Brain Injury
what brings me to tears at midnight
on a full moon, when i’ve laid out cheesecloth to gather the magic of Imbolc (i didn’t know, either, but Jenny sent me this, from Woodlarking and so i do now: As Imbolc Eve approaches, here’s a simple custom you can take part in, a small heads up in case you’d like time to find a scarf or piece of cloth.
St Brigid’s Eve is the night of 31st January, leading into Imbolc/St Brigid’s Day on the 1st of February. It's said that it's when Brigid is said to walk the land, a very liminal time. In Irish folklore, people would leave a small piece of cloth or a scarf outside overnight to be blessed as she passed. Known as a Brat Bhríde, this cloth was kept through the year and used for healing, especially for headaches, sore throats, or as a charm of protection.
Before bed, the household would “smoor” the fire, raking the ashes smooth. By morning, they’d look for a mark in the hearth, a sign that Brigid had passed that way in the night. The cloth was then brought back inside, believed to carry her blessing.
Some mark Imbolc at the midpoint between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. That usually falls around 3rd to the 5th of February, depending on the year.
If you’d like to take part, all that’s needed is a strip of cloth, a scarf, and a quiet intention. Leave it outside overnight and welcome Imbolc in gently.
-Woodlarking)
my scarf is two long pieces of cheesecloth i used yesterday to make paneer for a small dinner gathering at my home. cheesecloth i’d cleaned after paneer had become a solid creamy white, resting in the fridge until i cut it up into pieces, the making a kind of pre-loving the group that was to gather
cheesecloth i’d left hanging like a witch’s curtain in my kitchen window all afternoon, evening, and well into the night, feeling the way the light filtered through, first from the outside, then from the inside, as the day progressed into evening, becoming night
and i was marking it, the hours. how many tasks i’d need to complete to make dinner happen for 6
the markings, the tasks, the work of a brain working, working to do what it’s taken years to learn to do again, fluid ability lost to surgical shears
cheesecloth, cut into two floating bits, more air than cloth, with shears
this photo is me 24 years ago. embarrassed now, as i was the day our - our being the family that was then, before the shears - friend val shaff came to take photos of us, the family, for a family project she was doing, i think that’s why we’d agreed.
i was embarrassed then by the pink combs i’d put in my hair, but i was nursing my baby that year, those years really, and couldn’t find anything to hold my hair back, hair that was messy that day because i’d been up all night, nursing
the point is that 24 years ago i was 66-24, i was 42, which is the age some of the people were when they were at my table last night
which is an age i still hold, while the 40+ year old friends at my table last night aren’t able to hold 66, turning 67 in a month
the surprise about the almost 67
the surprise about the almost 67, when the way my brain is now, since the shears, means i don’t remember much since the shears
not since the shears
which means i could be 42 or 44 but can’t really be 66 turning into 67 because i don’t remember the years in between
except like cheesecloth, which mostly is air
anyway, this photo is a couple years before the surprise of my brain starting to collapse, before that part you can see in the photo, right between my ear and my temple, a little lower than the pink combs that cause embarrassment, was cut open
it’s funny, isn’t it, how the world moves on
when i want to say to the world is don’t
don’t move on, not without me with you
i called my best friend last night, at around 11, so before i’d put my two pieces of cheesecloth out under the moon that already was high up in the sky, shining a kind of silver onto the snow that’s a foot deep on the roof of old red garage out there in my tiny backyard
i was crying, trying to describe to her how it feels to have the world move on in ways that don’t, because they can’t, because of how i’m disabled, include me
including the trip she’s taking with my son, the one in the photo who’s now 24 years older, a trip i can’t take because my brain can’t manage things like
sound
groups that include sound
groups that include sound with plenty of joyful movement
the sound would be joyful, too
groups that include skiing
groups that include driving together, with sound
and the lights
it’s hard to talk about the lights, so i won’t
except to say that moonlight, moonlight filters through me like light through cheesecloth, which is to say like milk becoming magic
i was crying while trying to describe disability. and it’s not like she hasn’t been there for the journey. she has, before and throughout
so when i was crying about not being able to go
she got it
but still i wanted to find a way to describe
inclusion
the shifting that would need to happen so i could come
which meant understanding not just accessibility, but also accommodation
and also, though, even if i’d been able to go, i couldn’t have left my dog
not now, not til she’s gone
not til she’s gone
i won’t
i was telling my friend, and was it midnight by now?
time to put out the cheesecloth so the moon, so brigid, could bless the thin fibers tough enough to hold the 3 liters of milk that turned itself into paneer for the dinner party that had ended by the time i was crying on the phone with my friend, friend since i was in my early 20’s, someone who helped me birth the baby i’m holding, hair held back by the silly pink combs. and i think about how easy it is for me to put myself down, combs included. or leave myself out, when i want to be in
like the trip to go skiing that there’s no way i can do and i want to be there, the grown child i’d birthed being there, and my forever friend and also her daughter, the daughter i’d helped birth
plus, the fact of crying last night, crying that’s continued through the moon setting
and did you see the moon rising, so large, then the way the moon gets small, then huge again this morning, when i watched her set over my neighbor’s house, the house the moon sets over when she’s full in january
and today, the day of celebrating fruits
fruits with seeds inside, and fruits with seeds outside, and fruits with heavy outside protection, and fruits with none. protection, i mean
all
plus, imbolc, as i’ve already noted
the way the calendars make sense when the moon lives right in the center
i’ve had an invitation to tu b’shvat - tonight, the day after crying, the day after laying out cheesecloth in a hill of snow- from someone the age of the folks at my table last night, which means i’d be the oldest, again, if i go. plus, disabled, something we’re in conversation about, since there’s planning for seizure involved in inviting me, seizure-planning with strangers, and the possible loss of speech, although this is happening less, and thinking about the intense cold that will encompass tonight’s dark, a cold that’s been wrapping us all in a way that feels sometimes un-doable
like last night, when i was on the phone ‘til it was late, late, and my forever friend, the one who helped me birth both my now-grown children, the friend i’d helped birth her baby, now grown old enough to be as close in age to the folks at my table last night as am I, from the opposite direction, and my friend was helping guide me through what’s coming, which is the trip she’ll take with the son, my son, she helped birth, and her daughter, the one i helped birth, as they head to the home of another dear friend, the other friend who’d helped birth the son who will be heading her way
me not able to go
because my brain can’t
because my dog will die sometime and i don’t know when but i’m not going to not be here with her while she does
the fact of loneliness while disabled
the fact of loneliness while disabled
the fact of loneliness while disabled
i cried hard into my friend’s ear, all the years from being 46 ‘til now, the years i don’t remember, trying to find my way, rising rising rising
like the moon
alongside the moon
when i woke early this morning, moon setting over the house across the street, my pillowcase was wet, my own tears shedding
if my pillowcase had been made of the cheesecloth sitting out, catching an irish full moon, my tears would’ve slipped right through
the weave
as i weave a life that has included a kind of loneliness disability holds, more pillowcase than cheesecloth
i’m going to go slip the pillowcase off now, empty the sea of tears outside onto the snow, bring in the magical cheesecloth, and head out into the day of bitter cold. the day that will turn into the night sweet fruits will be shared at many, many tables
and there will be imbolc, fires everywhere, across all the lands
may they be a blessing
may last night’s dinner party be a blessing
may the cheesecloth be a blessing
may i be a blessing
may you be a blessing
may we be a blessing