the water calls to me

pisces new moon, sorrow as art, poems, and a playlist

hiiii reader <3

whoever, and wherever you are, i hope this greeting finds you feeling connected and held.

I have been fending off loneliness and isolation for months now. I attribute some of that to the perpetual gloom of Seattle winters and the wintering tendencies of my body to withdraw when it’s gray. (Did you know most of us are vitamin D deficient up here?) I have also found it a distinct kind of isolating to be advocating for an end to the genocide and occupation of Palestinians and not see the same sentiment reflected in my every day interactions with family, coworkers, etc. As some may know, my day job is in healthcare, which is a perpetually profiteering industry. I feel like a zombie some days, pretending to care about insignificant small talk and procedures. Among family, I feel like a black sheep. The more I embody my values, the more resistance I meet from the people who have known me all my life.

The community and advocacy I have found here on substack has been a gracious salve for this loneliness and isolation. The resonance I feel in this space washes over me, reminding me of how vital community is to our wellbeing. I thank each of you for your presence and care—you’re uplifting my spirit just by being here and I am truly deeply grateful <3

I’m sharing this post today because it is the pisces new moon. Pisces is a water sign, full of emotion and sensitivity. I too am a water sign (a scorpio). It seems only right to center on this sacred element that makes up both sixty percent of the human body and seventy percent of the earth’s surface today.

by kenzi (2023)

---

the water calls to me:

One day in mid October, I woke up in a particularly griefy state. I brushed my teeth angrily, walked the dog with a frown, and grunted through my morning routine. I knew I needed an outlet, lest I walk through an irritable trance all day long.

On days like that, where grief is buzzing in my bones, the water calls to me. I knew where I needed to be. I packed my journal, some water, and my sturdiest boots and headed for Discovery Park, to the gentle shores of the Puget Sound.

It was another gray day, but the fall colors were in full effect, contrasting beautifully with the bluish waves. The rocky beach was mostly empty, just a few lone folks walking quietly. I found a rock to lean against, closed my eyes, and breathed deeply the sea-scented air.

by kenzi (2023)

It didn’t take long for the tears to come. Snotty and sorrowful, saltwater streamed from my face. I emptied my sadness in sobs, the whooshes of foamy water rushing to meet the shore soothed me. I wrote the following poem in my journal.

the water calls to me

I. 
sometimes hopelessness grips me by both shoulders
shaking me, asking me, 
do you like your life? 
do you like yourself?
are you fooling everyone?

today is one of those days
heavy, griefy, frightening
i sit in discontentment
i write
internally, eternally wrestling with myself
i can’t name the feeling or its source
but i feel it
as tears roll down my flushed cheeks,
i feel it.
as my chest turns inward on itself,
quaking quicksand,
solid ground a distant memory, a fable
i feel it. 

i dont think my melancholy will ever leave me. 
i think i feel too deeply
and experience the world too intensely 
to forget sorrow 
what a gift. 

II.
on days like today, 
the water calls to me.

come, she invites me.
see the damp sand–
whose tears do you think soften the shore?
whose bellowing cries form the tide?

the water does not turn away from my flushed face.
my grief does not scare her. 
she sings to me. 

---

As I sat tearfully, crying this poem into existence, a stranger approached me. He said hello. He thought I was drawing the landscape.

“No, I replied. just writing.”

My face was still wrought with redness and tear stains, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Would it be okay if I took a photo of you? From far away,” he asked me. I nodded and said I would be just fine with that.

He walked away and I continued writing and crying. Presumably, he took my photo before continuing on his walk. He eventually waved goodbye and thanked me.

I was so struck by this interaction. I felt deeply honored that someone had witnessed me in grief-stricken contemplation and found the moment worthy of capturing, worthy of art. I found myself in a state of deep gratitude; to the water for ushering me in, to the waves for giving my tears permission to flow, to the stranger who gently witnessed me, to the universe for reminding me that my grief is sacred and transformative, that my sorrow is worthy.

by kenzi (2023)

My hope is that this story can encourage you toward a moment of presence with your own sorrows. I think we are often too quick to dismiss them. Maybe, just maybe, there is something beautiful to be discovered in the depths of our heartache. If you’re not sure where to start, I suggest water. Splash your face in the sink, go to your local pond, drink a glass of ice water and contemplate its fluidity. What might happen if you allowed that kind of fluidity in your spirit? If you’re ready, take it a step further. What might happen if you let your sorrow be witnessed?

---

more on water:

I want to share another poem today. I am a big fan of Pádraig Ó Tuama who hosts the podcast Poetry Unbound. He recently shared a poem by Rita Wong that has been added to my list of favorites. I think you’ll find it suits today’s themes.

“flush” by rita wong

awaken to the gently unstoppable rush of rain landing on roofs, 
pavement, trees, porches, cars, balconies, yards, windows, doors, 
pedestrians, bridges, beaches, mountains, the patter of millions 
of small drops making contact everywhere, enveloping the city 
in a sheen of wet life, multiple gifts from the clouds, pooled 
over centuries and channelled to power us, rain propels our 
water-based bodies that eat other water-based bodies, mineral 
vegetable animal. when i turn on the shower, i turn my face and 
shoulders toward post-chlorinated rain. the tap releases free rain 
to slake our thirst, transformed through pipes and reservoirs. 
anonymous agent of all that we, unwitting beneficiaries, do. 
refusing the inertia of amnesia, i welcome the memory of rain 
sliding into sink and teacup, throat and bladder, tub and toilet. 
bountiful abundant carrier of what everyone emits into the 
clouds, be that exhale or smoke, belch or chemical combustion, 
flame or fragrance, the rain gives it all back to us in spates, a 
familiar sound, an increasingly mysterious substance

---

a gift for your week:

I recently read that a new study showed dancing as more effective than other forms of exercise and SSRIs at combating depression. I have always been a kitchen dance session type gal, but this news has significantly increased how often I’m dancing. It’s a beautiful way for me to come back to my body. I thought I’d share the playlist I’ve been bopping around the apartment while listening to lately. Let me know what you think!

A final request—I invite you to join me in voting “uncommitted” or the equivalent on your ballot for the presidential primary this week to send a message to our elected officials insisting on a ceasefire in Gaza. We’re seeing impressive percentages of “uncommitted” votes throughout the country. While I don’t believe our current voting system is the means that will liberate us, I do believe in applying pressure from all angles.

as always, thank you for your presence <3

kenz