Tag Archive: David Wagoner

August 4, 2024

Unraveling, Dis-Integration, and Fluttery Feelings: The Lesser Told Parts of the “Transformation Story” (Part 1)

“Transformation is a process and, for survivors, it’s a process with ups and downs, flashbacks and panic attacks. But as [regeneration] confirms, it’s the better way.”

– Grace Ji-Sun Kim and Susan Shaw

Photo by icewerks, “Clear Chrysalis,” shared under provisions of Creative Commons Attribution License 2.0.

As I’ve been coming more and more into “the second half of life,“ I have found that I pay more attention, or perhaps I pay attention differently and to different things. One particular area I’ve noticed is song lyrics. Music that I may have previously enjoyed for the beats or melodies, I now find I am also appreciating for the timeliness and depth of the words. One example is one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite artists – “The Wood Song” by the Indigo Girls. I remember driving on a country road in my late 20s with windows rolled down and the radio cranked feeling the lift from both the rushing air and the rising chorus. In a more recent listen, these particular words grabbed me:

“Sometimes I ask to sneak a closer look
Skip to the final chapter of the book
And then maybe steer us clear from some of the pain it took
To get us where we are this far
But the question drowns in it’s futility
And even I have got to laugh at me
No one gets to miss the storm of what will be
Just holding on for the ride”

Ah yes, how many times do I catch myself wanting to know “What comes next?” This could be for my own healing process, our family, “the work,” this country, the world as we know it. I suppose that curiosity is understandable/natural, and it can certainly be a trap when it keeps taking me out of the present moment. Also when it becomes a ploy to try and circumvent dis-comfort, noting here that the root of that word means to “not be coming with or connected to strength.” To feel uncertain and out of my zone of confidence and strong suit can of course be disorienting (anyone else out there having sensations of sloshiness?). Well, that really is the point, as the Indigo Girls sing later in that song.

“The wood is tired and the wood is old
We’ll make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds we’ll have missed the point
That’s where I need to go“

The point is to be present with whatever is, including the hardships of life and the turmoils of the soul. I don’t have to like it, and in fact many times have/will not, but should try not to immediately evade or skip over what’s hard and what hurts. To riff on a line from a country song, if you want to miss the pain then you’ll have to miss the dance.

*******

There is a poem I come back to every now and again, from David Wagoner, called “Lost”:

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.

Photo by Isengardt, shared under provisions of Creative Commons Attribution License 2.0.

You must let it find you. What is the “it”? The here and now. Not the “over there” or “next.” The present moment, as liminal and shaky as it may feel. And it certainly can feel shaky, at least in my experience and from what I am hearing and learning from others with whom I have been working.

When I do manage to settle and tune in to where and how I am, to where and how others are, and what guidance there might be from that powerful stranger, here is some of what I am hearing …

Take it easy.

Take good care.

Take care of endings.

Take care of beginnings.

Take care of one another.

Breathe … and remember to exhale …

Let things, “all the things,” bubble up; let them pass.

Lean in, engage; lean back, relax; repeat.

Stay curious.

Be humble.

Be kind.

Be.

Over and over, I am hearing and feeling these messages. And in moments of more extreme discomfort and pain, there is the reminder that “healing often hurts.” To recover you might have to do more uncovering, peel back more layers. Before you reweave you might have to unravel, maybe get rid of some of those dangling threads. To do differently or better, as my colleague Kellly Bates has beautifully written, you just might have to come undone …

To read Part 2, click here.

Letting Go for Life, Liveliness and Possibility, Part 2: Steps and Supports

by Curtis Ogden

“For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out, and everything changes. To someone who doesn’t understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.”

–Cynthia Occelli

Photo by lloriquita1, shared under the provision of Creative Commons Attribution license 2.0.

In the late spring, we had an unseasonably sticky stretch of days where I live, and after school one day, my wife and I took our girls to a local swim hole to cool down. As we eased into the cold water, one of our seven-year-old twins clutched desperately to my torso, not yet willing to put more than a toe or foot in. As the sun beat down, I began to feel both the weight of her body and the ebb of my patience, and I managed to negotiate her to a standing position in water that came to her waist. She continued to clutch my arm vice-like with both of her hands.

After another few minutes it was definitely time for me to go under water. But Maddie was unwilling to release me. I continued to encourage her to let go first, to get her head and shoulders wet. Initially totally reluctant, she got to a point where she was in just up to her neck but was still anxiously squeezing my hand. We did a bit of a dance for a few minutes where she would get to the end of my finger tips with her right hand, seemingly ready to take the plunge, and then the same part-anticipatory part-terrorized expression came to her face and she was back against me.

I kept coaxing her, and then let her know that whether she let go or not, I was going under, and if she was still holding on to me, that she would be doing the same. “Okay, okay!” she yelled, stamping her feet and once again got to the tips of my fingers while breathing rapidly. And this time … she let go. She pushed off and immersed her entire body in the water. She came up shrieking but with a big smile on her face, a bit shocked but also more at home in the water, moving around quite gracefully, actually. She splashed me and laughed and then I dived in. A few minutes later she was swimming along next to me.

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