On Holding Space for Tender Questions
How can we honor each other well, through life, and death?
A song from the film Moonlight that makes it on every breathwork playlist. There are three different, though connected, versions of the song–a beautiful instrumental progression that marks the life of Chiron, the main character. You can listen to the stunning companion compositions here and here.
Dear relatives,
As we enter the last few weeks of the year, I am, like many, reflecting on all of the things. When I began to curate the readings for this series on nature writing, I didn’t anticipate how essential it would become for my creative practice. Committing to posting once a week—or as close to weekly as I can—has helped to expand my thinking. I trust myself more as a creative person, and I have this newsletter, and your presence, to thank for that. It’s an incredible gift that I do not take for granted. I say it often: Thank you for being here.
Yesterday I had the privilege of leading the final Inner Ecology workshop for the year. The gathering is still in its infancy; taking shape with each season. I’m understanding more about how to nurture the project while honoring the needs of participants—always a delicate, and important balance to remember.
At the end of the workshop, we closed things out with a brief meditation. It occurred to me how much of a miracle it is to be alive. Two days before the gathering, Palestinian writer, poet, professor, and activist Refaat Alareer lost his life to an air strike. To genocide. Days before his passing, he posted a poem he titled, “If I Must Die.” The poem, alongside drawings and illustrations of Alareer, has since been widely shared.
Reading the poem, one might recall Claude McKay’s “If We Must Die.” Written 100 years before Alareer’s declaration, it is a familiar cry for dignity in death. Both poets predicted that the destruction of their bodies would occur at the helm of systemic oppression. McKay passed away from heart failure in 1948, at the age of 57. Current data shows that Black communities are at greater risk of developing cardiovascular-related disease patterns, including heart failure, coronary artery disease, and stroke.
It shouldn’t be surprising that BIPOC writers can craft their work with such acute attention to nature. It is a radical act when we weave ourselves into the world, into the folds of any canon. This week’s reading, an essay that details the final minutes of the life of Ahmaud Arbery, does just that. In “Twelve Minutes and a Life”, Mitchell S. Jackson, writes, “... that’s young Maud, undersized in the physical sense, super-sized in heart.” Arbery, an athlete with surprising skills, was also an avid runner. On the day of his death, he was out for a jog in a neighborhood where people deemed him unwanted. A threat.
For context, the history of recreational jogging in the U.S. was solidified around 1966 amidst the War in Vietnam, and the expansion of the Civil Rights Movement. Like many pastimes that take place outdoors, running is not a welcoming endeavor for people of color. The significance of a Black person running—no matter where, or why—brings powerful images to mind. Those images will conjure either a feeling of liberation or a sense of threat depending on who you are, where you come from, and what you assume to be true about a young black person out for a run.
The flow of the essay is also striking. Jackson’s storytelling weaves between a poetic and historical tone, and ultimately restores honor to Arbery’s too-short life. It undoubtedly reminds me of Alareer’s poem, which may be one of his last. Jackson closes the poignant essay with an elegy of Arbery’s life, including details about the last game of his senior year—a game that ultimately ended in defeat. Jackson writes of the young man with a courageous heart, ”He was more than a rally or a march. He was more than a symbol, more than a movement, more than a cause. He. Was. Loved.”
As we end of year of the Rabbit, I am left with only tender questions. Even more, a softer heart. I’m not certain of much, but I do know that there is work to be done. Questions yearning to be asked. One I’ve been pondering this week:
How can we honor each other well, through life, and death?
I’m holding space for your reflections in the comments if you care to share.
With gratitude,
Christian
Updates
Next year I’ll be taking on a new role as the Board President of a local organization that I’ve been involved with since 2021. This is a first for me!
Reading
Our reading next week will take us into a year of noticing with The Book of Delights: Essays, by Ross Gay. To close out the year, and this series, we’ll end with “Nature Writing is Survival Writing: On Rethinking a Genre”, by Michelle Nijhuis.
Creating
The above watercolor painting!