Thanksgiving is around the corner. It still terrifies me quite a lot that I will still not be free by then. But I do better all the time. And I can no longer say that things don’t change for me because in my heart they do. Not my physical circumstances. But my new life keeps changing. And now I have a new daughter. She is six years old. And she is so smart and so kind and so deeply devoted like I am. And I love her intensely and completely already. We are integrating her into our life and our homes daily. She has struggled. Too much. I find out more about these things every day. The struggles of the good people. I deal less and less with the brutality of the people that hurt. This girl told me what to do about that. And it really worked. For she is an excellent wise woman and healer. She said change your clothes and wash with a washcloth all over your body every time you feel bad. I did. My cells are doing so much better now. So is my body and my mind. I did something else. I wrote my Partitions that Cultivate Joy. They are a list of things I like to do to be well. They are my transitions. Some things are: write in my journal, do art journaling, make the bed, turn on the lights, light the candles, take bach rescue remedy, take four papaya enzymes, put calendula ointment on wrists and dry skin patches, take sambucus, use bach’s stress relief pastilles, massage hands and feet with zum oil, use essential oils, sit outside, go for a walk, lie down outside on a blanket on the grass, have private time with my partner, turn on music, make a playlist, rest, lie down, take a nap, eat, drink, do laundry, fold laundry, change clothes and take a bath in Dr. Teals’ epsom salts. I still can’t quite hold on to time. But thyme is mine. Time is profane or at least it has been. It is the forty hour work week that takes three hours to complete and then you are sitting at your desk bored the rest of the time. It is getting paid not enough to survive on once a month. It is the nuclear family and everyone being disconnected all the time. It is the script we must follow in our conversations to be normal and not get attacked. It is taking medicine on a schedule designed by someone that doesn’t understand anything about wellness, only disease. It is being destitute, like I still know I am in many ways. Thyme is sacred. And it flows. It is loving your people and your family and your whole community. It is going from one joy cultivator to the next. It is having real work. It is having abundant nourishment. It is touching the sky with beauty fingers every moment. It is a poem that doesn’t need to rhyme but it does need to thyme. And it is Grandmother Hawk, White Wolf and Grandfather Tree for you and for me. And for all of our friends and relations. It is the moon in all of her cycles. The cycles like to kill me dead but I am well in my heart and my relationships in my sight. Please forgive me for wanting something so badly all the time when you need me still in your reiki. Reiki is thyme. It is poetica. It is musica. It is artista. It is chefista. It is rootsong. Roots need time to flourish and ferret and grow. But this is very slow for me. And every time, I miss someone. When I hear a report they say, doing well. And then I hear, but not that one yet. Remember my conversation with God about there being a seclusion and restraint room in every ward of Western State Hospital and how that seclusion and restraint is announced eight times a day over the hospital intercom system? She said two years in the hospital and you will want to die. And it was absolutely true. But she didn’t say when I would be able to live. Except someone always says, “Oh Beth, just a few more days.” I don’t mean to say this every time to you. But I am a part of you that aches. Surely you must recognize this for us, my friend. Okay, love. I have spent my time now with you trying once again to hold on. I didn’t mention my shot. But it is next week. And then Thanksgiving. I either have huge glorious plans or none. I can’t really tell. Everyone says, “No, Beth, this year is completely different. You will certainly not spend Thanksgiving alone at the end of the month with no food left. Look at what we’ve done since last year.” But who’s to say? I don’t know still. But I always try. Let me try to end this post. With a song for you to sing at Thanksgiving. Blessings to you. I hope you eat your tofurky and your celery and onion stuffing and your vegetarian gravy and your green bean casserole and your mashed potatoes and your candied sweet potatoes and your succotash and your broccoli with cheese sauce and your waldorf salad and your mini marshmallow salad and your dinner rolls and your pumpkin and apple pie with whipped cream and your asti spumante or sparkling juice with strawberries in it in complete delight among fabulous friends and relations. And I hope I do, too. Let us give thanks.

Let Us Give Thanks

Let us give thanks for the food that we share.

Let us give thanks for people who care.

Food fills our bodies and love makes us whole.

Let us give thanks deep down in our soul.