Reworking – Moment by Moment
- She’s lost another tooth. The lack of any baby-ness in her face and attitude right now is scaring the crap out of me. My tool box feels dusty. Old ways of doing are rapidly becoming extinct. NEED NEW TOOLS NOW!
- My garden is one of the most amazing pieces of art I’ve ever created. Truly the essence of what beauty is. What a little seed can do. Climbing just like my girl into adolescence. They are both shaking me to my very core every time I look their way.
- Thinking of Pa, Dad and Don today. And the way that I am becoming more and more entangled in the web of him-hood. I’ve always been a girl of girls, women surrounding women, only letting in the few men in my life. For the first time, I’m opening to the possibility. Loss allows for so much newness.
- The day dad had his heart attack I stopped cleaning my house. I’m not sure what this is about and what to do other than keep closing doors when people come over. Priorities, the whiff of possible mortality in the air, carrying more and more terrifying sadness with me day to day? I don’t have the answer but I must figure this out soon.
- Writing. I thought I would quit you. But then all of a sudden, my fingers ache to word-play all day long. It’s been my computer and me for days, reworking my head into something I can live with. Hopefully.
- Poetry and music have taken over my entire synapses. It must be Solstice romancing me back to the earth. (As I wrote that last sentence, thunder rolled and lightening struck. Must be an omen.)
by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.