I promised
you a love letter.
"We are so brief. A one-day dandelion. A seedpod skittering across the ice. We are a feather falling from the wing of a bird. I don’t know why it is given to us to be so mortal and to feel so much. It is a cruel trick, and glorious." ~ Louise Erdrich
Epigraph: It happens more often than we can ever accept, when the vaporous veil separating life and death draws down.
In a single evening not so long ago, my comfortable illusion of normalcy shattered when I unexpectedly suffered an ischemic stroke at a young age. I was asleep and adrift on a river of dreaming when rough waters suddenly took control of my vessel. After finding myself alone in an antiseptic emergency room—isolated by Covid protocols (my husband waiting for hours outside in a snow-covered parking lot)—I came face to face with life’s tempest of temporality. MRI images the following morning confirmed not just the stroke, but lesions in the white matter of my brain.
My life would never be the same but with the tireless efforts of family and friends, I would live. When I’d fully digested my good fortune (that I lived to talk and tell), I vowed to write a love letter to those I was so nearly and instantly separated from in this Earthly realm.
To fulfill my promise, I approached this essay from a slightly different vantage point than usual so that I might present the letter. Borne from gratitude for personal experiences (presented in no particular order), and for you my readers near and far.
You, my beloveds, who vigilantly kept watch (and still do), guarding and guiding me to safety in myriad ways seen and unseen. I am here because you did, and do.
To the two who dreamed me into being, guiding me in philosophies of kindness and rigorous inquiry beneath the draping purr of an overindulged orange feline; shepherding me into a long lineage of those who made service to others their life’s work.
And to the ones who came before them, migrating from dust and drought toward dreams of protection (and the diligent work that it requires). Living simply so that others may simply live long before it ever became a bumper sticker. Seeding prodigal gardens of pebble-sized strawberries and green zucchinis transformed into sweetbread, who loved their North Dakota plains horses and dogs of India so dearly those creatures’ names and stories became family legend.
To the wild and wonderful Earth who beckons each one of us home if only we’d listen. And to those who imparted on me this wisdom.
And every creature of the animal kingdom, who called my name before I knew it myself; shaping my becoming with the lingua franca of fur and feathers, terra and tide pools. Fiercely sure-footed and true-hearted when I was my most afraid; foundational to everything.
To the kindred spirits I’ve met (and continue to meet) at every twist and turn along the way, sweetening and illuminating the path. You have saved my life more than once, and surely will again.
I have found you petting tuxedoed cats at school bus-stops, waterborne in suburban pools, and communing with cormorants on ferry boats.
Reading and writing poetry at dusk like the world depended upon it (and maybe it does).
Cloistered in classrooms and bright-eyed in florescent-lit tutoring centers, burrowed in books and brandishing bold ideas. Cultivating creativity in writing classes overlooking cherry-blossomed quads, and seeking bliss in used bookstores boasting bathing cats in sunlit windows gracing gritty city corners.
Typing tirelessly in publishing offices with views of pink magnolias buzzing with bees, and traveling far reaches (years before email, cell phones, or GPS) in search of scenic beauty and the best places to kiss.
On islands at the shores of the Salish Sea, forest-bathing in tree canopies of cedar and licorice fern where deer forage and owls perch.
Dallying at dog parks, community organizing, and plucking innocents just in the nick of time from traffic and trauma.
Tending to the walking wounded at animal shelters and sanctuaries, in wildlife rehabilitation centers near and far, embodying compassion in poster-laden grassroots campaigns offices and world changing anti-exploitation auspices, and marching beside me shoulder-to-shoulder at animal rights protests (even once in turtle costumes which we never guessed in our wildest dreams would become iconic and museum-worthy).
“What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.” ~ Crowfoot or Isapo-Muxika, Blackfoot Chief of the Siksika First Nation
Despite a world heaving with hardship, I have chanced upon you again and again: glittering with goodness and grace. Pointing me in the way of sunsets when I needed them most.
You the rain and wind of whispering woods.
You who have loved me when I couldn’t love myself, a sliver of moon aglow in inky skies.
You with the invisible dragons encircling your wrists like Uther in the Mists, saving slugs at dusk and dawn (and myriad other species all the hours in between).
You the admirable souls at sea who capably ride the rough waters of these times (and all times), a beacon.
You whose bottomless springs of generosity slake the thirsty.
You who love and live the questions in the presence of so many mysteries.
You who conquer cruelty with kindness, drawing from deep and wide reservoirs of mercy.
You with that lilting lift and gleaming glint, laughing uproariously and healing so much and so many (including me) in the act.
You who adopt orphans of every ilk, raise up healers, and plant wildflowers in the most forlorn places.
You who grieve whom and what deserve grieving. (Kahlil Gibran said it better than I ever could: “The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.”)
You who liberate, and who are deserving of liberation.
You who still believe.
You who kindly whisper compositions of color in kitchens or with pen to paper, through a camera’s lens, and in art galleries and mosaic studios. Your kaleidoscopes mend the world one creative act, and body, at a time.
You who listen like shamans and speak your truths mindful as medicine.
You in perpetual motion and you who sit in stillness. I need you both.
You who seek the long-forgotten middle path with such determined footfall.
You the ones I still want to be when I “grow up.”
You who live to learn, and learn to live. You teach me.
You my formidable family, lion-hearted leaders and mindful mentors, courageous colleagues and comrades, besties and bosses, soulmates and soldiers on the battlefield for good.
You who toil in the trenches tired and tender, tried and true.
You the intrepid never-give-uppers who radiantly light the bleakest of days.
You the relentless seekers of soul. The seed bearers and sapling planters, healers and helpers, readers and rescuers, poets and painters, dreamers and do-ers, justice- and joy-makers, writers and water keepers.
You the breath of the buffalo and the ones who cherish it.
You the dream that came true from my heart.
You.
"And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for? And have you changed your life?” ~ Mary Oliver
I loved this. I recently been struggling with my health, and your post reminded me of many similar thoughts I had during the journey through hospitals, back home and back to hospitals. Thank you for writing such a wonderful letter to the fire of life that can never be extinguished.
Also, thank you for quoting such a poignant statement: “The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.” I wasn’t aware who Khalil Gibran was, now I know :)
Stephanie, your beautiful, soulful words are a living mosaic ... so tender, fierce and breath-taking in their devotion. I felt held in every line, as if the breath of the buffalo and the whispering woods had gathered to speak through you. Your wise, healing words remind me that beauty isn't just for beholding, but for becoming ... and yes, I believe they're already changing lives, mine included. Namaste, my dear friend, namaste 💖🙏🐇