I already knew this blog post was going to be more personal than the other ones. It’s not surprising… I guess staying at home gives us the space to drive inwards, to walk inside if we can’t walk outside. Or at least this is how I perceive it. During these four weeks I’ve been navigating through all nuances of emotional states, from grief to resilience, from creative flow to profound apathy, from deep enjoyment of self time and introversion to a strong yearning for human connection, from hope for creating healthy sustainable communities to insecurity regarding the personal and collective future. I am bringing to you one poem I wrote, one day at the beginning of the quarantine, when I was enjoying the warm sun on the building rooftop, our only connection with nature during this time. I will let the poem speak to you, and below I will explain the meanings behind those words and how they are connected to the moment we are living. A personal story
The significance of this poem, as the title also suggests, is the journey from grief to blossoms, the process of acceptance of the life cycle, when facing situations when we cannot control things. The theme of grief was very present in those days for me. In the first day when the quarantine started in the south of Italy, my beloved grandfather passed away. The event brought feelings of sadness and pain of a sort never experienced before. It was the first time when I really faced the death of a beloved. I couldn’t go home to my family in Romania because of travel restrictions and couldn’t say goodbye. But the situation was not beyond my control. When dealing with death, you realize how little you can actually do. I asked myself what I can do with those wounds and eventually I put them into songs, poems and written expressions of gratitude. I was trying to embrace and transform those feelings through art and meditation. With the loss of a dear one and the current isolation situation, I started to reflect about acceptance of what is, the cycle of life. It’s not easy, everything inside you wants to resist to things, although you know deep down you can’t actually change them. And in that moment, under the rays of the sun, when I wrote the poem, I felt a weird blend of grief and resilience, like I was finally starting to slowly accept. I felt a glimpse of guilt there as well, like there was a part of me feeling bad for allowing myself to heal from those wounds, a voice telling me that I don’t have access to anything but sadness. Yet there was a contrary feeling as well, the gratitude blossoming inside like a little flower blossoming from concrete on an ounce of soil. In that moment I was inspired to write a poem, but I had no pen or paper, so I had to write it in the back of my mind. The first verses reflect the real scene of that moment through my sensations: the caress of the mild wind blowing, the sun warming up my skin, the beginning of a new day. With the coming of the day, the fear, dark thoughts, solitude, agony and melancholia from the night were slowly going, living space for the softer feelings of the day. And just as I was wondering what the next verse could be, I heard a hummingbird singing somewhere close, as a sign of hope that there is something there, a form of life, chanting. And with the chant, acceptance was ever more present inside and I got this message, that life unfolds, that everything comes and goes, that it’s the way things are, that I cannot control, but can only accept, trust, express my gratitude to all it was and is to be. Something in me felt still in the process of healing, weeping silently. But along with that there was something blossoming as well. I thought of a snowdrop, the white flower symbolizing spring, but in my personal story also a symbol of my childhood, my home, my roots, a place where I was returning often during those days. A collective story Although this poem has so many meanings coming from my personal experience, it can be connected with the collective situation we are living. Like the loss of a beloved one, it’s a situation where we don’t have control over things and an invitation to cultivate acceptance and reflect. Grief, in this case, is manifested in a longing for health and peace, longing for moving outside freely, for connecting with nature and with other humans; or maybe it’s manifested in feelings of pain when witnessing inner and outer struggles of this crisis, dealing with the loss of certainty or stability, or of things we were relying on that we took for granted. Certain systems of values are now shaking; questions are raised about the sustainability of our forms of leaving (financial systems based on having to “earn your bread”, urban structures, functionality of public services, strong hierarchies when it comes to jobs, with the most significant jobs in a crisis situation normally being rated as “low standard”). I can’t help but wonder, in a situation of crisis, what is it that stays really in our hands to do? What is in the sphere of our control and what is out of it? When it comes to things we can’t control - like decisions of the government, how others feel or react, time of this quarantine, available products in the supermarket – we are not able to influence them. However, they occupy our mind. But focusing on these worries will not help us effectively change things. Here comes the invitation to cultivate acceptance and resilience, to take time to reflect on how can our life be more sustainable, to focus of the essential things that can we can do our collective and individual good. When it comes to our sphere of control, we can think about the things that we can do to support our physical, emotional and mental well-being. This can involve decisions of what to shift the attention towards, how to take care of ourselves and welcome every emotion and sensation, what activities can bring us relief and joy, how we can connect with others, how we can support the community in the given circumstance. We have the time to observe ourselves with kindness, to give time for our longings. Many times, although it’s easy to say we can choose our reactions and focus points, it might feel like even that goes out of control. What I am learning is to accept even when that occurs. To be kind and not judge the things that emerge, like unexpected emotional reactions, sensitivity towards certain things. Although it’s not an easy lesson, it brings every time more liberation. I experience it on my own skin and it’s a tough lesson for my ever-protective inner critic who sends thunders of guilt down my spine whenever I overreact to something. But just like in the poem, with the acceptance of the wounds and the unfolding of things, something inside of us can blossom in this inner journey. Just as you, I don’t know what collective changes this situation will bring. But I have a feeling it’s an invitation for a necessary inner journey for us all. It’s a moment when we can stop and reflect, learn to accept and develop resilience inside ourselves.
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“We sit on a huge picnic blanket in a park right next to the 16th-century defensive wall. It is my last day here in Lecce. My dear sister has gathered her flatmates to give me a workshop on how to properly prepare the friselle. I take the slice of crispy durum wheat bread and soak it in lukewarm water. Then drip some olive oil on it and add sliced cherry tomatoes, sprinkle some sea salt and dried oregano on top. Friselle is a distinctive element of Southern Italy’s culinary traditions which origins are ancient. When dried this seamen’s bread could be kept for a long time during the sailing trips overseas. Simple, but a hearty meal!” - 11.03.2020 Salve! I am the sister of Vulcanicamente’s volunteer Epp whose posts you have already read here before. The unexpected new virus caused a cancellation of my project in Italy, but gifted me a chance to spend two weeks with my sibling instead. Little did I know that it will also cause a flight cancellation by the airline, some stress and a new ticket costing more than a fortune while postponing my return to Estonia. But here I am today - back at home, in the nature reserve while putting down my memories… Epp took me out for a cup of cappuccino di soia on my very first morning in Lecce. While enjoying the sunrays, chatting and melting Estonian blackcurrant chocolate on our tongue, my face recognition radar’s alarm went off when I saw a familiar face that later turned out to be an Estonian lady living in the same city. A warm coincidence which led to even warmer experiences later. We are both foodies who allow our taste buds to be tickled frequently. In every city, country, continent the local plant based part of the cuisine will be examined thoroughly. Epp took me to her favourite pizza place in the old town, made sure I had a try of all the local sweet pastry varieties, bought me many kg of taralli and provided me meals with the fresh, local veggies, greens, legumes and pasta. I really love the Apulian way of cooking - using what the sea and soil have to offer and cooking with fresh, local and seasonal produce. Fresh from the field and sun-ripened guarantees an intense flavor experience. Simple, but amazing! Morning walks to favourite neighbouring street merchant’s - Lele or Enzo. ...and longer bike rides to outdoor markets. A small shop in Locorotondo selling legumes, candy and crackers. Garnering wine to deal with the lockdown, hahaha. & Studying local birds while Epp is working at La Feltrinelli. “A wanderer” might be given as a middle name for the both of us. Endless wanderings that are never really planned throughout are what we love to do in new environments. Wandering in wild nature or just discovering every corner of an old town or an urban jungle is fascinating: randomly picked cityline took us to the most wild spot near Lecce - Le Cesine Nature Reserve; Epp’s dear friends took us to the seaside near Torre Rinalda by car; an Italian friend Aldo joined us on a trekking day at Porto Selvaggio. And the sweetest couchsurfer Fabio, who we met through the Estonian lady I mentioned before, offered us the seats during his car trip to Grotta di Castellana, Alberobello and Locorotondo. Plus the nightly walks around the calm and magnificent old town. Two weeks were full of adventures that even Epp was surprised by and grateful for. Wandering in San Cataldo and Le Cesine Nature Park. Torre Rinalda - Bosco e paludi di Rauccio - Torre Chianca Porto Selvaggio - Santa Caterina Grotta di Castellana - Alberobello - Locorotondo I got to experience many contrasts, but witness the sweet side of the local living as well. Two weeks is enough to fall in love, but never enough to say I have seen it all. Ciao! |
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