Chop wood, carry water

The antidote to overwhelm

What a week it’s been, my friends.

Photo by Ashlee Marie on Unsplash

First, we inaugurated a fascist who took immediate steps to target the vulnerable. This includes my trans son who the current administration has announced legally does not exist. The new administration also immediately withdrew the U.S. from the Paris Climate Agreement and the World Health Organization, despite the obvious reality of climate change and the inevitability of another global pandemic.

Oh! And then the president and his supporters attacked an Episcopal Bishop for daring to ask Trump to be kind.

Meanwhile, more fires broke out in L.A. and also in the small town of Ovid, NY, wiping out a significant chunk of Main Street. Where I live, just southeast of Ovid, it was -12 degrees. Unrelated, but timely in a when-it-rains-it-pours kind of way, my power cut off and my furnace ground to a halt while I sat in my office two miles away watching the heat reading on my remote thermostat app drop lower and lower, no idea who to call or what to do.

There is no light as of yet in this political tunnel, but luckily there was a light for me. In response to my online plea for help, my housebound, next door neighbor, Mark, mobilized the recently retired neighbor on his other side, Bert (Do I love that his name is Bert? Yes. Do I wish my next door neighbor’s name was Ernie? Yes.) Bert suited up, walked around the corner, let himself into my basement, and flipped the breaker back on. Heat and light were restored! Panicked loneliness was relieved! Hallelujah!

Thank you, thank you, Mark and Bert!

Whether or not you’ve been confronted with a personal or local community crisis, it would be entirely fair if you’re pretty exhausted at this point. Like many, I suspect that’s the goal of the new administration, anyway. They’ve come in fast and furious, hoping to overwhelm any resistance, trusting in our very human tendency to retreat in the face of onslaught.

I’m not retreating, nor should you. But I am heeding the words of 8th-century Zen poet, Layman Pang, who counseled, “Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.”

Instead, it’s now, “Before Trump’s election, chop wood, carry water. After Trump’s election, chop wood, carry water.”

In other words, the need for presence in the daily labor of my life and community remains the same as always. That labor is what grounds me and reminds me what I’m fighting to protect. It helps me climb down out of the fevered frenzy of the online world and my panicked brain and back into my own skin so that I remember and feel that I’m resourced, held, and loved.

When I feel resourced, held, and loved I may be subject to the onslaught of the current administration and perils of the world, but I’m not at their mercy. That matters, not only for my own sanity, but for my ability to practice my integrity. People trapped in perpetual overwhelm don’t tend to make pro-active, considered choices.

This weekend, my plan is to focus on chopping wood and carrying water. I’ll take care of my kid who’s sick and make some thank you muffins for my neighbors. I’ll water plants, pay bills, cook and eat nourishing, comforting food, and get as much sleep as I can, letting my animal body, as Mary Oliver admonishes us, love what it loves. I’ll message my people daily to tell them I love them, too. And I’ll go to a pancake breakfast to raise money for community recovery in Ovid.

It’s not -12 degrees anymore, luckily. It’s getting up into the 30s and 40s. Practically balmy! So, it’s also definitely warm enough to get out in the woods to ramble a bit and invite in the restorative impact of soft fascination:

We’ve got a long road ahead of us, my friends. There will be many opportunities to stand up and practice our integrity publicly. It’s not a retreat to prioritize also tending to the daily labor of our private lives and relationships, to nurturing our bodies and hearts. It’s essential, in fact.

How are you chopping wood and carrying water?