You had me with the storm at sea—so often how I’ve described the neurological misfirings of my brain, the all-consuming terror and loss of control, only to be suddenly held in something so much bigger and full of grace. A stillness of belonging, sourced from a place I’ve never been able to describe as anything but love.
So yes, wow. This spoke to my soul. Thank you dear friend!
Glorious! I hoped when I saw the title that this would be the storm, and I would get to learn more about the mystery that met you on the bay. You draw me into the experience with your gorgeous imagery, and Marie Howe’s poem means more and more.
Julie, such beautiful writing. My favorite sentence, a wondrous, luminous sentence is " The world, not just the bay, is entirely round and gold and glowing with me in it, a newborn crab in the palm of a vast hand." Just retyping it makes me swoon. Marie Howe's poem is the topping.
This sounds like a mystical experience much like those Karen Armstrong describes in "A History of God." Lovely. I've never had such a moment, but I can appreciate its power.
Love Karen Armstrong! Haven’t read that one, so it goes on the TBR list. Thanks! I did search for a while for other accounts. (This was before all the research into psychedelics, like what Pollan writes about.) The two best I found were Barbara Ehrenreich’s “Living With a Wild God,” and Huxley’s “The Doors of Perception” (mostly b/c of the meaning he makes of his experiences). I would say “it changed me,” but I don’t have the counterfactual — only my life post-experience.
I was not familiar with Marie Howe's poem, but both you and she capture the feeling of being seen and loved so completely. And the only thing wr can do in our limited human bodies is cry. And hope to feel that way again.
I think you do a pretty good job of putting word to the ineffable. The thing is, we’ve all had moments like these and your sharing this story conjures my own—so I feel that deep joy, that wonder, so keenly. Thank you, Julie. Such a lovely essay.
How wonderful. I love being reminded that this is “ordinary” in its own right — despite feeling so singular and special. Would love to read about yours one day.
The stunning description of the moment would be enough. But then the poem and the reminder of how important it is we share our experience so others can see themselves in them is the cherry on top.
Thanks you SOOO much for participating, my friend.
You had me with the storm at sea—so often how I’ve described the neurological misfirings of my brain, the all-consuming terror and loss of control, only to be suddenly held in something so much bigger and full of grace. A stillness of belonging, sourced from a place I’ve never been able to describe as anything but love.
So yes, wow. This spoke to my soul. Thank you dear friend!
I’m so honored and heartened by your response. Thank you!
“tasting the defiant ecstasy of enchantment.” I loved being present with you as you were loved with such intensity. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks, Leah. As I tell my husband, that storm is not something I’m keen to repeat. 😮
I can only imagine!
Glorious! I hoped when I saw the title that this would be the storm, and I would get to learn more about the mystery that met you on the bay. You draw me into the experience with your gorgeous imagery, and Marie Howe’s poem means more and more.
Thanks for revisiting it with me. I, too, would love to learn more about that mystery. Maybe someday . . .
Julie, such beautiful writing. My favorite sentence, a wondrous, luminous sentence is " The world, not just the bay, is entirely round and gold and glowing with me in it, a newborn crab in the palm of a vast hand." Just retyping it makes me swoon. Marie Howe's poem is the topping.
Me too, Leslie - “a newborn crab in the palm of a vast hand.” Swoon is exactly the response. I love how we often adore the same thing in a piece.
So fun!! It makes me swoon to read this.
Gorgeous writing and experience, Julie! Thank you for taking us to sea with you.
Thanks, Troy. Glad you enjoyed it.
This sounds like a mystical experience much like those Karen Armstrong describes in "A History of God." Lovely. I've never had such a moment, but I can appreciate its power.
Love Karen Armstrong! Haven’t read that one, so it goes on the TBR list. Thanks! I did search for a while for other accounts. (This was before all the research into psychedelics, like what Pollan writes about.) The two best I found were Barbara Ehrenreich’s “Living With a Wild God,” and Huxley’s “The Doors of Perception” (mostly b/c of the meaning he makes of his experiences). I would say “it changed me,” but I don’t have the counterfactual — only my life post-experience.
I am wordless.
💚☀️🌀⛈️
Magnificent!
thanks for being here, Jill.
I was not familiar with Marie Howe's poem, but both you and she capture the feeling of being seen and loved so completely. And the only thing wr can do in our limited human bodies is cry. And hope to feel that way again.
Thanks for being here, Sarah.
I think you do a pretty good job of putting word to the ineffable. The thing is, we’ve all had moments like these and your sharing this story conjures my own—so I feel that deep joy, that wonder, so keenly. Thank you, Julie. Such a lovely essay.
How wonderful. I love being reminded that this is “ordinary” in its own right — despite feeling so singular and special. Would love to read about yours one day.
Julie! I love this piece so much:
The stunning description of the moment would be enough. But then the poem and the reminder of how important it is we share our experience so others can see themselves in them is the cherry on top.
Thanks you SOOO much for participating, my friend.
Oooo great point. That need to share is as old as the storytelling circles of our ancestors. I’m thrilled to participate.