Transitional Period

We are in transition.

Things look very different than they did a month ago.
Things look very different than they did this morning.

But.

I am moving consciously, slowly, forward.

And.

I have really good collaborators.

So for now that is all.

And enough. 

Waiting

An adaptation from Mexico

She and he were meant to be.

And were kept apart for 

Unjust Reasons. He stayed

Nearby, because of a promise made,

but not far enough.

She fed his legacy

Because it was also hers. 

But not.

When that life was

Taken,

She went into a deep depression,

And was away for a while.

Eventually she came

back, though she'd gotten close to staying. 

She had learned

about Light, and matches, that if they are made with silver nitrate and a human

Consumed them,

They would combust and all would be still.

They were reunited,

Because circumstances changed, 

And they reignited, 

But did not consummate. 

Or they did.

Not important.

Because of Another promise, they were still officially hidden, 

Till finally and with great fanfare that promise was fulfilled, and

They joyfully joined

Hands.

The skins were less supple, and though they tried to be slow,

His heart gave

Out too much.

She alone again, ate

All the matches she could find,

and reached out. 

Cycle

I have been writing a lot, but not here.

It took me a long time to come to terms with the reality that things are always changing, and that a routine that works for a while might not work forever.  And that by following one's feel good one does the most good possible.

It is disappointing if one still feels the need for that grip, to let it go. This is a great lesson of jiu-jitsu.

Today was a day back, it felt like, a fall beginning. Rosh Hashanah has always felt like an appropriate time to start the book again, and we had a great celebration. I even got to do an impromptu renewal ceremony with my friends who dance. I wrote this poem:

I am sorry
                  I was afraid
                                  I will
                  I am

                Enough.


And then I wrapped it in silver paper and a pink string and lit it on fire and skipped it down Nashoba Brook.  And today I read about how when Buddhist monks finish those beautiful sandpainting mandalas they brush all the sand together and let it loose in running water, so that the blessing might be shared.  And I read a story in my book about India yesterday about how Hinduism (where mandalas probably originated) is the most likely candidate for universal religion, because it accepts everything and all gods.

I am not sure yet how this all relates.

But.

I took this picture on Labor Day, traditionally summer's last day, with my mother and my daughter and some friends, and it reminded me that for a beginning to be there must be an end. Chaos is the shadow of purity, pointing toward practice.

 

I am going as slowly as I can, paying attention.

I see you shiver...

with anti...ci...PATION.

Winter is coming. My feet are cold again in the morning. 

I have a friend, whose husband has been going through super-duper transition over the last few years, since their daughter was born. He is in a major depressive phase right now.  After having done all kinds of amazing and eyebrow-raising things in recent history, now he is incapacitated. It is hard on her and she doesn't feel she has enough space to be close to him. We talk a lot about it, because she doesn't think he actually included her in the process of transition, and now he wants a lot of attention.  Perhaps he is just resting, I say to her. Or perhaps he got addicted to the high of extreme change, and is missing that. Or perhaps he does have some major brain chemistry to work through and drugs  might be helpful.

I am learning that all of these things can be true, and equally so, at the same time.

A lot of people have been coming into my life recently. A lot of love; a lot of stories. Some of them hurt, but I am amazed at how powerful a catalyst is the pain. Last night, I was served by an older Nepalese woman who was stunningly beautiful. (The India Project is now code-named: Katmandu) And a street drunk with amazing eyes kept coming over to me and saying,"You are awesome. Awesome. (hand movement gesturing to all of me) Just awesome." And reconnection with my tribe, and integrating desire.

I am staying in the flow, because when you are actually in a wave, right? In a wave, the ups and downs feel balanced, and equally fabulous. (hush thee my baby, the night is behind us, and black are the waters that sparkled so green...)

I am moving slowly... to move consciously and not cautiously, because the slower I move the faster I get there.

I am enjoying the mosquito bites. 

And I see you.

Only one choice...

Love? Fear? I think I am zeroing in...

Grabbing Waves

So. Waves. Everywhere, right?

I think I am on an upswing, but not yet fully at the apex of the wave. My juice this morning was a potent combination of concord grape, basil, parsley and green bean, all grown in our yard. I almost had visions. This earth is powerful stuff and some of my favorite people are very present to me right now.

And isn't it interesting about waves? About how at the peak of one, you feel totally amazing, even though you KNOW you are going to crash, but then you also KNOW that another wave will follow and you'll get to peak again.

I think this is the notion behind the story I love so much, about how when everything is going very wrong something amazing is on it's way, and we just need to be distracted by all the crappy things so it can gather it's energy and be born.

I am thinking about this because our car is soon to be kaput, our TV is already kaput, and Lil chose a pair of pink cowboy boots for back to school instead of the super-awesome blue-star sneakers I'd picked out.

BUT: My friend sent me this link to a blog that now I love. It is of course called "Grabbing the Wave."


AND: Also I have been getting lots of hints about India, and am reading this great book about that subcontinent right now, and have you seen The Darjeeling Limited? Because that is a crazy flick, in which Anjelica Huston channels my mother. And I correctly identified my friend as a Plentimaw Fish this weekend, which is a reference to Haroun and the Sea of Stories, a book I believe to be Salman Rushdie's best.

I feel a gathering of the tribe. How bout you?  

Wellfleet

We went to the beach and some great thoughts visited. Here is my favorite:

When you give something meaning, it becomes meaningful. To live a life of meaning, make everything meaningful.

It works on a lot of levels. Like:

When you give something love, it feels loved. To live a life of love, love everything.

When you give something power, it becomes powerful. To live a life of power, make everything powerful. 

Also, I saw this one day at the beach. It was amazing.

Do you see what I saw?