No one way works, it will take all of us shoving at the thing from all sides to bring it down.
-Diane di Prima
Hello everyone! I’m so glad you’re here.
Life feels a little like this poem lately. I’m grateful to the people in my orbit graciously accepting the other half of bread. How are you holding up?
On the train home from teaching yesterday, a text arrived in the group chat from my friend Kira-
Long story but I’m in the middle of a kitten rescue. It’s been very upsetting but I’m so proud of this little fighter! Rescued them from the heat and am at the emergency vet now and working on placing them in a home.
In the picture below it, a tiny black muppet appeared, no bigger than a mouse, wrapped in a yellow towel. She proceeded to update us on its age, (about 2 weeks) sex (unclear) and feeding process (bottle only!)
Kira is as big of an animal lover as I am and I could tell by her messages that the whole thing had shaken her. She’d found the kitten in her client’s backyard in 95 degree heat, its mom gone, barely hanging onto life. In respect to her client’s privacy, I will say only that the presence of these animals in their yard was nothing more than a stain on their day, a problem to be handled and then disposed of.
The good news is, bb kit is doing well and has a foster secured. This morning Kira sent us a video of her holding it wrapped in what appears to be a blue dish towel, its tiny mouth open and closing in the most gorgeous high-pitched squeals, every whine a battle cry, as if willing itself to live, live, live, live.
*
When I was seven and had recently moved to Florida with my mom and sister, a tiny baby bird fell out of its egg onto the sidewalk next to our house. I was shocked by its wet, premature body, formed just enough to have each limb, but much too pink and translucent to be ready for the world.
It became my mission to save this bird. After carefully scooping it up in a paper towel, I emptied a drawer of my dresser and lined it with clean dish towels to make a bed. I filled a doll-sized plastic bottle with milk and created a heat source for the bird by covering a lightbulb with a piece of cloth and placing it near the drawer. Though I can’t remember how we gathered the information, I’m sure my mom and I had called a local rehabilitation center for advice. This was before youtube and the rapid pace of information sharing on the internet. No videos had yet been made of what to do if you find a premature baby bird that just fell out of its nest on the sidewalk.
For the next 12 hours I sat vigil next to the bird, tending to its every movement, wide-eyed and hopeful. I was sure either my good will or some magical force of the universe would save it. When I arose the next morning, I ran to my dresser, eager to check on the bird. It was dead, its body a tiny pink pearl in the corner of the drawer. I remember falling to my knees and weeping, completely destroyed at its short life, that I hadn’t been able to do more. Though the details are grainy now, I’m positive I felt heavy for days after, unable to shake the event.
I’d forgotten about that baby bird until Kira texted us yesterday, and the baby turtle with an injured shell that my dog Sukki-a gentle german shepherd husky mix- had presented to us one afternoon, dropped like a gift from her mouth onto our kitchen floor, how later that day me and the turtle, safe in a cardboard box, had sat in the backseat of the car while my mom and sister rode in the front on our way to release it, simultaneously scared that it would crawl out of the box into my lap but confident that if it did, I’d be able to comfort it.
I don’t know the fate of that turtle. My memory doesn’t serve me in this moment. I know only that we tried, and that the belief of possibility outweighed logic. In her voice memo yesterday, exhausted and tender from kitty rearing, Kira spoke about how cruel the world can feel sometimes, but that she’s so grateful for the helpers, people who show up and bring light in dark times.
I was in my kitchen listening to her memo while scooping heaps of greek yogurt and granola into a bowl after a long day of teaching 4 classes, weepy at the sentiment of helpers. It had been the hottest day the city had seen all year; my classes were packed, at first surprising and then not so much…of course people wanted to gather and cool their nervous systems down in community.
*
The kitty rescue was one of many tender topics discussed in the group chat yesterday. A lot of my friends are going through big life things right now, stuff that feels deep and heavy and embedded. I’ve personally been a leaky faucet, less due to an explicit reason, likely related to the world and all of the collective energy I feel radiating from it.
At the end of my last class last night, after all the students had left and I was cleaning up candles and turning off lights, a woman I don’t know walked into the studio from outside, asking about our schedule. She got about three words in then immediately began sobbing. I’m so sorry…. she said, embarrassed. I don’t know what’s happening right now. I’ve had one of those days and I just…I don’t know why I’m crying. Though we’d just met, we stood there talking for ten minutes about life and the world and shitty days. I gave her some info about the schedule, encouraged her to come by again.
Honestly, It’s just nice to be in a room with other people and breathe together, I said, realizing so much of the alchemy I get from teaching is this reciprocity, witnessing and holding the day-to-day reality in the company of others, each of us mirrors whether we intend to be or not.
The collective consciousness is a very powerful vibration. In the class I took yesterday, the teacher read an excerpt from zen master, Thich Naht Nahn, on this very topic:
Our stored consciousness includes both individual and collective consciousness. What is considered fashionable, for example, is a creation of the collective consciousness of a society…when a painting sells for millions of dollars, this is because our collective consciousness has deemed it valuable. A child may look at the painting and say that it’s ugly or worthless. Our appreciation of the painting reflects not only our personal idea of beauty but the idea of beauty held by society and by our ancestors.
Democracy and other political structures are creations of collective consciousness. The stock market, the value of the dollar, and the price of gold are also the products of collective consciousness. People who work in the stock exchange are always calculating, guessing, buying, and selling. That is how the monetary value of stocks, gold, and the dollar increase or decrease. These calculations and deductions create a chain reaction that brings about a collective understanding, and sometimes this speculation brings incalculable suffering.
The ups and downs of the stock market are manifestations of our collective fears and hopes. Heaven, hell, our nation’s Constitution, and the goods we consume in daily life—all are manifestations of our collective consciousness. No seed in our consciousness is one hundred percent innate or one hundred percent transmitted. Each seed in our stored consciousness is both individual and collective at the same time. The collective is made of the individual, and the individual is made of the collective. This is the nature of inter-being.
It made me think of how quickly a news story spreads these days, or how deeply collective energy can insight chain reaction. Just think of the Kardashian era a few years back when you saw droves of women running to get silicone implants injected into their butts, a round ass the peak symbol of attractiveness and eligibility. And now, ozempic, natural skincare, orange wine. Recently my friend and I walked past Urban Outfitters, commiserating on the aesthetic vibe shift. It’s wild. I used to shop there…but now it’s like..totally gen Z vibes. Everything looks sort of grunge and decrepit.
These are tiny examples of a much larger system. But it all comes down to a consistent truth: the collective is always affecting the individual. The individual is always affecting the collective. I try to teach in a way that reflects this interplay, never undermining our power as the individual, always acknowledging the ripple effect of the collective.
Right now, the collective pain feels hot, knife-sharp. Still, I remain deeply aware of the helpers, like a greek chorus for the earth, offering grace when we need it most.
Sending peace today, and everyday. I’m off to go vote, then attempt to ride the subway to work with minimal upper lip sweat.
With love and gratitude,
Emma
it’s TOO MUCH
7-year-old me….the shortest my hair has ever been. Also, the poem, lolz.
Also 7-year-old me, feeling much more like myself
My friend Katie brought us back wooden spatulas from Colombia and I used it to cook my omelette this week. It’s the little things!
hallie and her bubba pesto on my couch, one of my favorite sights
After years of shape-shifting styles, I have returned to the beloved triangle top
This was the sky on the solstice during my uber ride home last week and I just kept thinking how despite it all, there is still so much mystery and magic.
<3
My Movement, Meditation & Mantra workshop is THIS Saturday 11-1pm- I think there are about 5 spots left? I’d love to see you! This event is open both to members and non-members for $50 and $75, respectively. If you’re an Equinox member, you can sign up on the app under the “events” tab. If you are not a member and would like to come, email Matthew.Lombardo@equinox.com to reserve your spot.
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