Oh my goodness. I haven’t had the space to read your essays on Dandelions seeds for months, and months, and months. I even had a conscious thought of that fact today, or yesterday. I had a moment just now, so opened your email and read this one. It was written FOR me. I’m in my own exhausted chapter, with a homeschooled child starting grade one and an 11-month baby going majorly mobile, and I’ve just been feeling most days like I’m drowning. Desperately treading water trying to do it all and be it all for everyone. And even though I know that the way through is in slowing down and noticing the everyday miracles, when you’re struggling to keep up, slowing down seems like the most impossible and illogical thing to do! Thank you for the poem, for the serendipitous reminder, and for the feeling of solidarity through these early parenting days.
Love this line: “…the joy that dwells within slow time”…and loved this post, illustrated essay. Thanks for sharing the inspiration and wisdom, perfect for start of new month 💪🏻🌈
Today's substack posts are sending a very clear message: tis the season to slow down. As I read your lovely rendition of this blessing, my scattered monkey-brain thoughts erked to a stop. I pulled them in to wait until later.Then I gazed at your beautiful watercolor of the bluebells dotted with rain. Each drop sparkled in the light and cast its own shadow. As I thought of you taking the time to paint each droplet with its own being, I was able to slow down the pace of my breathing and tame the monkey-brain. Thank you, Candace, for another stunning post.
Thank you! I love John O'Donohue as well, and often reach for that very book. Your illustrations and offering of beauty were just what I needed today. ❤️
Your time with your children is but a treasure you will draw inspiration for the rest of your days. They will grow confident of their world in your presence, let their journey give you confidence they too will travel well!
Thank you! What a beautiful poem! It really touched me and reminded me of my year of convalescence after my burnout / nervous breakdown / complete exhaustion in 2023. And I did return to myself, actually, although I would not have thought it possible. I am so grateful! ❤️
I loved the stillness I felt while reading this. May every breath you take in this journey be the wind that takes you home...back to you. You are seen, and remembered. What you do matters! Thank you, Candace :')
And the self you will return to will be wiser, stronger, kinder, more empathetic, more grateful, and happier because of those little lives you brought into the world.
There’s this odd feeling I have that I’ve never heard anyone comment about. From the time I knew my wife was pregnant, it seemed like I already somehow knew the kids and that feeling only increased over the years. It’s a kind of intimacy I never anticipated. Is this the flesh of my flesh and blood of my blood intimacy in real time?
Oh my goodness. I haven’t had the space to read your essays on Dandelions seeds for months, and months, and months. I even had a conscious thought of that fact today, or yesterday. I had a moment just now, so opened your email and read this one. It was written FOR me. I’m in my own exhausted chapter, with a homeschooled child starting grade one and an 11-month baby going majorly mobile, and I’ve just been feeling most days like I’m drowning. Desperately treading water trying to do it all and be it all for everyone. And even though I know that the way through is in slowing down and noticing the everyday miracles, when you’re struggling to keep up, slowing down seems like the most impossible and illogical thing to do! Thank you for the poem, for the serendipitous reminder, and for the feeling of solidarity through these early parenting days.
Thank you. I needed this ❤️
Love this line: “…the joy that dwells within slow time”…and loved this post, illustrated essay. Thanks for sharing the inspiration and wisdom, perfect for start of new month 💪🏻🌈
Today's substack posts are sending a very clear message: tis the season to slow down. As I read your lovely rendition of this blessing, my scattered monkey-brain thoughts erked to a stop. I pulled them in to wait until later.Then I gazed at your beautiful watercolor of the bluebells dotted with rain. Each drop sparkled in the light and cast its own shadow. As I thought of you taking the time to paint each droplet with its own being, I was able to slow down the pace of my breathing and tame the monkey-brain. Thank you, Candace, for another stunning post.
Thank you! I love John O'Donohue as well, and often reach for that very book. Your illustrations and offering of beauty were just what I needed today. ❤️
After losing my soulmate barely a month go, this was exactly what I needed today, so thank you.
Now, if I could just figure out who I am without her, I would know how to return to myself -- whoever that is.
Your time with your children is but a treasure you will draw inspiration for the rest of your days. They will grow confident of their world in your presence, let their journey give you confidence they too will travel well!
Thank You for this. 🙏🏻
Thank you! What a beautiful poem! It really touched me and reminded me of my year of convalescence after my burnout / nervous breakdown / complete exhaustion in 2023. And I did return to myself, actually, although I would not have thought it possible. I am so grateful! ❤️
Thank you Candace Rose!
I have loved this since I first read it years ago… ‘Take refuge in your senses…’ has become a mantra for me. Thank you for your illustration.
I loved the stillness I felt while reading this. May every breath you take in this journey be the wind that takes you home...back to you. You are seen, and remembered. What you do matters! Thank you, Candace :')
"You traveled too fast over false ground
And now your soul has come to take you back."
Just the perspective I needed on my exhaustion, and now I know there is a way back to joy.
What a beautiful poem. Thank you for sharing 🩵
And the self you will return to will be wiser, stronger, kinder, more empathetic, more grateful, and happier because of those little lives you brought into the world.
There’s this odd feeling I have that I’ve never heard anyone comment about. From the time I knew my wife was pregnant, it seemed like I already somehow knew the kids and that feeling only increased over the years. It’s a kind of intimacy I never anticipated. Is this the flesh of my flesh and blood of my blood intimacy in real time?
I love this book, and particularly this poem/blessing. Thank you for honoring it, and exhaustion, and returning to self today.