Corona Cafe: Recent Episodes

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I like writing because I get to sit outside and let the wind blow all the thoughts out of my head, clearing space for something fresh to grow—and then I get to call that process “work.” I “worked” today. I abandoned my compression socks and strolled barefoot through pillowed grass. The irises looked especially pleased to see me, and—not wanting them to get droopy—I assured them the feeling was mutual. Then I sat under “my” maple tree, who I sincerely hope thinks of me as “her” human by now, though as I type this, I’m wondering whether the isolation of the past year hasn’t left me a little addled (“touched,” some might say), or are these plants really my friends?

The thing about sitting under a tree is that you only think you’re sitting under a tree. Think a little harder, and you realize you are in it—held between roots and branches, perched between seen and unseen. Today, that was exactly where I wanted to be. For now, all I really want is to be in this moment, perched between eternities.

I don’t always feel quite so content with the present, of course. If you read my newsletter last week, then you know that I’m as good as the next guy at contracting into a miserable little ball. There are moments when everything feels heavy and dark. There are times when I’m too busy resenting the flies to greet the irises. But not today. Today, a fly buzzed around my head, and it never occurred to me to swat him away. He was part of the choir—a lone tenor joining the soprano birds and the wind song of leaves and grass.

And in that moment, the lion’s roar of long Covid was nothing more than a quiet buzzing. In that moment, suspended between branches and roots, every hard thing in my life was just a harmless humming.

We can’t live in that place of presence all of the time. We will, yet again, try to escape the present, digging down into roots or clambering up into branches, resisting this threshold between past and future. We won’t accept everything all of the time, won’t be present all of the time, but what about right now? Can you be here right now, just for a moment? For a moment, can you let the past and future fall away and simply inhabit this body, this place, this unique, never-to-be-repeated flicker of time?

If you have a few moments to spare, then step outside or sit near an open window, make sure your volume is on, and follow along with the simple forest bathing exercise included in this email. It’s designed to invite you into your senses, into nature, and into the present moment. If you try it out, let me know how it lands with you!

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lisajensen.substack.com

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Snuggle up with a warm drink or a fleecy blanket, and enjoy this audio edition of Ask Jenny! This month, Jenny answers questions about pacing. In case the term is new to you, pacing is a strategy used by people with ME/CFS to manage post-exertional malaise and live an active life within one’s personal limitations. You don’t have to have ME/CFS for pacing to be helpful and effective. In its simplest form, pacing just means that you build in rest between activities. You rest before hitting a wall, rather than waiting for the crash. Doing so helps cultivate a context in which healing is possible.

Pacing is hard, though, as Jenny will tell you. During the holidays, family members and friends may put extra pressure on us to engage in activities that are beyond our current comfort zone or energy threshold. That makes this an especially good time to pause and consider how best to care for ourselves. Whether the pressure to do more comes from others or from a voice inside you, I think you’ll find Jenny’s words helpful and inspiring!

P.S. Would anyone like to participate in a Corona Cafe Zoomsgiving? I’m picturing a very informal hour (or so) Zoom gathering some time this weekend. We can chit chat about long-haul life or about light and fluffy matters like our pets, what we ate for breakfast, funny youtube videos, etc. Let me know if you’re interested!

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lisajensen.substack.com

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No matter where you live in the world, and no matter what body you inhabit, this is a time of unrest. Some of the unrest is fruitful—necessary and painful steps on the journey toward a more just world. Some of the unrest is just painful—the raw consequences of disease, inequality, greed, prejudice, and division.

Wherever you find yourself, you need and deserve rest. You need and deserve spaces and times in which to wrest yourself from the unrest that surrounds you.

In recent weeks, I’ve found myself turning over and over to yoga nidra to cultivate deep rest. Yoga nidra is a form of guided meditation, designed to ease you into the relaxed state of consciousness that exists between sleep and wakefulness. Some practitioners engage in yoga nidra to cultivate enlightenment. I confess that my goals are not so lofty. I practice yoga nidra at bedtime, in my bed, because it allows me to let go of unrest, settle my body and mind, and drift toward sleep. It feels like a lullaby for my big-girl self.

More often than not, I fall asleep as soon as my yoga nidra practice is done or—oops—before it is done. On the rare occasion that I don’t drift off so quickly, I’m too relaxed to mind. All of these are positive outcomes—restful outcomes.

With this email, you’ll find a 16-minute yoga nidra practice that you can try when your mind and body are craving rest. Use it as a midday pause, or—like me—at bedtime. This is my first attempt at guiding a meditation, so please let me know what you think and how I can improve the experience for you!

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lisajensen.substack.com