Antidotes to Chaos

& we so loved the Earth

Chaos but make it cute

It has been hot. Too hot.

My dad, child of the desert that he is, has implemented the following schedule: submerge yourself in water whenever possible and don’t go outside between 11 in the morning and 4 in the afternoon. He loves a routine like no one I’ve ever encountered in my life, and over the weekend, that looked like a morning swim followed by breakfast, even though I’m not a breakfast person. Then he’d ask, “What’s our plan for the day?” It’s not an easy question to answer if you, like me, aren’t into structure and instead sort of somersault from one hour to the next.

We came into the city earlier this week for my daily doses of chemo, and my dad, who loves perambulating as much as he loves a routine, has us going on walks. Longtime readers may recall that he often introduces the idea by saying, “Je vais te promener,” which translates as, “I will walk you”—so it always feels like our strolls to the park are as much for me as for the dogs. The other day, after chemo, I was given the option of IV hydration. I didn’t want to do it—I just wanted to go home. My dad was not pleased, so I promised him and, as our witness, Marjorie, the nurse who always takes my vitals, that I’d drink the equivalent liter of water. “When you come in tomorrow, I’m going to ask your dad if you did it!” she said. So in addition to breakfast and walks, we’re also negotiating water consumption.

It’s good to have this routine and accountability, of course—it means I don’t forgo these things that I know are good for me. I even started thinking that a routine might help twist me out of this creative rut I’ve been in. I’m yearning for the feeling of being immersed in a new project, something I wake up thinking about and fall asleep dreaming about. I love getting lost in the world of my creative work—but even my journal entries have felt rote and full of resistance as of late. In fact, this week I didn’t crack the spine of my journal at all.

I tried to reach back into my memory, to recall my own good habits. What worked in the past? Or what fresh rituals could I adopt? There’s a book I used to keep on my desk for just such moments—it’s called Daily Rituals by

Mason Currey

, and it details how various writers and artists throughout history went about their work. I don’t believe you can miraculously copy-paste your way to inspiration. It’s not like I read someone else’s routines and rituals and think, “If only I get up and drink beet juice and walk ten miles with my special walking cane that I whittled from an oak tree in my backyard, I too shall write the next great American novel!” But there’s something fascinating about getting a glimpse into others’ rhythms and routines. It’s both fun and energizing, and often for me it sets off a little spark.

But this time, I’ve decided to ask a handful of the writers and artists from The Book of Alchemy about their routines—what gets them to the page, what tools they reach for, and how they summon the muse when she’s playing hooky. I loved hearing their answers, and I’d love to share them with you, too. And so I’m excited to announce a new summer series called the Journaler’s Routine, which I’ll be sharing in collaboration with Random House on the Isolation Journals’ Instagram. For those who aren’t on social media, I’ll also be sending an extended version of the Journaler’s Routine via this newsletter.

I’m planning to go first, next week, so if you have specific questions about my routine—or my current lack thereof!—drop them in the comments. In the meantime, there’s no better place to resume your journaling practice than with this very newsletter, using the words of today’s prompt contributor. The writer and doula

Madison Murphy Barney

shares a poem, equal parts heartbreaking and healing, called “And We So Loved the Earth.”

May it ground you. May it help you find balance on this broken yet beautiful planet.

Some Items of Note—

• If you missed our last gathering of the Hatch, our monthly creative hour for paid subscribers, we’ve posted a video replay. This time, it was all about airing your dirty laundry—at least metaphorically! Don’t miss the recap here.

• In addition to limited stock of the Book of Alchemy tote and the Wonder sweatshirt, by popular demand we’ve brought back the Isolation Journal No. 1. Get yours here!

Henri Matisse, Luxe, Calme et Volupté (1904)

Prompt 344. And We So Loved the Earth by Madison Murphy Barney

Part I of an infinite prayer

And we so loved the Earth while we danced and made offerings before planting and asking for nourishment.

We recognized that we have taken too much. We grieved taking too much. We allowed ourselves to be responsible. We held the powerful accountable.

We so loved the Earth so we made room for mystery and uncertainty. We set flowers free from their plastic pots and watched them gallop across fields. We honored the changes the Earth has made to adjust to our behaviors. We learned to read her storms from the eye.

We so loved the Earth’s grace at holding picnics. We followed the underground web of living beings across the forest floor, through the jungle’s towering elders, and beneath the mountains on the ocean’s floor. We followed this web until we remembered that we are one creature in many forms.

We so loved the Earth as we tended to her scars, delighted in the queerness of lichen and all of our relations. We picked up everyone’s trash because we didn’t have time to figure out if it was from them or them or them or us.

And we so loved our planet so we came to approach her with desires instead of demands. We saved our demands for the pillagers of creation.

We so loved the Earth so we kissed the toads. We slowed way, way down and ate some flowers. We compared Dahlia tubers to clouds. We whistled through the tops of acorns.

Your prompt for the week:

Add your own lines to this infinite prayer for the Earth, using the refrain, “We so loved the Earth…” Write about ways you loved the earth through the years, from childhood to adulthood, in gestures small and grand, from individual acts to communal rituals.

Today’s Contributor—

Madison Murphy Barney is a Two Spirit sister, author, doula, and public health storyteller. Her work explores connection to self, each other, the planet, and awe—primary themes in her forthcoming book Our Ancestors Want Us to Be Mushrooms and her weekly newsletter Our Medicine. She is on a rematriation journey in the woods of Vermont alongside her beloved partner & community. If you’d like to add your lines to her collective prayer, you can message Madison here.

The Book of Alchemy: A guide to the art of journaling—and a meditation on the central questions of life

Whether you’re a lifelong journaler or new to the practice, The Book of Alchemy gives you the tools and encouragement to peel back the layers, dream daringly, uncover your truest self—and in doing so, to learn to hold the unbearably brutal and astonishingly beautiful facts of life in the same palm. If you haven’t yet, you can get your copy here!