Monthly Archives: November 2010
Each step I take brings me into deeper healing, brings me back to poetry, opens my heart to sky!
It was just a short walk today…from camp to water’s edge. I jogged back up the hill, though. This weekend I refused to rush myself. I did little of what I had planned and I slept a lot.
On the ride to camp, I read poetry by Russel Thorburn from his book, “The Whole Tree as Told to the Backyard”
I love these lines:
At my typewriter close to the window/the cold earned its right to be a metaphor,/but none could be found as we heard/the tree crouching in its dreams.
We took things from the yard and garage (at Craig Street) to camp for winter storage. We brought home wood for the garage woodstove. I picked up buckets and pots. Found three small pumpkins in the garden.
We dropped lumber at Michael and Beth’s home, too.
Dinner was re-warmed roast chicken and I smoothed yesterday’s leftover mashed potatoes into a casserole dish and baked them until slightly crusty.
Now, I have little energy for anything else.
I feel ice forming. It’s below 30-degrees. I am ready for an afghan and more poetry.
I am learning to live in the pink! Pink used to be the color of “days off” in my planner. I would carefully highlight the “off” in pink. Pink is time to be me. Relax. My main job is blue. Sub-teaching green–for x-tra green in my pocket. Now time focused on my biz, photos, writing is yellow. Yellow is JOY! Pink, is still the goal. Pinks keep me light and open.
My current top-selling photo at Zero Degrees Artist Cooperative is “Blue Web”. I sing with joy every time I sell this photo of a dead fly! It’s a moody piece yet I feel it speaks of hope and offers promise.
This photo is also available at my Etsy Store.
I have been selling my photography and working as a participating artist at Zero Degrees Artist Cooperative located at 525 North Third Street, Marquette, Michigan. I am living the dream. The dream has just begun.
More photography appears at our Zero Degrees Facebook Page .
What is your home? Is it a shelter made of wood or brick? Or is it more than a shelter. Is it the people in the shelter you share the space with? Or is it a sense of you, a self that is comfortable enough to let others come close and share in moments.
And are you comfortable enough with self to allow others to share with you? Can you breathe air with another and not feel stifled or suppressed?
At work do you feel suppressed or are you strong enough in the stance of your being to be rooted and unshaken?
I want more strong days. I am thinking of my core like xylem and phloem in a tree. I want sap to flow strong from root to leaf.
My dogwood just beyond the deck has found itself. The many colors of its being radiate in all weather. The snows will come and blanket the street where the crow calls me in the morning. The dogwood will watch how I listen. Witness the days unfolding.
My writings which came in two sessions today. I was s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g myself today. And guess what! There was enough of me to go around.
Session 1 excerpts:
A pink geranium reminded me that with the season changing this momentum could spur my own growth and survival. Devil’s night I was bringing flowerpots from the front yard back to the shed and a pink geranium was about to bloom. I thought I will help you survive “little pink” and took the pot inside.
This pink geranium then spurred me to rearrange the whole healing-art studio upstairs. I now see this as a three-day arrangement complete with dust balls the size of guinea pigs. But the process will reach into winter.
Last night, as I drove home from the 3-11 shift at the group home the Wells Fargo Bank sign reported 32 degrees. The windows of my car had already started to frost. Mike reports he must finish fixing the snow blower, because snow is predicted for later this week. Heavy, wet,-first snow the kind you rather wait out in your home until the next warm day.
I woke to the golden glow casting itself through the living room and past the red orange dogwood. The cat is snoring next to me on the couch and I can hear crows outside.
Session 2 excerpts:
I think of the hostas in the garden that are decaying with each frost. I hear predictions of snow. I think of things I need to lay to rest over the coming days.
They tell me how to fly. I fly. I photo. I clip and even sew. I look forward to this new endeavor.
I see new friends. I channel. I swim with the fishes.
Orange fish. Blue fish. Green fish. Two fish. Or the tiny fish swimming in the channel, today. Squirming in shallow water and travelling too quick for my camera. Away to new shelter.
Foot paths. Bridges. The suspension bridge at Song Bird. River sitting. Soup.
I must make soup and roast squash and bake goodness and share with many.
Abundance and making things happen. All around me have been signs of an abundant life and sometimes I am lucky enough to take notice. Like yesterday when discovered the grapes withering on yellow grape vines in my own backyard. At first, my mind went straight to how we had wasted an opportunity. Then I looked for that unseen benefit and the birds jumping around the yard and I thought my little tweeting friends were happy due to the abundance in our yard. These grapes would keep songbirds happy and well-nourished. And the textures and color opened my eyes, brought me to a pause and centered me.
River sitting, a new pastime. Saturday I attended the Farmer’s Market and bought potato soup from Dancing Crane Cafe. I took my tiny carton of soup out to the woods at Songbird trail and sat in a third world crouch, back up against a tree, camera slung over my shoulder, sipping soup and watching water flow. I could hear the roar of the waves at the delta. Lake Superior was a force. She was making herself hear. But I took refuge under pine. Wintergreen with red berries hinted of winter. It was Devil’s Night. Michael’s Birthday. I was coming to terms with working a weekend, working the 3pm to 11pm shift, missing Michael’s Birthday, missing Halloween and my Grandson, missing Mike.
I looked at my refection in the water and I thought it is a good time for change, my body is healing from Celiac, and I now have the strength to move forward. The sky is not always blue like on this Monday morning where I write from the sofa in my living room. Some days are gray and raining drops fall on the river. But we have soup. We can create and choose inner warmth and we can still appreciate the day. These are the steps I am taking. This is the courage to change.