Like a Hurricane
"I know my guys look to me, whether they realize it or not."
My partner said this at the kitchen table this morning.
He runs a boutique fine cabinetry shop, and he knows that his mood—how he shows up at the shop—affects the room where other humans are working, dealing with their own life burdens.
This morning, he's noticing his stress, observing his thoughts about the day ahead before he even gets in the car. He's aware of how those thoughts are affecting his body. He didn’t sleep well, and now his chest feels heavy, like there’s a potato in there, leaving him low on energy.
How he’s thinking about his body is impacting his body and, ultimately, those around him. Even without him saying a word, I can tell something is off.
We take a few minutes to notice this, breathe, and wonder if there might be a way to reframe his day—all the deadlines, deliveries, and timelines he's coordinating.
This conversation isn’t about fixing his situation; it’s about creating a bit more spaciousness, a way to see things more clearly and creatively.
All symptoms are teachers, wisdom, wise guides.
Then, we talked of seeds.
A family member in Louisiana, Julia “Hurricane” Hawkins—sister of Mickey Welles McCall and John Eddie Welles—died three days ago. According to Wikipedia, she was:
“An American sprinter and cyclist. She took up track and field after turning 100 and set world records in the 100-meter dash in her age category.”
She was 108 when she passed—and broke track and field records at 106!
An elder who kept moving, but always at her own speed.
Together, we summon stories from our teachers, Stephen Jenkinson and Martín Prechtel. Through Stephen’s Never Land Sever Land series, and through Martín's books, one of the things we've come to understand is that in many intact, indigenous cultures, a deceased loved one's body *is* a seed.
Not *like* a seed—it’s not metaphorical.
In these traditions, the rituals and ceremonies around death—including the needed, out-loud wailing of grief—are part of moving grief through the individual and the community.
The body buried in the ground, decays to feed new life.
Decay is the foundation for new growth, the winter before spring arrives.
Decay nourishes the earth.
Death feeds life.
Yet, in a grief-adverse culture, we often skip over grief and “move on.” This is why wintering well is so potent—it’s a time of dormancy that’s needed to be clear and visionary, not just in our lives but for those we care about, past and present and for those generations yet to come.
It’s costing us too much not to use our emotions skillfully, as pointers to what we value and can take effective action.
We witness and are feeling the effects of poor and damaging leadership. We experience it in the U.S. 'healthcare' system. My teacher, Bob Duggan, used to say that not knowing your upset is optional is like walking into a room and not knowing where the light switches are!
To have all your emotions is human. We make ourselves and our planet sick by not acknowledging them, by not having a skillful way to be with them and make them useful, like a seed.
Your emotions, the wisdom of your senses, are your birthright. I invite you to learn how to navigate them skillfully, to aim them at what truly matters. Become a potent force in the world, in your community, family, and business.
To Julia Hurricane Hawkins, now an ancestor, a deep bow to your indelible presence, your inspiration, the difference you made for your kin and all who knew you.
