kid. I remember having a bonfire for my 16th birthday party. And as I was older, college-age or beyond that, it’s the way to be outside once it’s past outside season, you know? You give yourself a little bit of warmth, and you can hang outdoors with your friends even longer. So, definitely fire.
It used to be camping trips, but it feels real rainy now.
Yeah, it’s a bit soggy.
Yeah. I mean, I would count my great enthusiasm and love for Halloween as a bit of a ritual. There’s definitely been years where I’ve spent months preparing, carving out the ideas that I want to consider, and then painstakingly shopping all the thrift stores to find all the elements I need, or actually crafting it together.
And watching horror movies!
And watching horror movies, how could I forget? Well, I just absolutely adore horror movies. But so much of that love really started amping up when Joe and I started watching a lot of horror movies together. And there was one year in Kansas that we did 31 horror movies in the month of October, or 31 horror somethings. Sometimes it was the Halloween episode of The Simpsons, or something short.
You need some palate cleansers.
Yeah! And, I mean, it’s a little overwhelming to do two hours of a movie every single day. For 31 days? No! It’s a little much. But we pretty much did it again last year during our lockdown Halloween season, and that was really special, to have a reason to hop on the Zoom call every day.
Yeah. I think I got in at least 10, maybe!
Yeah. I think I missed maybe two or three during the month. So, not quite 31.
That’s a good number though.
It is good, yeah. OK, one other fall ritual: This is around the time of year that I’ve made a number of my moss jars, or garden terrariums, where I’ll get this huge jar of some sort, and I’ll arrange this little scenery of twigs and moss and tiny little ferns and rocks, and just kind of stuff it all in there, from a walk that I’ve done in Ravenna Park. They just keep growing. There’s one that I made the first birthday after I moved to Seattle, and seven years later, it’s still just green and beautiful, and still producing mist inside the jar. I opened it a couple times years ago, but I haven’t opened it in years, and it’s just its own little contained world! So, yeah, I’ve done those in the fall, because I’ve done them for my birthday numerous years past.
That’s beautiful. You’ve given me one of those. So, in addition to moss, are there any plants or natural elements that you’re feeling particularly pulled toward?
That’s a good question. I’ve had a hard time with those porch plants.
Your indoor plants, though, are thriving.
Yeah, that’s been really fun, to build the inside of my apartment out greener and greener.
And you propagate your own indoor plants a lot too.
Yeah, I do. It’s really fun to be able to get these tiny baby plants ready to give to someone. That feels really special. Or, to just keep replenishing and renewing my own collection.
And then, even some of those porch plants that had leaves falling, I know you were gathering and doing things with, like the verbena.
Yeah, that was a really fun process too, to spend time harvesting all these individual little dried-up leaves that I accidentally let die, and just telling them “I’m sorry,” and “Thank you,” and stuffing a few bottles with them. And I did that with the lemon verbena and the star jasmine. And I used that lemon verbena for that kombucha flavoring I did that was really good — tasted like summer and Skittles. I don’t know what I’m going to do with the star jasmine, but it felt good to still be able to use some of it.
I know just from knowing you that thrifting and foraging are a pretty deep part of who you are, and I’m hoping you can tell me more about why you’re driven to do those things, why that’s a way of life for you.
I feel like it really starts with how I was raised, and my family and community that I grew up in. Somewhat out of historical necessity and somewhat out of the Mennonite faith, my family has always been pretty thrifty. And I grew up on a farm, that family farm goes back to, like, 1871, so there’s been a sort self-sufficiency on the farm for a number of those generations. And I just remember that being something that I knew to be so true of my grandma; she was just scraping together to make these really delicious meals and huge batches of bread to feed everyone, the family and the farmworkers, but always being very thrifty about it. And good stewardship of our resources is a core tenet of the Mennonite faith; preserving the earthly goods that we have. So, even though I’m not religious anymore, growing up with that being such a core part of my family, my community’s faith, my faith, I feel like I’ve left the religion with a lot of beliefs that I still carry, and that’s one of the main ones.
I love being able to get that feeling of making something out of nothing, or having the luckiest day at the thrift mart, or finding the perfect thing that you’ve been thinking about, needing, on the side of the road. There’s so much joy that I get out of that!
Do you have some type of, like, secret special contract with the universe when you need a particular item? Because, I feel like, there it comes, always.
I know, it’s gotten to the point that Luke and I just joke about it. The number of things in my apartment that I have found is a little bit absurd. There was the desk and the chair on my birthday, that was the perfect desk, and the softest chair, that Elliot now loves! There’s the toaster oven. There’s the three bench chairs that you found on your walk over.
Yeah! That was a co-manifestation.
The water tea pitcher … anyways, I’m not going to list it all, it goes on and on, but it does help living near the student area, where they just throw all their shit out to the curb once they can’t handle it anymore and don’t want it. And it just makes me so sad to think about all these items that have so much life left in them just dying and being wasted. It makes me hurt. So anything that I can do to not be a part of that chain, anything I can do to give new life to things that aren’t needed by someone else, that’s what I want.
I love that. And something you were talking about before made me wonder — we both grew up with this ability to run wild on the land. And to be close to the land. To be near animals, to see probably some pretty gross things up close, the cycle of life. It’s such a broad question, but are there other ways that you feel that influence, and see how that impacted you in your life?
Oh, in every part of my being. I feel like every bit of me is informed by my experience of growing up on this little farm outside of this little Mennonite town. Every part of who I am goes back to, I think, what it was like to just run wild and free and feel like everything as far as I could see was mine. It was very Pride Rock, you know? Everything the light touches!
It’s hard to know who we’d be otherwise. But you seeing that chain of waste and its impact on the land, and wanting so badly to work with plants and create natural environments, I wonder all the time how much growing up in that way informs that. And I think you’re right — it’s fully.
I’m thinking too that this goes back to balance. When I was a kid, all I wanted to be was a city girl. I wanted to be in the heart of it. And now that I’m here, I love it, and that’s what my soul needs, but I feel like there’s deep parts of me crying out for rural wilderness and to get as much nature as close to me as I can.
Yeah. And not just authentic connection to the land, but lasting. That’s hard for us to find, is a lasting connection like that, outside of our childhood farms. But then, there are these other things that are anchors that I of course am going to ask you about, like sun and moon cycles, and seasonal cycles. So, tell me about how you connect with sun and moon cycles.
Well, I’ve felt inspired by you to follow it more closely. And I think one thing that I’ve had to be a little gentler on myself about is being more OK with not always following all the cycles and paying attention to each of them, and doing specific journaling at different times or doing different plans at different times. I have to loosen the reins on myself, or else it ends up feeling like a burden and not like a joy. But I really do love the act of listening to the stillness on the new moon, and thinking about the coming month and what you want out of it, or what you want changed out of it, or what you need from it, and setting your own intention or wish, and thinking about the plan for how you’re going to help move that intention along. I love the process of doing that, and making your action steps as the moon is reaching fullness. And using the next cycle as it’s turning dark again to turn inwards and reflect, and kind of evaluate the process. There’s so much value in feeling like you have the opportunity to try again every single month, every single moon cycle. So much opportunity. Like, “Ah, shit, I didn’t do it this month. … Well, I can reset.”
Yeah, always.
Yeah. There are certain things I try to make happen on different parts of the moon cycle, and I find myself having a hard time sticking to it, but I still aspire to. I am dying my hair on the full moon, since it feels like this burst of energy and always makes me feel more like myself, and it feels very full moon energy to me. My partner and I have check-ins on the new moon, or around the new moon. And then, if I’m doing other projects, things like turning over kombucha or preserving different herbs or making a tincture, I usually like to time those with starting on the new moon and going through however much time is appropriate for each thing’s process.
I really like how you talked about being gentle with yourself and loosening the reins. Because I feel like we’ve shared a lot of learning about the moon over the years, and I remember a couple of times where you were talking about just going and having a conversation with the full moon. Or going and thinking about how the moon was the same moon you saw as a child — kind of coming back to the layers of the seasons, and the layers that the moon holds. So I remember, at that time, I had already fallen into a rigid pattern toward almost, like, productivity for each of the moon cycles. And some of that stuff feels right sometimes, but otherwise, it was so nice to imagine you just going and talking to the moon. It was a reminder to me! Like, oh yeah, duh! Go have a real connection.
I do always like to tell the beautiful lady hello when I see her! But yeah, just taking a moment to talk to the moon. I guess it’s the closest thing I have to praying at this point, is talking to the moon.
And I think, too, of your moment of gratitude with your plants during the day.
Yeah, that’s something that’s happening daily, I guess we could call that “on the sun cycle!”
Yeah, it is!
It totally is. Every afternoon or so, I like to pour myself a little bit of kombucha or other special drink and just thank and thank and thank and thank every single little plant in my apartment, and just go around and give them all a little nudge of gratitude.
I love that.
I don’t have too many other daily rituals. I have a number of weekly rituals at this point. Meeting for Seattle Queer Witch, having Taco Tuesdays, having Pie Fri, you know. And then, of course, we kind of have this Wheel of the Year that we’ve carved out together that feels really special and meaningful to me. You know, with Groundhog Day...
Tom Hanksgiving! Aphelion!
Aphelion! I also have a couple little holidays that I’ve made for myself. One is called Secret Box Day, where I decided I was just going to have this special little keepsake box. The first year that I made it, I spent some time with each of these special objects, thinking about their memories and what they meant to me, and just giving them so much energy. And I stacked everything neatly away in my little box, and I wrote myself a letter, and I put it in there. And then I leave the box alone for a whole year. I can’t touch it. If I find something special I want to put in, I can lift the ledge and sneak it in, but I can’t look at the things, I don’t want to be reminded. I want to just experience them only on this one day of the year, and experience them very fully and thoroughly when I do. So now, I’ve got a stack of three years of letters that are growing, and it’s kind of this time magic that I’ve been working with, of being able to have this more genuinely felt connection between my past selves and my self at this time and my selves in the future. And this letter-writing, this process of slow correspondence that I only get to respond to once a year, it feels so fucking cool.
That’s amazing. The topic for this newsletter that I wanted to pursue was writing myself a letter that was sent digitally to me. I wrote it last August, and then it showed up to me this August, and I, of course, had totally forgotten about it. And I wanted to write about it, because I know you think about time magic and layers of self. So, it’s just so beautiful, that that’s a practice of yours! The practice is very influential. I was like, “OK, year-ago me, you know what’s up.”
Yeah, it was interesting to see the questions that I asked myself!
Is there anything else that’s been on your mind?
OK, my last thing that I’m going to say is that I’ve been in this place of needing to convince myself that I’m ready for fall, and that I like fall, and that it’s a good thing that it’s here. Like, “Oh, remember it’s nice to be cozy.” Or, “Oh, remember, it’s your birthday month, and it feels great.” You know? But one thing that I am very truly excited for is stew season. So, I wish everyone a very happy stew season. I hope you fulfill all your stew fantasies.
Yes! Can’t argue with that. If you have a good recipe for stew, you should send it to me.
Well, I think I might have one in my zine!