Octavius Nightingale

Today I did a lot of art, and then I sat outside and read an article (from 2009; old National Geographic magazine) about Arab Christians. I consider myself a budding theological historian - that's why I wanted to get into sociology to begin with - so it was pretty fascinating. And then I sat outside some more and wrote a surprisingly long poem; I was just laying out all my feelings about my belief system (polytheism) and its historical clashing with the Abrahamic religions, and the Abrahamic religions' clashing with themselves and each other. I think it's one of the longest poems I've ever written, almost perfectly 5 pages. It was surprisingly cathartic.

Bad news: the past few days have been rough and I didn't manage to do my daily challenges today.
Good news: the primary reason I wasn't able to get my challenges done was because I was busy hyper-fixating on sewing myself a chiton. It kinda sucks, but it's my first hand-made garment, made of either linen or cotton (some old curtains) and for my very first attempt - and an unfinished attempt at that - it's not horrible. It's wearable and actually quite comfortable, which is I think the best possible outcome.

I've recognized that, on the days I ride my bike, whether to class or between houses, I don't feel the need to go out again. Riding my bike is my outdoor activity, even though I'm doing it for transport, and it feels unneeded to go out again just to sit in the park when I've already cycled two miles and enjoyed nature that way. Ironically, the year I was cycling to/from school (my senior year of high school), my mental well-being plummeted. I fear it would've plummeted more if I had to take the bus or drive rather than riding downhill in pouring rain. Those days I felt more than alive. I'm thinking about this now because I'm listening to Storm Song by PHILDEL, and right now all I want is to stand in a big thunderstorm. I get that with my bike, sometimes.

Wasn't one of my goals/actions for this challenge but I just watched King Coal. The trailer has been haunting me for a few months now (in a good way) and I finally got access to the film and it was so worth it. It's such a beautiful film, about the impact of coal on Appalachia, a mixture of documentary and script. The story of the Mingo Oak really stuck out to me, as well as the burial rituals and the funeral at the end, especially the funeral speech: "I've learned you can be proud of your life, and want better for those that come after you." It was a really haunting film, for lack of better words; but haunting in a beautiful sort of way. I just wish I could find the credits music, as it evoked a feeling I'd like to remind myself of every so often.
Some scenes, I found myself wishing I lived in a place like that; less roads and more wilds. I wish I could go deeper into the woods than an asphalt nature trail that passes a busy road and three churches and a private school, sit in a place where the cars and construction are whispers rather than roars. Maybe someday.

My bike ride today was wonderful, the weather was perfect, sunny but not too warm and windy but not too windy, and I heard a lot of birds, and there were very few cars, even when I was passing the churches and sports complex. I've made a habit of saying hi to the low-hanging branches of trees I pass, especially given as my trailer flag tends to hit them. Yoga was also really nice this morning; I didn't even have to find a walk-through video today, I've already found positions that work for me!

I just watched Gather (2020) and oh my gods. It was beautiful.
Gather is a documentary about indigenous food sovereignty. I felt a mixture of emotions while watching, a mixture I very regularly feel when doing research about sustainability and indigenous life: proud and grateful that these native peoples are doing all this, surviving despite everything that’s been done to them, and sad about everything that’s been done, but also guilty and shameful for what my ancestors did to them. But I digress. This film was fascinating and hopeful, a defiant yet peaceful kind of hope, the kind of hope that sees hatred and turns away from it, that chooses to make things better, to be kind in a cruel world. I love seeing people coming together and continuing to survive and thrive and support each other and just keep going. It’s horrible that they have to fight so hard just to keep themselves alive, and I wish it had never come to this, but at the same time I am so damn proud of them. I was actually so damn proud when Elsie DuBray won the science fair with her project on buffalo meat, and when Café Gozhóó opened. I often wish I could do more to heal the wounds caused by my ancestors, not just for them but for myself, and for any other white men that feel this guilt and shame for the circumstances of our existence and for the crimes of our ancestors. But oftentimes learning is the first step of healing. The infection (colonial mindset and guilt for things we cannot change) must be cut out before the wound (historical indigenous genocide and ongoing food deserts and things of the like) can begin to heal.

I was gonna ramble about something else but the mean anti-theist in the back of my head won.
I went up to the meditation labyrinth and was gonna walk the entire nature trail, but wasn't feeling it. I instead sat under this pretty redwood and journaled for a bit, then walked back home. I was out for just under an hour.
I do, however, want to share this thought I had on my way back home: "when a person or idea is deified, they become disconnected from the earth, and therefore are not living, and therefore are easier to use."

My daily routines were difficult today, but I did them. I never did manage to get outside (not including my morning bike ride). But at least I did some yoga, practiced my Latin, and played my violin. I think that's an important mindset to keep, especially when faced with climate anxiety and doomerism. Not as much yoga as I did yesterday, not as long practicing violin, but at least I did something.