Tag: amy butcher

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I’ll bury my nut my own way.

November’s theme is all about resilience. Think of those squirrels burying their nuts in the ground in preparation for the coming winter*.
Lately, though, I’ve been thinking of resilience not in the sense of planning ahead or bouncing back, all in an effort to avoid or get out of discomfort. Instead, I’ve been thinking about resilience as the capacity to stay in discomfort and to find inspiration in that friction.
Alex and I had long conversations about this very topic during the Wonder Body Connection Tour. Perhaps this comes from my New England Puritanical roots but, as we discussed the “healing power of pleasure,” some part of me resisted that concept, hearing in “pleasure” the concept of hedonism, at worst, or pacification, at best.
When I think of resilience, I want to push towards something else. I want to, at worst, develop the capacity to stand in the discomfort and, at best, have the courage take action even when discomfort still exists.
Many years ago, I remember standing on a high log element of a ropes course (yes, a real log stretched between two trees, 40′ up in the air, but me on belay with rope and harness—in other words, real fear but not real danger). My legs were shaking so much I could hardly move. I waited, thinking eventually they would stop and then I could dance with grace across the log. But they didn’t stop. They continued to vibrate like a sewing machine. Finally I realized that I would have to find a way to move *with* the shaking, instead of waiting (hoping?) for it to stop. And so I took that first step—awkwardly and without grace—and then another, until I found myself mid-log, suddenly clear that comfort is not a prerequisite to action.
This concept was re-inspired for me recently at the National Center for Civil & Human Rights in Atlanta where an amazing experiential exhibit allowed me to viscerally imagine what it might have been like to sit poised and determined at the lunch counter protests, even in the midst of screams and threats. Would I have had that type of courage?
And so I wonder, how do we cultivate the capacity to stay embodied, aware, grounded, and focused, even as our legs are shaking? What’s your relationship to resilience, pleasure, and fortitude?
— Amy
* Just in case, I searched for youtube videos on the subject and found this silly one.

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Update: Wonder Body Connection Tour


 
 
 
 
 
The Wonder Body Connection Tour is all over the place, bringing the aliveness of the coloring book near and far. We’ve started describing it as “an embodiment guide disguised as a coloring book.”
I’m looking at this as a chance for me to explore what markers of community say “safe” to me, and which ones say “caution.” Can I test what assumptions are beneath those judgements? Can I adjust those that need changing. I feel untethered in a good way, with the veil between the “known” world and the “discoverable” one being worn thinner. I’m in a deep meditation on what it takes to make connection, to push the conversation to the places that get to the heart of the matter—whatever that may be.
Right now, Alex and I are in Asheville, NC and will be heading to Savannah this weekend, before making our way to Atlanta. You can keep up with all the latest adventures at bodytrustcircle/wonder-body/tour (we just redid it so it’s now very pretty!). It’s sure to be full of surprises.
We’d love to see you!
— Amy

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Recipe for Hunkering Down on These Fall Days

Lizz is off this week but I miss her and so I can feel the impulse to channel something that is about food and nurturance.
With fall closing in, and with all the natural (and man-made) disasters swirling around the globe, it seems a good time for an anchoring stew, something that might tether me to the present. Therefore, I offer you Brazilian Black Bean Vegetarian Stew, courtesy of Vegetarian Times . Yum!
— Amy
Brazilian Black Bean Stew
6 servings
30 minutes or fewer
Here’s a quick vegetarian version of the Brazilian national dish known as feijoada. This stew entices the eye with the colorful contrast of black beans and sweet potatoes and pleases the palate with nourishing ingredients.
1 Tbs. vegetable oil
1 large onion, chopped
2 medium cloves garlic, minced
2 medium sweet potatoes (1 to 1 ¼ lbs.), peeled and diced small (1/4″)
1 large red bell pepper, diced
14.5-oz. can diced tomatoes
1 small hot green chili pepper, or more to taste, minced
1 1/2 water or less (try 1 1/4 next time)
2 16-oz. cans black beans, drained and rinsed
1 ripe mango, pitted, peeled and diced or Frozen OK too
¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro
¼ tsp. salt
Meal plan:
In large pot, heat oil over medium heat. Add onion and cook, stirring often, until softened, about 5 minutes. Stir in garlic and cook, stirring, until onion is golden, about 3 minutes.
Stir in sweet potatoes, bell pepper, tomatoes (with liquid), chili and 1 1/2 cups water. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low, cover and simmer until potatoes are tender but still firm, 10 to 15 minutes.
Stir in beans and simmer gently, uncovered, until heated through, about 5 minutes. Stir in mango and cook until heated through, about 1 minute. Stir in cilantro and salt. Serve hot.

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Mindfulness has a downside?

I always cringe, just a little, when I hear someone speak seriously about “mindfulness”.
What they are saying makes sense. It is important to be present in, well, the present—rather than the past, the future, or some story inbetween. But there is often another layer of meaning in their serious talk, often unconscious, that can easily slide down the slippery slope towards narcissism, self-involvement, and a kind of spiritual hoarding.
We tried to talk about this in the “4th Chapter” of the coloring book: the whole point of embodiment is to increase your capacity for connection and resonance with others.
Take a look at this recent Washington Post article by Thomas Joiner and see what you think about where things might go wrong. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
xo,
Amy

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Newsletter Poetry

A combustion of words

A poem, an offering

This delightful poem speaks of combustion, our planetary theme for August.
Enjoy!
—Amy

Combustion

Sara Eliza Johnson

If a human body has two-hundred-and-six bones
and thirty trillion cells, and each cell
has one hundred trillion atoms, if the spine
has thirty-three vertebrae—

if each atom

has a shadow—then the lilacs across the yard
are nebulae beginning to star.
If the fruit flies that settle on the orange
on the table rise
like the photons

from a bomb fire miles away,

my thoughts at the moment of explosion
are nails suspended
in a jar of honey.

I peel the orange

for you, spread the honey on your toast.
When our skin touches
our atoms touch, their shadows
merging into a shadow galaxy.
And if echoes are shadows
of sounds, if each hexagonal cell in the body
is a dark pool of jelly,
if within each cell
drones another cell—

The moment the bomb explodes

the man’s spine bends like its shadow
across the road.
The moment he loses his hearing
I think you are calling me
from across the house
because my ears start to ring.
From the kitchen window

I see the lilacs crackling like static

as if erasing, teleporting,
thousands of bees rising from the blossoms:
tiny flames in the sun.
I lick the knife
and the honey pierces my tongue:

a nail made of light.

My body is wrapped in honey. When I step outside

I become fire.

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Falling into Gratitude

Amy contemplates fall foliage

One thing I miss about living in New England is the fall colors. Luckily, I got my fix on a recent trip back east and this beautiful fall sampler is of my time in Prince Edward County, Ontario.
From a purely scientific standpoint, this display of colors comes from nothing more than the reduction of chlorophyll in the leaves, revealing the underlying pigments that have been there all along. It’s a sign of the end of growing season. But from an imaginal standpoint, these trees are so much more. This year, their flamboyance spoke to me of fortitude in the face of loss, of celebration even at the last hurrah, and their vulnerable boldness said, “Look! Right here, right now, there is still so much joy to be had! Don’t be afraid.” Like big old red-lipsticked drag queens, their flamboyance gives me courage.
What are the fall leaves saying to you?