Love Letter to my life #22: Time of the seedling

by Joyce Wycoff 

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day, the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my incredible life.) 

My daughter is an environmentalist. During her work-from-home days, she has been creating a “freedom garden” using all recycled materials: plastic bottles, soda cans, plastic containers of all sorts. 

She gave me a package of black cherry tomato seeds and I began my own mini-garden even though my history of gardening is not encouraging. After writing this love letter to my life, I was looking for an opening photo and decided this tiny sprout is how I feel these days: a fragile seedling in a new world.  

I am grateful to be a new seedling, sprouting in a strange world, but it makes me wonder: what will we do with the new information we are gaining on a daily basis?  

What seeds are we planting? 

What new directions will we choose? 

Will we come to value each other more than financial markers? 

Will we begin to honor our only home planet?

Our future is ours to choose.

In the past week, COVID-19 killed almost as many people as heart disease, the #1 killer in our society.

It is interesting to write a love-letter to my life when at least 35,000 of my fellow countrymen have died from a disease that we still don't understand fully. I am grateful that the virus has not touched me personally, but social media keeps me touched by the heartbreak of others, as we collectively experience grief, the frustration of dealing with the uncertainty of the future, and watch the stricken economy wreak havoc with the already precarious balance of so many working people.

As it became apparent that we were in the midst of a pandemic unlike anything we’ve experienced in my life-time, I began an almost-daily meditation in words and art, titling it Corona Curiosity because I wanted to know more about the disease and how we would react to it. 

Every disaster brings out the best and worst in people. This one is no different.

102 years ago, 500 MILLION people were infected by a new flu. Between 10% and 20% of them died a horrible death, often within hours of becoming sick. The virus was colorful … starting out with mahogany spots on the cheekbones and gradually turning the extremities blue then black and eventually darkening and hardening the abdomen and torso. Laura Spinney, author of Pale Rider: The Spanish Flu of 1918 and How It Changed the World states:

As long as you were conscious, therefore, you watched death enter at your fingertips and fill you up.

While most of what we see now, happened then, we are far luckier today because we understand contagion, have a much better healthcare system, and are apparently dealing with a less virulent virus. That flu (misnamed “Spanish” flu even though that was not where it originated), attacked the young and healthy as well as the elderly … and, perhaps most alarming, it came in three waves.

Most of the deaths came during thirteen weeks of the second wave. What we are seeing today doesn't begin to let us imagine the horror of those times, especially coming at the closing of four years of World War I.

In those days, there was no way to see the virus or understand how it works. Today we have electronic microscopes and a deep understanding of the genomes of viruses. We even have the genome of the 1918 virus thanks to a tiny village in Alaska and a curious Swedish microbiologist and Ph.D. student at the University of Iowa. It’s an interesting story.

Brevig Mission, the village, was populated by 80 mostly Inuit Natives. In five days, 72 of the villagers died of the flu and were buried in a mass grave site on a hill outside the village.

Johan Hultin, the 25-year-old student, obtained permission from the village elders to excavate the burial site in 1951. He succeeded in obtaining frozen tissue, but the limitations of technology at that time stymied his search for the virus. 46 years later, he joined forces with another researcher, made a trip back to the village, at his own expense, and discovered “Lucy” buried in 7 feet of permafrost and succeeded in recovering lung tissue which eventually led to the sequencing of the virus.

Years would be spent studying the virus and how it was different from normal, seasonal flu. The CDC article (referenced below) contains a worrisome conclusion:

No other human influenza viruses tested were as exceptionally virulent. In that way, the 1918 virus was special – a uniquely deadly product of nature, evolution and the intermingling of people and animals. It would serve as a portent of nature’s ability to produce future pandemics of varying public health concern and origin.

The article (written prior to 2019) goes on to talk about the possibility of future pandemics, the importance of WHO, the World Health Organization, and actions taken to prepare for a possible future pandemics. Unfortunately, a great deal of the preparations for future pandemics was dismantled by the current administration.

As interesting as the 1918-1919 pandemic was, this letter is intended to be a personal reflection, so I’m going to outline my gratitudes, disappointments, and hopes.

I am so grateful …

• to be living in Reno near family and easy access to open spaces and natural beauty
• for my good health and the creative impulse which gives me a thousand possibilities to fill my time
• for having a livable Social Security income which buffers me from economic fluctuations
• for the amazing health care system that is working tirelessly to get us through this crisis
• for the Instacart shoppers and the rest of the food supply system that is still keeping most of us fed
• for all the transportation workers who are keeping our supply chain moving, even if slowly
• for all the mail carriers, trash collectors, and others who help us maintain a semblance of normality
• for Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Zoom and all the social media, flawed though it may be, that keeps us in contact with friends and family
• and for all the generous outpouring of love and caring coming from so many people all across the globe.

I am so disappointed that …

• people have let their fear and greed turn into hoarding and profiteering
• young people have this additional fear and anxiety added to their world view
• politicians are more worried about the stock market than the health of our people
• people are listening to conspiracy theorists and hucksters rather than seeking out real experts and scientists
• some churches are resisting social distancing at the peril of their own people as well as the rest of us
• 22 million people are newly jobless in the U.S.
• the aid package designed by Congress favors the wealthy more than the needy 
•  the current administration has waffled and delayed taking action causing more suffering and death.

I hope that ...

•  we understand the remarkable healing ability of the planet, if we change our ways
•  we begin to understand that we are all connected, all neighbors on one planet
•  we recognize and prioritize family and friends over material goods and personal gain
•  we choose leaders who serve the people rather than their own personal and financial interests
•  companies will value their employees more than quarterly profits
•  we will be able to trust and value each other and work for our common good rather than individual greed
• and that we soon will be able to go to movies and concerts, eat dinners with friends and family, camp in our amazing parks, and just hang out and socialize with each other.

If you would like to see Corona Curiosity in it's developing, magazine format state, click here:

https://issuu.com/joycewycoff/docs/corona_curiosity_pdf

More Info:

The Deadliest Flu: The Complete Story of the Discovery and Reconstruction of the 1918 Pandemic Virus, CDC, Centers for Disease Control

Love Letters to my life #14: Stop letting worry steal joy

by Joyce Wycoff


(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day, the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my incredible life.)

Twisting around another narrow, hairpin turn, I knew I was on the wrong road. There was no signal on my phone to show me where I was or how to get to where I wanted to go, so frustration rose as I did an ungraceful 3-point … or 13-point … u-turn.  

What was I doing out here in the middle of nowhere? 

I could be home, safe in my little nest. 

Thank god I’m not pulling the trailer I almost bought. 

I’d just unhitch it and leave it.

Thoughts about what I was doing … and why … jumbled through my brain. Was I crazy to be trying to go kayaking by myself? Had I just wasted a bunch of money on the kayak and an easy-up rack? I’d never kayaked by myself before … at 73, did any of this make sense? 

Of course, it wasn’t like I was wandering the mountains of Patagonia. I was a few miles outside Grass Valley, California, looking for Scotts Flat Lake, where I had swum many times before. But, still, I was lost: hot, tired and frustrated, not at all sure I was up to the task ahead of me. What if the rack didn’t work? What if I couldn’t get the kayak to the water? Did I remember the paddles? What if … ? What if …?

What I really wanted was to go home … curl up on my comfy couch with my computer. When I finally knew where I was, it was a crossroads decision: lake or home? 

Scotts Flat Lake

An image of cool water and my lime-green kayak on the soft turquoise lake carried the day, but the challenges weren’t over. The kayak is light but awkward and the haul from the parking spot to the water stretched across an eternity of concrete. I tried but couldn’t carry it more than a few feet without being a siren screaming for help: Old lady needs rescuing! 

Once more, visions of the comforts of home filled my head, but it was now or never. Finally, I just grabbed a handle and dragged the boat to the water. Of course, it was down hill and  the thought of dragging it back up again launched a dozen new worries.

I would like to end this saga with an upbeat statement about how the gloriously cool, beautiful water washed away all my frustrations, and I kayaked into the sunset … however, it didn’t quite work out that way. The water was wonderful and it was great to be back in a kayak ... but, my hat was wrong, I didn’t have sunglasses or straps for my prescription glasses, my water sandals vacuumed up sand and rocks, hobbling me when I beached, and I didn’t know if my waterproof camera bag would work. Plus, I kept thinking about that long haul back up the hill.

In other words, worrying and fretting stole much of the joy of being in and on the water, something I had yearned for. The trip home continued the frustration. I was going to explore Donner Lake but my low fuel light came on just as I exited toward the marina. Another u-turn, a minimal input of $4.15 gas, and a bag of potato chips and I was headed for home where I arrived … exhausted, sore from uphill hauling of the kayak and an hour of qi gong in the morning, and basically brain-fried.

Morning after: Amazing what a good night’s sleep will do. Showering off the after-effects of yesterday, I realized I’m not ready to give in to the entropy of age. I don’t worry about gray hair and wrinkles, but I don’t want to lose the strength needed to live the life I want to live. I walk every day, but I need more upper body strength and I need to keep pushing into the activities that bring me joy.

All of this morphed into an acronym formula for this stage of life … SAG: Strong - Active - Growing … and a bit of humor …

When you start to sag, at least SAG right.

Then an E showed up … SAGE … Strong - Active - Growing - Enjoying life.

That’s what I want to be as long as possible.

Day of the Dead #1: Beyond pumpkins, candy, costumes and spider webs

It’s October, the beginning of the holiday season in the US. The big triumvirate … Halloween … Thanksgiving … Christmas … begin this month. I was never very big on Halloween. The candy was nice, but, oh, the costumes!

My mother had repressed-creativity syndrome and Halloween activated it. While my childhood girlfriends would wind up in sweet little princess outfits, I never knew, or was asked, what my costume would be. One year I was a scarecrow, which sounds tame enough, except I was stuffed with real straw and you can only imagine what it’s like to walk around town stiff and scratchy. I must give her credit, though, we almost always won the best costume award. I think it scarred me though … I haven't been in a costume since I left home.

Mask found in Jocotopec

In the U.S., Halloween has become a six-billion dollar industry focused on pumpkins, costumes and candy and only loosely paying attention to the dead in the form of ghosts which have a strange affinity for spider webs. 

Now, I’m here in Mexico, where Día de los Muertos is on the calendar and on the minds of many. I’ve decided to delve more deeply into this, for me, unplowed field. Having reached my 70s, it’s much harder to pretend that death is not part of life.  

What are "ancestors?"

Last summer, I asked a shaman what he meant by “ancestors.” Were they just the direct gene pool that brought me here? As an only child who never knew my father or his line and had little exposure to my mother’s line, I don’t feel a connection to my direct ancestors. The shaman assured me that “ancestors” means more than just relatives who have passed. However, he did not give me a clear definition and left me thinking about the whole question. Now I find myself in a country deeply involved with ancestors and death. Interesting.

It turns out that almost every culture honors its dead. According to a Smithsonian article about world cultures, Halloween has its roots in "an ancient Celtic festival, Samhain, which marked the beginning of winter. The Celts believed that the night before Samhain, spirits from the other world came and destroyed vegetation with their breath, leaving the land barren for winter. People would leave food and wine on their doorsteps to appease the spirits, and wear masks when they left the house to blend in with them."

It didn’t take long for the Christian church to co-op the festival and turn it into All Saints Day … All Hallows Eve … Halloween. One of the traditions included the poor begging for pastries in exchange for prayers for the deceased … the fore-runner of “trick or treat."

Some of the other world festivals honoring the ancestors include:

Obon Festival in Japan:  I was fortunate enough to see a miniature version of this Buddhist festival where families set floating paper lanterns honoring deceased ancestors onto a small lake in Fresno, California. In Kyoto, residents light giant bonfires in the hills in order to guide the spirits back to the world of the dead. 

Many of the customs of these world festivals are like a dance, enticing the spirits back to the world of the living and then helping them find their way back to their own world again. In Japan the dance to welcome them is called bon odori, intended to relieve the suffering of the spirits and 

and entice them to join the family reunion where graves are cleaned and altars created in their honor.

Cheseok in Korea is a 3-day festival which generally falls in September/October. It is a time for the living to give thanks to the dead for the bounty of their harvest. In addition to cleaning and decorating graves, they share food and their bounty with each other and celebrate under a full moon with dances and games.

Thinning of the Veil

It is interested how many world festivals cluster in the months following the harvesting of food and before the actual onslaught of winter. Many descriptions of this time include the thought that this is the time when the veil between the living and the dead is the thinnest. Isn’t it interesting that this is such a world-wide belief?

Chinese Hungry Ghost Festival is the culmination of a month-long period of honoring the ancestors and begins in July or August. This is a time "when the gates to the netherworld are said to be most open to the world of the living. Often, people avoid going out at night for fear that ghosts who have passed through the gates will haunt them."

The Hungry Ghost Festival balances fear with frivolity including parades, feasts and more floating lanterns. In China, however, there is a belief that the further a lantern floats before catching fire, the luckier the family will be in the coming year. They also make paper offerings of cars, money, jewelry and burn them in order to provide for ancestors in the afterlife.

The Chinese also have a festival known as Qingming, also called Ancestors Day or Tomb-Sweeping Day occurring in mid-April when they clean the graves and make offerings to the ancestors.

Gai Jatra in Nepal is an eight-day festival that happens in September or October. Families who have lost a relative during the year lead a cow … or a child dressed as a cow if they don’t have a cow … down the street in a procession. The belief is that the revered cow will guide the ancestors into the afterlife.

Cambodia’s Pchum Ben is one of the most important holidays of the year. It involves fifteen days of gathering at pagodas (wearing white, the Cambodian color of mourning) to remember ancestors. They believe that during Pchum Ben, spirits come back in search of living relatives, hoping to atone for sins from their past life. 

Madagascar has a winter celebration called famadihana, when tombs are opened and the corpses are removed, to be wrapped in silk and carried around the tomb to live music. Their belief is that spirits cannot fully go to the land of the ancestors until the body is completely decomposed. Therefore, every seven years the body is removed, re-wrapped, and put back into the tomb.

I find these celebrations of the ancestors fascinating in their similarities and in their differences. As far as I know, we are the only animal species that has developed these elaborate death rituals. We are obviously concerned with death and with the well-being of the loved ones who have made a transition to a state we can no longer see or understand.

For the next month, I am going to explore the nuances of the celebrations here in Mexico … and, my own questions, thoughts and feelings about the grand transition that looms before me. If you have questions you would like to be explored during this series, please leave them in the comments section below.

In order to identify these posts, the subject lines will all begin with DDLM for Día de los Muertos.

16/100

More info:

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/travel/festivals-dead-around-world-180953160/

Dreams of Death

Like most people, I don't remember the majority of my dreams, but, every once in awhile, one comes along that breaks through the fog.

Last night, in my dream, I am sitting in my car when I see a young man approaching me.  He is dark-haired, clean cut, normal looking.  He walks up to the passenger side window, which is down, and I realize something is not right.  I am trying to think what to do when he pulls out a gun and shoots me in the forehead.  I know I am dead and everything goes black.

Of course, when we have dramatic dreams such as that one, it's a little unsettling so off I went to see what I could find online where I found a relevant post on Huffingtonpost by Jeffrey Sumber, M.A., M.T.S., L.C.P.C., a psychotherapist and author in Chicago, 

The article states:  "dreams about death often indicate "the symbolic ending of something, whether that's a phase, a job or a relationship." He suggests that a dream about death can also indicate attempts to resolve anxiety or anger directed toward the self. "It does not, however, suggest that [a person] will actually die imminently," Sumber notes.

Well, that's a relief.

The article further states, "People who have dreams about death tend to be those who are entering or exiting an uncertain phase or period in their life. It could be a potentially life-changing event that creates anxiety and fear of the unknown."

Dreammoods.com's dream dictionary states: "To dream that you die in your dream symbolizes inner changes, transformation, self-discovery and positive development that is happening within you or your life. You are undergoing a transitional phase and are becoming more enlightened or spiritual. Although such a dream may bring about feelings of fear and anxiety, it is no cause for alarm as it is often considered a positive symbol.  Dreams of experiencing your own death usually means that big changes are ahead for you. You are moving on to new beginnings and leaving the past behind. These changes does not necessarily imply a negative turn of events. Metaphorically, dying can be seen as an end or a termination to your old ways and habits. So, dying does not always mean a physical death, but an ending of something."

I like that.

Both seem appropriate since I just went through a rather intense process of deciding whether or not to get involved in a new project. (I didn't.) And, I'm still grappling with the question of whether or not to move to the central coast.  But what I thought was also telling about the dream was that the fatal shot was to my head.  I really have been trying to apply logic to my decision process and think through the pros and cons.  Maybe the dream was nudging me to focus more on what I want, what will bring me joy, rather than the options that make "sense."

Of course, if you hear that I've been shot by a nice looking young man, remember I saw it in a dream before it happened.

About this image:  Let's Party!

Maybe death is on my mind ... I just finished this painting inspired by a photo I took of a painted skull done by Judy DeRosa, who always inspires me.  

Joy after the Fire: It's a book!

It's a book!!

The past five years have been an amazing journey, even though it was not one I would have chosen.  The story of this journey is now available in my book "Joy after the Fire, when grief, despair and loss become the seeds of new joy and growth" available for iPads from iBookstore and as a downloadable pdf by clicking the BUY NOW button on the right.

Loss comes to each of us, and, in the beginning, it just feels like pain, grief and despair.  Gradually, however, the pain begins to lift and we can choose once again to live.  For me, there was no way to live my old life so I wound up in what felt like a free fall ... which landed me in an art workshop in Mexico that changed everything.

The purpose for telling this extremely personal story is to help others who may be experiencing loss.  I want people to know that there is definitely joy after the fire ... but it's not always easy.  The path to that new joy winds through a forest of self-reflection ... finding what brings you joy, stepping onto that path regardless of what the world thinks you should be doing, learning to be grateful for even the smallest things that gladden your heart.  At the end of each chapter and "interlude," there are questions to help you look at your life and your choices in new ways.

There is more about the book on the Joy after the Fire menu bar above and I would love to have you post your comments on that page.  Feel free to tell your story and tell us what has helped you.  What you say has the power to help others.

May your path to joy be filled with great friends and new insights about your own magnificence.