A-Side
At this moment—as war rages in Ukraine and we warily (and eagerly) emerge from extended isolation, blinking our way into the dawn of another spring—there seems to be a plethora of observations about the juxtaposition of grief and joy.
If you’re on social media, you’ve probably seen this post from the writer/illustrator Mari Andrew:
And from my friend Margaret Renkl in the New York Times (if you’re looking for some psychic relief from the dark, read Margaret’s two dazzling essay collections):
…It’s entirely possible to understand what human beings are doing to the woods—and to one another in this moment of dread and grief and terrible struggle—and still exult in birdsong and tiny blooming flowers peeking out from the dead leaves of autumn. In this troubled world, it would be a crime to snuff out any flicker of happiness that somehow leaps into life.
It would be a crime—but isn’t it also a responsibility to recognize, honor, and celebrate beauty in the midst of tragedy? To bear witness to the pain while also being present for the rebirth that blooms with every spring? Buddhist teacher Jack Kornfield suggests we think of remembering joy as a moral obligation. Because why fight a war at all if there’s nothing beautiful to return to?
Not long after 9/11, I rode my bike down to Battery Park, close to the still-smoldering ruins of the Twin Towers. There’s a small lily pond where I’ve always stopped in the park; around its marble border are engraved two poems, one by Seamus Heaney, the other—one of the most sublime I’ve ever read—by Mark Strand. The day I rode downtown for the first time after the attacks, the marble lip of the pond lay under a blanket of ash. The ash reminded me of everything we had lost. I brushed it away, deliberately and tearfully, to reread “The Continuous Life”:
What of the neighborhood homes awash
In a silver light, of children hunched in the bushes,
Watching the grown-ups for signs of surrender,
Signs that the irregular pleasures of moving
From day to day, of being adrift on the swell of duty,
Have run their course? O parents, confess
To your little ones the night is a long way off
And your taste for the mundane grows; tell them
Your worship of household chores has barely begun;
Describe the beauty of shovels and rakes, brooms and mops;
Say there will always be cooking and cleaning to do,
That one thing leads to another, which leads to another;
Explain that you live between two great darks, the first
With an ending, the second without one, that the luckiest
Thing is having been born, that you live in a blur
Of hours and days, months and years, and believe
It has meaning, despite the occasional fear
You are slipping away with nothing completed, nothing
To prove you existed. Tell the children to come inside,
That your search goes on for something you lost—a name,
A family album that fell from its own small matter
Into another, a piece of the dark that might have been yours,
You don't really know. Say that each of you tries
To keep busy, learning to lean down close and hear
The careless breathing of earth and feel its available
Languor come over you, wave after wave, sending
Small tremors of love through your brief,
Undeniable selves, into your days, and beyond.
B-Side
I know many (if not all) of you read HNTFUYF for practical beauty advice and I hate to disappoint. Last week’s post focused on sleeplessness; so here I’m offering five very simple ways to look and feel more awake if you haven’t had your fair quota of Zzzz’s.
Ease into a deep or vibrant lip color with a sheer formula or jump right into a more pigmented shade.
Trace a nude eyeliner along the inner rim of your lower lashline; it can create the illusion of having bigger, wider eyes. My old pal (creative director @oprahdaily) Adam Glassman swears by these Lumify eyedrops for a super-white sclera (though he would never say it that way).
A wash of rosy color with a sheer cream blush emphasizes cheekbones and gives the skin a healthier look, as if it’s actually benefiting from a blood supply.
When even your hair looks tired, falling flat along your natural part line, flip your part to the other side to add instant fullness.
A favorite scent can boost your spirits, as the sense of smell links directly to the mood-ruling limbic system. Two of my favorites: This one and this one.
And finally, a coda to both sides: Treat yourself or someone you love to this cute beanie. A portion of proceeds will be donated to @unicef_ukraine.
Val Asks You
Don’t be shy! What’s your most vexing or intractable appearance issue? Send your beauty-related questions to valeriemonroe@substack.com. If I don’t have a good answer, I’ll find someone who does.
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First, I love Margaret Renkl's writing. She seemed to come out of nowhere. She just suddenly appeared in the NYT, and there she was, the most honest and deep-thinking person on those pages. That is not hyperbole.
"In this troubled world, it would be a crime to snuff out any flicker of happiness that somehow leaps into life."
Here's what came to mind when I read that passage of hers:
The reverse is what is true. If men -- and sorry, at this point in the history of humanity, it's when we incarnate as men -- did not behold Mother Earth in all her sustained, glorious beauty, and think "I need to fuck that. I need to own that. I need to take all I can from that and not give back to that. I need to dominate not create dominion with that. I need to make sure no one else can have access to that. It is MINE..." then we wouldn't need to pause and reflect on beauty in the midst of war because war would be irrelevant.
The wisdom at the heart of Strand's poem you quoted is this: "And your taste for the mundane grows".
Exactly. Begin there. Love the world and that we are in and of it. Do not try to possess and hoard her, and there, in the cycle of life, everyone gets fed, loved, and exposed to and absorbed by and infused with what? BEAUTY.
War is what we get when we refuse to accept that we *are* the beauty. It flows through us, it is not separate from us.
Zombies are what we get when we break the ties to beauty. You tied it all together with a bow, Val!
Beautiful post, Val! These days my personal “soul survival” tactics include pausing to “exult in birdsong” and the “tiny blooming flowers” that come with the first breath of spring. Which I did on a recent visit to Abingdon Square Park.
The park’s carefully tended garden is one of my favorite places to watch and celebrate the beauty that bursts forth with the changes of the season.
As I take in the natural wonders before me, I come away with the sense that I am part of this miraculous cycle of renewal, rest and rebirth. I breathe easier. I am reminded of what Sir Paul McCartney puts so simply in “Martha, My Dear,” when he sings, “When you find yourself in the thick of it, help yourself to a bit of what is all around you.”
And with eyes wide open and open hearts, we discover that beauty is indeed all around us—and within us.