“Shadow is a colour as light is, but less brilliant; light and shadow are only the relation of two tones.” ~ Paul Cezanne

“Every man casts a shadow; not his body only, but his imperfectly mingled spirit. This is his grief. Let him turn which way he will, it falls opposite to the sun; short at noon, long at eve. Did you never see it?” ~ Henry David Thoreau

I’ve been sitting with my shadow side lately. It’s hard not to, really, as Winter is a challenging season for me and living in the beautiful Northwest during Winter is even more difficult. With little sunlight to cast my shadow away from me, here she sits right on top of me all day, making everything feel a bit heavy, cloudy. I call it the “cling-on cloud.”

I know I am not the only one. This makes me feel comforted to not be all alone in this and yet sad that those of us who have the wintry blues must suffer so. And if we have experienced a loss as I have recently, and I know others have, the saggy feeling that accompanies the shadow’s attachment to us can make it hard to get motivated and even harder to move — something our body so desperately wants.

What is there to learn during this shadowy time for those of us who feel its raspy voice and heavy heart?  How can we honor our shadow side–the piece of us can throw huge self-loathing fits or hide the fact that we feel like we are the walking dead–and search for moments of light to get us through?

Here are some ideas I have — what are yours?

• Plant something. It doesn’t matter if it is raining out. Plant a flower for instant gratification or a bulb for anticipatory satisfaction.

• Take a walk. Yes, it’s so damn hard to move sometimes. It doesn’t feel possible some days. Tell yourself you will just walk around the block. Baby steps.

• Smell citrus essential oils. The oils from citrus fruits have sunshine energy in them! They are bright, mood boosting, and good for your immune system. Buy a bottle of grapefruit, orange, lemon, lime, mandarin orange, bergamot — whatever suits your fancy. When you feel yourself dragging, take a nice log sniff.

• Get one thing done from start to finish. This can be anything — doing laundry,  washing dishes, cleaning the kitty litter, mending your sweater, writing one page in your journal, cooking brown rice, etc. Whatever it is, commit to doing it and then see it all the way through. (Remember: you must put the clean laundry away after it has been washed and dried. This is hard. I know. You can do it. You’ll feel better than sleeping next to clean crumpled clothes this week.)

• Dance. Play some music. Give yourself five minutes, knowing you can go longer if you feel the groove. Shake it like it’s summertime.

• Draw or paint a picture of your Shadow. No specific art skills needed. Scribble if you want to. Don’t be ashamed of your shadow. Bring him/her into the light through art-making. What does this Shadow have to tell you?

• Take a Tropical Shower-Tea. (This is an adaptation from a friend who takes “Shower-Beers.”)  Brew a cup of tea, place it on the ledge in the shower. Let the warm (“tropical rain”) water soothe you and wash your worries away as you sip your tea — yes, in the shower with you!

• Drink green juice. If you don’t have a juicer, find someone who does (or purchase something at PCC or Whole Foods).  During these dark months we need chlorophyll energy. We need straight-up green life moving through us. Make it yummy. One of my favorite blends: romaine, spinach, celery, cucumber, apple, and lemon.

• Listen to bird sounds. Did you know that instinctively humans know something is wrong when we don’t hear birds singing? This instinct is engrained in us. Birds make us feel safe, at ease.  (Check out Julian Treasure’s TED Talk about this.) If you don’t have your own musical compilation of bird sounds, you might try this for starters.

And now here are a few “Shadow Side” related blog posts, I found interesting:

Are You Ready to Embrace Your Shadow? Part I by Sarah Starr

Embracing Your Shadow Sign by David Zarza

Now: time to take my own medicine. We’ll do this together, okay?  Choose one. Do it. You’ll feel good. Even for a tiny moment — and that’s something, right?

Actually, I am finding this realization freeing. I came to this feeling when a friend remarked that since my dad’s death in 2008, so much change and loss and hardship has occurred.  A few weeks ago, my friend was visiting with me and sweet Mountie, who was not doing so well.  She was feeling my pain about my sick kitty and exuding compassion when she said, “You need a break!”  While a break would be nice, I realize that all of the pain and losses I have experienced in the last four years — okay, eleven years…wait, my whole life — are part of a continuum and the best thing I can do is meet all of it with grace. 

Grace is my new power word this year. How do I meet loss gracefully? Loss will not go away. Loss is part of what we all experience.  So how do I (how do we) deal with our hardships without breaking apart?  Or maybe, for some, the question is how do we put ourselves back together after being broken apart?

We take our time. We approach ourselves gently. We pick up the pieces as if they are delicate artifacts in need a soft dusting. We forgive others. We forgive ourselves. We cry. We scream. We laugh. We step outside of ourselves and connect with others on this planet. We trust another day will come. We walk. We drink tea. We dance. We breathe. We take one small risk, even if that is to get out of bed. We rest. We realize others suffer more than us. We realize others have suffered less. We realize that ranking suffering isn’t fair, kind, or helpful. We realize that our losses are the most important because they are ours. We forgive others for not understanding or saying the “wrong thing.” We write in our journals. We read books with self-help quotes and poetry that makes us cry. We realize that we are grateful to feel deeply and we love ourselves, snotty nose and all, because life isn’t out to get us. Life just is. So we will just be.

I leave you with a poem by Walt Whitman — a poem which gives my achy heart some comfort. I hope it does for you as well.

Youth, large, lusty, loving-youth full of grace, force, fascination,
Do you know that Old Age may come after you with equal grace,
force, fascination?

Day full-blown and splendid-day of the immense sun, action,
ambition, laughter,
The Night follows close with millions of suns, and sleep and
restoring darkness.

I am sure that I will have more Mountie posts and more posts about the ways I am processing such loss, but for now I am going to share a poem I wrote in 2010 in which Mountie appears. This poem reminds me of three things: 1) Loss is interconnected, 2) Beauty can happen even when you’re in the shower looking at the world through foggy glass, and 3) Mountie was 100% authentic, empathetic, sincere, and generous of spirit.

Acceptance

Through the shower’s foggy glass,
I spot my night self heaped in a pile—
my gray t-shirt and blue-striped pajama
bottoms crumpled like a winter flower—
and remember last night’s nightmare,
of my father dying all over again,
the adrenaline sweat’s sickly sweet
stain left on my clothes—
and then I spot my cat approaching,
sniffing the pajama puddle.
He circles twice before settling
in the center, then begins to knead
the little heap with his claws, rubs
his nose into my shirt’s armpit,
and sleeps right there, in the remnants
of my terror, content to be in it,
for I am somehow comfort and he can smell it –
beneath the taste of panic’s tang,
despite the nighttime tremors
that sometimes shake him right off the bed,
I am still the one who he adores,
I am still the one who smells of love.

Courtney Putnam, c. 2010

I love this definition of wholeness: “constituting the entirety of a person’s nature or development.”  When we honor our wholeness we honor our entirety — and entirety means everything, total completeness, and even includes, dare I say it, illness.

My sweet cat Mountie has been diagnosed with cancer. He has a cancerous tumor in his nasal cavity behind his left eye. It’s inoperable and the rigorous treatment described by the vet oncologist we saw this last week involves 18 anesthetized radiation sessions (three a week for six weeks). A diagnosis from a doctor, life expectancy numbers, survival rates, and statistics had my head spinning, heart pounding, and eyes watering as I hugged my sweet boy, his stress-shedding fur attaching itself to my black sweater.

What was missing from the appointment was Mountie himself. The oncologist’s job was to give the facts. I kind of wanted him to at least see what long whiskers Mountie has or how a dark patch of hair on Mountie’s forehead creates an “M” shape or how Mountie can comfort you with a simple head-butt or even that Mountie’s “meow” sounds more like a goat’s call. These things, among many other attributes, are what make Mountie whole. These are the things that show that Mountie is not his illness, his cancer.

Nuh-uh, we said to that radiation protocol. Mountie agreed (I asked him).  Instead we are trying a different route with low-dose chemotherapy pills, Chinese herbs, and acupuncture with the sensitive and holistic Dr. Kate. Mr. Mountie’s life — and his whole being — needed to be honored.

That picture above shows Mountie’s favorite drinking spot on the bathroom counter. I have placed a note card next to his watering hole that reads “You are whole” to remind him (and me) that even with this dis-ease in his body, he is still whole. He is still complete.

May we all be reminded of our (and our companion animals’) wholeness, especially when faced with dis-ease in whatever form.  You are not your illness, your discontent, your anxiety, your depression, your pain. You are you. And Mountie head-butts this computer screen in agreement.

photo source: http://herbalreleaf.com/about-german-chamomile/53/

This past summer I grew chamomile, harvested the flowers, dried them, and now I use these white and yellow daisy-like flowers for tea.  When stressed or sleepless, many think of having a nice warm cup of chamomile tea to soothe nerves and induce relaxation.

When sifting through my Druid Plant Oracle cards this evening, I chose the Chamomile card and read the entry. Chamomile’s metaphorical meanings are rest, guardianship, and regeneration.

According to the book, chamomile “brings calm, rest, and protection.” The authors state that “if you have chosen this card, it may mean that you are entering, or need to enter, a calm phase, in which you will be able to connect again to your inner resources — both physical and spiritual.”

Well ain’t that the truth! What an interesting card to pick during wintertime when I’m called to focus inward and affirm my strength. I usually don’t associate strength with chamomile. The flower seems rather whimsical and gentle — and yet this powerful plant has the power to soften anxiety, soothe worry, and lull us to sleep. Wait now — am I saying that gentleness is a strength, that softness is powerful?  Indeed I am!

Many of us who are quite sensitive in this world think (or have thought) we are weak, flimsy, wispy as a chamomile flower in the wind.  We forget that our softness, our ability to feel deeply, and our strength to endure what is difficult for us is powerful. We are strong.  And taking time to rest, to rejuvenate, to look inward, and to take stock of life are signs of inner strength. Power to the inner chamomile flower in each of us!

Meditate. Take that nap. Read that book all day. Write in your journal. Pet your cat for hours. Watch the wind.

And feel all that you feel. See your sensitivity as your gateway to the inner workings of the world. You are not alone, Mr. and Ms. Chamomiles of the world. We are a force of nature. We embody calm.  We soften the edges in a sharp world.

Vibrant Life, mixed media art journal entry by Courtney Putnam

What is your word for 2012? (And know, of course, your word can change.)

And while it was dark and cold, I decided to venture out even so. (I realize as I write this that many people take walks or exercise in the dark evenings  in the Northwest or wherever it is they live; my revelation about going outside in the dark just shows how cooped up I’ve been!) I walked to Roosevelt High School, the neighborhood school, and also the place where my father worked for almost thirty years. I feel close to my dad when I walk the Roosevelt track, so I headed that way — to listen to my body and to hang out with my dad’s energy — solid, strong, present.

On the way there, I noticed I was beginning to have peripheral vision (goodness, I have sure been in tunnel vision mode, haven’t I?!) and I noticed the shadows of several leafless trees against the cement wall of the school.  I stopped my fast-paced walk and took these photos with my cell phone. People walking by seemed curious as to my attention to the shadows, but I found these tree shadows to be the most beautiful things I have seen all year. Even without their leaves — and even in street-light projected shadow form — these trees represented LIFE to me. Hunkering down inside for weeks was sure cozy, but I was missing out on the consistency of change happening outside. I was missing out on the energy of possibility inherent in these Tree Shadows, my new friends. After all, I’ve been feeling a bit leafless and brittle lately. A little naked. Ah, Tree Shadows, we are kin!

It’s amazing what a little spontaneous walk and some peripheral vision will do to re-charge the body and spirit. At least I found this to be true. If you find that you are hunkered down this winter and have a bit of self-preservation tunnel vision, try doing something differently. Maybe it’s not a walk (because, unlike me, you’re already doing that!), but a trip to a museum or an art store, a bundled up picnic by the ocean, a puddle-jumping dance in the parking lot, or even a more conscious look at the sky when you are outside. Even though gray, that sky is still wide and wondrous. Imagine what’s behind that thick layer of gray. Maybe a rainbow or even robin’s egg blue. An on evenings like my Tree Shadow walk, imagine the stars behind that ceiling of clouds; they are sparkling even if you can’t see them and you are sparkling even though you may not know it yet.

“Today I will let things happen without worrying about the significance of each event. I will trust that this will bring about my growth faster than running around with a microscope. I will have faith that my lessons will reveal themselves in their own time.” ~ Melody Beattie, The Language of Letting Go

What a powerful message of letting go of super-scrutiny! I know there is tremendous significance and meaning in the things that happen to us–but isn’t it sometimes exhausting to worry over what everything means?

When I try to figure everything out, my brain tends to go on overdrive, causing me to take an hour or two to fall asleep. These dark circles under my eyes are here for a reason: monkey mind and lack of sleep. What if, instead of worrying over the enormity of saying goodbye to my childhood home or the significance of my mother getting married or of the spider-web scramble of deciding which direction my business should go, I just sat with all of it and let it be? What if I let myself off the hook right now and allowed myself to be purely present my feelings?  What would happen if I just allowed things to happen?

During a time of huge change in my life, I am finding comfort in Beattie’s wisdom.  How might you apply this idea of “letting things happen” in your own life?

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,300 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 38 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.