The Bear + The Boar
And the Abundance of Serviceberries
When I woke up this morning, I rolled out of bed and actually thought to myself: is this - THIS MOMENT - what it feels like to be a bear awaking from hibernation? When she sees a new day in a new way? Her hair is a lil longer than usual. Her routine is about to be a lil different. And yet there is a deep knowing that today is the day she is meant to roll over and wake up!
A dear pal invited me to join her writing club on a Tuesday morning at 8AM PST. I was still sweaty from the tready (because I’m in my uphill walking era, btw!), with a cup of coffee. Pulled my crewneck on, lit a candle and entered the zoom room of strangers — yet felt like I was walking into a living room of the new age book club, except this would be writing club.
Jacki begins with prompts and stories and perfectly Jacki being poetically Jacki. She shares herself, her poems, the micro moments that make up her incredible life. It’s beautiful. And if writing club was over without ever writing anything — it would have been the best part of my day! Except she goes on to share about the Goddess Freya, who we are writing with, and her wild boar that could not fit into the room (Freya’s that is!). Though Jacki is the kind of magic mama that might just have a pet Boar if one of her wonderful children were to request such a treasure. I digress.
I thought about the bear and hibernation. The den that is made in the late fall is for a fuller version of themselves. The expectation is that they leave that den smaller. But guess what! In the place that I live, the first black bear of the season was spotted - on the Spring Equinox no less — and it wasn’t so small at all. And nor is Freya the Norse Goddess of Love + War. There is nothing small about her. No fractional bits or pieces. There is nothing artificial about her intelligence. There is no calendar invite for the meeting of hibernation to end.
There is nothing fast about reading these thoughts.
There is no way to expedite the season of rest nor harm the season of play.
There can be a magical metaphor out of any figment of your imagination — if only you remember: you do have an ability to imagine!
Because a human wrote these words. Without a robot. It’s called prose. It’s called my version of poetry.
And like the boar or the bear, I might not fit in the room with my new-found sense of imagination! 💫
Community Corkboard
📌 Caterina Kostoula shared: “Joseph Campbell wrote that if you can see your path ahead of you step by step, it is not your path. Your real vision will feel impossible. The path appears as you walk on it.” I wondered if that is how the bears feel too? Her ‘stack + perspective is one worth following.
📌 Mr. Snowball makes adorable birdhouses and took it upon him self to adorn some local trails with whimsy and joy. The local paper wrote a story about him. Then the locals wrote back in fury. It hurt my heart that this is what is happening. So I brought my pals to find his birdhouses and left him a love note of appreciation for his gifts. I wish we could turn the comment section off in life sometimes.
📌 My dear pal Dr. Roselle inspired me with her goal of less scroll and more books. Half way through the month of March she was already 26 books deep for the year! This recommendation was an essential read of the week.
