April Reflection
Today, on April 23rd 2023 - I have two hours of time in which my babies are on an adventure around town with their father, and I make a small, unforced attempt to reflect. I’ve come to understand that there is no sense in forcing reflection over the last 3+ years of change. Sometimes I feel desperate to make sense of it all. But there is so much to digest. It can be overwhelming. It will come, bit by bit, moment by moment. Just so happens that today’s rain and my quiet respite is bringing some reflection space in a nice, organic way. As the rain falls from the sky and I make an intentional settle inside, I take a look through some photos and happen upon a picture from April 6th, 2020 - “full moon and pregnant” - which leads me to scout out what happens to be the only thing that I wrote in my journal that month. This feels like a good place to start - some photos, some words - from that time right before I became a mother. I was full of robust health and vitality in my pregnancy - I felt wonderful. And, despite the beginnings of the pandemic, I was full with community. Both in our sweet village in Vermont, and down at the farm in NH, where we spent the majority of that uncertain April. Our move a few months down the line from April 2020 - post-partum and during the times when everything was shut down due to the pandemic - would bring about a serious isolation period for me. But April 2020 was a sweet and simple time despite the confusion that was beginning to unfurl throughout the world. At least I didn’t have to navigate all of that confusion with babies in tow, quite yet.
Full Moon & Pregnant in early April - New Hampshire
April 9th 2020
I walk down a dirt road in the rain. My cheeks grow cold and my belly is warm. I listen to the plod, plod, plod of my mud boots as they hit the ground in steady rhythm.
I feel nothing. I am floating, out on my own.
Thoughts come, and they go. I stop and watch the brook roaring under the bridge way. I marvel at the flow, the steady flow. It just keeps going forever. It is so strong. I stare, mesmerized.
I realize that my mind is clear.
Be still.
I will myself to continue to think nothing. I feel - calm. A baby kicks in my belly. A rush goes through my head. I marvel at the physical movement of another life inside of me. I walk again, and take my hands out of my pockets. My finger tips feel the cold. My belly feels warm. I walk on, as the rain falls down on my hooded head. I listen to the sound of the drops. I feel - calm.
Once home I open the computer and silently stare
As the people furiously scream at each other as fast as their fingers can type WHAT IS REAL WHAT IS REAL WHAT IS REAL!?!?!?!
They lash and they hurl and they click click click and share what they don’t know -- once, or twice, or 7 times a day or every minute. And confuse each other to the point of pure rage. They stumble over words and desperately try to grasp meaning. Again, and again, hour after hour. Logging in and logging out and warring through their screens, biting at every single thing the media throws their way. And driving each other mad.
I scroll through in silence some more. I read on, as the kings and queens of the saying of things share their daily saying of things.
All the while someone else out there is watching in silence, too. But they are calculated. The thought makes me wary.
I shut the computer. What is Real, what is real, what is real…. The virtual screams and rage echo in my head.
The growing life in me gives a kick.
I think I’ll pop outside real quick.
Take a walk in the rain.
