Are Good Neighbors the turning point in chronic illness? (2 of 2)

Seeing well—seeing and feeling more of this world—may be the key to turning the corner with long Covid or chronic illness. At least it seems that way to me. Ok, story time.

Simply by being so sick for so long and talking with more and more people I encountered, I've gathered several stories of people who had long Covid realizing that one thing—finally—really, really helped them. I've heard personal and brave and eventually startling and joyful tales that only the wisest and bravest of noticers, teachers, and stories can share. Or, equally likely in my culture, stories like this are absolutely everywhere but only the most exhausted, or humbled, or grieving, and/or broken-wide-open adults are fully present and humble enough to take the time notice, see, and hear them. Stories like these are not sound bites. You can't skim through to pick the key idea or two that works for you. They're not about the ideas. If you want ideas, return to Part 1. Stories like these are about the feelings. They are harrowing and exhilarating real experiences. They are long, wending stories that require your presence, respect, and wonder. Shared goosebumps, tears, or laughter.

I'm not going to tell anybody else's story here—though the stories I've gathered are all amazing, wonderous, strange, miraculous. I can say that the one thing that truly helps turn the corner on long Covid looks different from person to person, but it feels the same. It feels the same. You know it when you feel it, from within. That spark. It is brought forth by a serendipitous combination of invisible-to-most events or surprises in your life that make you feel some combination of this for a moment: a) fully seen for who you truly are, b) ok with centering on what brings you relief or joy again for at least moment, c) happy to be on earth as who you are right now (horrifying symptoms, scary circumstances, fear, pain, weirdness, and all), d) so present that you can feel everything around you contributing or breathing together for a moment, e) at peace with the amount of control you have in a chaotic universe, in an isolation-and-violence-spreading country, and in a struggling body, and/or, f) surprised, curious, and interested in your own story again and your people's story.

The shift is subtle. And it feels like a miracle.

Here's my story. My turning point with long Covid, I suspect.

The wonderful human who I've gotten massages from in years past–when I was in pain for different reasons–was completely booked this summer, for months out, when I reached out to her. Silly me, getting chronically ill during high tourist season on the island! So, I found someone new: a stranger whose good energy I could feel through her ad in our south Whidbey Drewslist classifieds. When the Sunday of the massage finally arrived, I could not wait for some pain relief! A friend who I hadn't seen in years stopped by the hour before my massage, to gather some mugwort. I learned she was facing a divorce, selling a home, looking for a new place to live—worried about needing to give up her dog–a full life upheaval, so the garden and I shared other herbal summer bounty with her. We spend a lovely hour together and then packed her car full of bags of lemon verbena, lemon balm, catmint, motherwort, and the mugwort she'd come for, before I raced off to the massage...

I had never been to the building where my new masseuse works. It's just a few minutes from our house, but I didn't realize how lovely the woods around it were. The building looks like it just sprung up there, like a mushroom. Because it was a Sunday afternoon, she was the only practitioner present in the building. Hers was the only car in the parking lot. The moment I parked beside her, it started to sprinkle. "That's strange," I thought. There was no rain in our sunny, late-July forecast.

Because the building was surrounded by trees, I was already in my happy place. I walked up the exterior stairs to the second (and top) floor, and instead of focusing on how wrecked my body feels now when climbing stairs, I noticed that the thick, soft-strong railings were beautiful and clearly handmade, likely with local windfall wood. After a decade of living against and within a forest, I can usually feel the difference between windfall wood and clear-cut wood. There's a significant difference. But I digress. That railing said more happy place. As I walked into her room, the view out the tall old windows was all kind trees and welcome-unexpected summer rain. And as I laid down onto the massage table, the soothing rain began to fall a little harder. Oh God, this is starting to sound like porn. Sorry, it's not. ;-)

She did a great job with the massage, and we chatted periodically about ideas for dealing with long Covid, stagnant lymph, and chronic illness. We also talked about grief settling into lungs and yoga poses to support moving grief. She let me fully rest–she insisted on it, actually, and several times called me out when my body was trying to do the holding in my neck or legs instead of being held. The differences between this care and western medicine couldn't be more stark. She took total care of me for that one hour. The whole place did. One whole hour. I realized how much having a fully present, fully locked-in, caregiver means. I spent the past few decades aspiring to be that for my Mom and Dad. Realized that—like most heterosexual women, I suspect—I don't have anyone who can fully do the same for me. Realized how much I needed that care. Realized how magic women are. How much care and focus and presence we can pack into–or maybe pull from–just one hour together and also how long we can make the magic of being cared for last. We can stretch that one hour of being fully seen and cared for out, wrap it around a distant star, and bring it back again.

Near the end of our time together, real magic happened. This healing stranger said to me: "You have tremendous fairy energy."

What?! What did that mean? I love being deeply surprised. How long has it been since I was surprised to my core like that? Wow did I need that. Ok. That's what someone like me needs to heal, I suspect. Moments of utter surprise and delight.

You have tremendous fairy energy.

I was stunned into momentary silence by her brave foray into the woo. I was also stunned because in that moment I felt more fully seen by this stranger than by everyone who claims to know me– including my exhausted self– this past year. My stunned silence worried her, and she said, "I'm sorry. Was that ok to say?" I was off floating in a dark forest for a moment. I came back and said something like "Of course that was ok. I just had to wonder about that for a minute. You're right. And I do have far more tree and plant friends than human friends. Fairy energy. Hmmm..."

As I walked to my car, the sky opened and it began to pour on me. It was so beautiful standing there alone in the parking lot, surrounded by trees, my neck, head, and shoulders not in pain for a change. The warm rain felt so good on my skin. It was like I could feel both the earth and forest breathing with me for a moment. That is, I was breathing with them. And even though I knew that I am still going to be usually sore and usually fatigued and often worried and sometimes sad about long Covid for an unknown amount of time, who I am at my core—a being centered on wonder, surrounded by wonder—had still been seen be a stranger! That spark. It's there. That "I'm still here! I'm still me!" feeling is magic.

My worries about whether or not I would have the energy to spend an hour hand-watering the garden and fruit trees back at home vanished. The sky took that task off my plate, the way Daniel has done as well. I feel no guilt when the sky waters for me. Thank you, sky. I felt fully seen and truly free and powerful and connected to the land and other wise beings. Otherwise beings. Fairies. Good Neighbors. I felt like the whole forest. The whole planet. In that moment, I felt like me again. The real me. And there it is. The turning point.

A moment of utter surprise and delight.

I suspect that the turning point with long Covid, for me, was being fully seen by a total stranger, deeply surprised by what the world just handed me as gifts, and present enough to notice the gifts that she and the living earth offered me, right here, where I am. That's power. Real power. My power. In that moment I felt like I could have caused an earthquake had I been in the mood for one. I wasn't wrong. That power is mine. And by mine, I mean ours. Regardless of what anyone else on earth is doing. Regardless of what even my own body is doing. I don't know that everyone needs the surprise part or the unexpected weather part or the brave stranger part of that story. Those are maybe just our local Good Neighbor things. But the feeling absolutely seen and absolutely like the real self that you most love—for one moment—that's important.

In that moment, I felt like me again. The real me. And there it is. The turning point.

When I got home, her words were still with me. Both Writer Me and Researcher Me recognize that deep magic. Not wanting to bother our trees with such a silly human question, I typed the words "What does it mean when someone says you have fairy energy?" into DuckDuckGo, and this article of the same name came up. Every word resonated except the word purity—ick, fie on that word—but enough resonated that I knew she was right. She saw something I'd been missing. She named something I couldn't name. I read a couple more articles—this one and then this one—to round out the introductory experience, because I'm old enough to know that Good Neighbors or fairies cross cultures and that not all fairy energy is as light and airy and breezy as the first article described it to be. How had I forgotten? I will go deeper with in-person others soon about this.

Fairy energy means that you exude playfulness, joy, lightness, and grace. Deep connection to nature. Authenticity. Experienced as magical or mystical by many. Supportive of creativity and imagination. Yes, and, depending on who you ask, it is also ancient, wild, unpredictable, and challenging. Deeply woven into the land, fairy energy requires nothing less than complete respect and full presence. Ok, so that's like all my favorite, and most difficult, teachers. I can live with that. In some traditions, fairy energy requires presence, caution, and honesty—especially with and about yourself—or it can be dangerous. "Ah, ok, that's the post-menopausal fairies then." I thought to myself. ;-) They go by different names, and in some places where they're feared, they're called the Good Neighbors. The word fairy isn't spoken allowed, as a sign of even deeper respect.

I texted my new masseuse to thank her for the deep gift of being both well taken care of and also seen so well. I received a fairy emoji in response. Maybe she's a fairy. She's definitely a good neighbor. You don't have to believe in them to find wonder, magic, or lessons in the spaces between. You can find clues. Or glimmers. I wasn't sure if I believed in them either, until this post kept freezing my entire browser when I tried to add the photo. That never happens. Apparently, Good Neighbors get final approval of all photos associated with them, and they also wanted to be called Good Neighbors, not fairies, by me, in our story. Well seen and heard and felt, neighbors. Seen, heard, felt, greeted with respect or wonder—not just within me but within all my actions that impact others. Got it. Wow do I get it now.

We humans have so much to unlearn and learn. So much to receive from the land we're on and the planet we call home. So much to offer when fully present.

What else did your ancestors believe in? Or your neighbors, right now—what do they believe but don't share until they feel safe?
Who lives in the woods or in the tall grass beside the house of worship?
What moves in the dark spaces?
What can be seen and felt in the cracks? In the sky?
Who else protected your ancestors and theirs?
What did they celebrate?
How did they sense the presence of things they couldn't yet see?
What did they plant and eat and share and offer for abundance and for protection? What did they offer to the land? To the unseen?
What could only the children see? Only the elders? Only the seers? What could only the animals see? Only the field and the forest?
What happened—still happens—when they were forced to renounce and let go of their own ways and magic?
What did only the truly lucky and the fully present and fully respectful see and feel?

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May you find your way back to their knowing.
May you find your way back to your knowing.
Back to your ways. Back to your magic. Back to being curious about everything.

May your turning point with long Covid, chronic illness, or chronic difficulties be so much closer than you suspect.
So close that you can smell it, taste it, and feel it.

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