A song to set the vibe:
Dear relatives,
I used to build altars. Everywhere I was, there they were. The Bogolan cloth served as an ocean floor, holding Sage in an abalone shell; Sweetgrass braids to frame the center, where the candles and pictures lived; collections of rocks, gifted feathers, and dried herbs and flowers; incense, crystals, and oranges as offerings.
These little sanctuaries were a place to fill with gratitude; my thankfulness, as well as others. I made sure to keep them decluttered—out of respect—because they were a co-creation, and since I was the earthside counterpart, my responsibility was the upkeep. Sometimes, my friends would compliment them with gestures of delight (squeals, hums, or hands motioning towards objects) or a moment of pause. Their quiet reverence was devotional.
This week's reading is a kind of altar that honors the power of bearing witness. In The Book of Delights, gardener, writer, and professor, Ross Gay offers a year of observations in pursuit of getting better acquainted with delight as it unfolds. The essayettes, which range in subject, all have a depth that extends beyond the page. Some will make you laugh out loud, and others, like “Giving My Body to the Cause,” might make you weep. Many of the short essays call the reader to reckon with joy, individually and collectively.
In his writing and interviews, Gay often talks about the sacred relationship between Joy and Grief as interdependent experiences. The Book of Delights is an example of what can happen if one turns their attention towards pleasure while being fully awake to the reality of loss and the pain that accompanies it. Gay’s keen focus on the world around him is a tender reflection of what can happen when we choose to share what we love.
Ohio is a common ground for Gay and I, as we both were born here. He now lives and teaches in Indiana. I eventually made my way back to the land where we were born. As I revisit all the places in my hometown that once held my attention, I understand (as best as I can comprehend it) that my ancestors found joy in these lands. We have roots here, and they are deep. As much as this little city in northwest Ohio has discouraged our existence, we remain. I may not know how, amid racism, they kept on, but they did. We honor them by living, loving, and trying to make our way. This is what matters.
Moving back home has been a practice in noticing. The snow, which I had not seen much of after years of living in Texas, is softer than I remember. Summer nights feel more alive when the fireflies share their light. The earthy dew of Petrichor after a spring rain, is a symbol, a reminder to go outside and give my offerings.
Here are a few additional resources with Ross Gay you might enjoy:
“The Place Where I Write” (Essay)
“Tending Joy and Practicing Delight” (Interview)
Delight and Joy Are Survival Mechanisms and Acts of Resistance (Interview)
With gratitude,
Christian
Updates
I have two fun collaborations happening in February that I am honored to be a part of. I’ll be sure to share more in the coming months!
Reading
Our final reading in this series is next week. We’ll delve into “Nature Writing is Survival Writing: On Rethinking a Genre,” by Michelle Nijhuis. In this letter, we’ll zoom out and reflect on the series. One last essay will go out on New Year's Eve, which will index all the letters and essays.
Creating
I made the picture above while taking out the trash one day, and it’s the first time I’ve seen this White Spruce tree bear their cones. It made my day to see this relative thriving.