Monday, October 21, 2013

:at rest:

...but i did post over on my 'zen blog', check it out if you're into that sort of thing.

now, back to my knitting (photos to follow, i promise), researching (chronic conditions amok around here, i swear) & enjoying this glorious autumn.

you know, resting :)

Friday, August 16, 2013


post, damn you! post!
just post something!!

it is a long time later, since; and now i find i am still waiting, waiting-for-what, always waiting,
so-long-waiting that suddenly i have decided, i am resting in the wait,
which sort of rather makes me wait-less?

and waitless as i am, i rest, knowing not a thing
(not quite lupus, but very lupus-y, and wondering why we don't just call it that, why don't we)
still longing for an answer, but not expecting the immediacy i had held fast to.

in the meantime?
i've been digging through old photos, sorting through and editing and polishing-up as much as one can with these antiquities from the 1990's,
creating a wee gallery, the
laughing pebble studio.

i am gathering courage to make like my patron saint
and just Frieda again, already!

waiting. waiting. for what?

Wednesday, December 5, 2012


this morning i recognized, my 'waiting season' has begun... 
6 years ago, it was the waiting for my son's birth.  last year, it was the waiting to move to our new Home. This Year, i am waiting for a doctor to call, perhaps with life-changing news. 
i think back to a phrase- a quote by either Suzuki or Katagiri roshi, i forget- which has always buoyed me, especially in each december:

waiting.  waiting.  for what?

welcome, Advent. chilly days wanting for heat, with a mind like a glowing sunrise... 
Cate Kerr, 'Sun Coming Up and Smiling Through the Window', Dec. 3, 2012.
Waking up, in the middle of my Waiting.  Always this seems to happen in the first days of December, with its branches bare and its sleepy, cold days.  I've created a soft burrow of pillows and blankets in a cozy room at the rear of the old house.  Windows are abundant here, and so I look thoughtfully at my surrounds, though barely recognizing them at first, accustomed as I am to the lush green cover of neighboring trees.  Now new features catch my eye as I peek out of my burrow, and my eye opens wider.  And just like that, with a stretch and a yawn, I feel more aware of my living than I have been in months!  Oh, that mischievous irony of winter...

It has always made so much more sense to me that the new year should begin at winter's edge, with days darkening so much more early.  There seems an innate call for rest, and review: the natural end drawing one to review the last endeavor, before beginning anew.  Before I became pregnant with my son this was only an intuition; only when my baby arrived in this world did I appreciate the long, slow nurturing of gestation, of pregnant moments, of life's deepening autumn.  It is at winter's edge that the seed-- all combined hopes and experiences encapsulated in a tiny, power-laden package-- finds root in the quiet, unmoving cold that the season provides.  And just as a baby does, all that is new before us must first nestle in this nutritive state before the first tentative fronds of new life have the strength to stretch into a wider space. 
finishing up Kate Davies' o w l s
waiting.  waiting.  for what?

Sunday, June 17, 2012

The End is Near!

I would guess that it might be easy to understand why repenting might be on the mind of a person suffering the incessant consequence of chronic illness.  It's not too hard to see why a person (like myself) might make why me?  what have i done to deserve this?  and how can i get out of this? something of a constant mantra.

And truth is, with this mantra, and times being what they are, I've become something of an Armageddonist, trapped day in and out on my couch in the living room inside of my small apartment, surveying the current state of our planet from my own tidy little corner trying to figure out the unfigurable, and dreading the consequence of our carelessness.  As such, my computer has become my window, and the internet a frame delivering all manners of view in the world.  I am especially addicted to youtube, which I watch now fairly religiously.  Always I'm peeking into the past, seeking out old programs like Edwardian Country House or The Wartime Kitchen seeking out clues of continuity and survival.  Or I'm watching documentaries chronicling days of future past-- the prophecies of the Maya, the Biblical, the Native American.  Most often, though, I'm devouring the productions of two who take a keen interest on what's happening in the oddity that is now: Dutchsince and 2012 Message.  I suppose I enjoy them most as they point to the issues, and leave it to my own mind to draw the conclusions I might be most comfortable with.

But the truth is, I'm really no Armageddonist.  The mention of the Mayan Calendar makes my eyes roll, just as the New-Age occupation with 'evolving our consciousness' nauseates me.  And don't get me started on the Buddhists... oh, my dear community.  Repent now.  Change.   Hell awaits if you cannot fight all that is wrong with you!  What the hell is wrong with you?

This morning I picked up a copy of Peter Russell's Waking Up in Time, a treatise that outlines where we have gone so wrong, and what we must do in order to evolve from this mess, to save ourselves from the destruction that is of our own making.  And, truth is, for the most part?  I agree with him.  I really do.  And still, not halfway through the end of it, I found my mind picking at flares, biting the laser of my tongue.  And so?  At length, I decided to write and finally find the core of the annoyance that rises up in me so fitfully.  What is it about this stuff that makes me so aggro?

  • Because truly, Waking Up in Time offers a loving balance between science and art, or intellect and heart.  It offers a healthy orientation to the predicament we find ourselves in, regarding war, famine, environmental uncertainty… In this, it offers hope, and control.  But…
  •       It's still very much a ‘linear’ view: as in, the threat of the catastrophe awaiting us would “set back” evolution, perhaps to the point of life needing to “return to the sea” (because of the ultraviolet rays of the sun piercing our thinned atmosphere)—“a setback of half a million years or more”.  Yet, this is a linear view, a very human-oriented view, and one that places value judgments on the past (we’ve evolved to a better being), concluding small is not as good as large (single-cell organisms are inferior to more complex, multi-cell organisms), which suggest that life as we know it now is some sort of pinnacle from which existence can only fall, or transcend.
  •      Inadvertently, he submits to the very idea he would like to reject: namely, that human beings—homo sapiens sapiensare the wisest, are the center, and must be the center.  The will to exist and to continue existing is strong; can we imagine a life of this planet without us?  Truly, that must be something we consider, no matter how unpalatable: the world may well go on without us.
  •       A change of consciousness cannot be a decision.  A ‘change of consciousness’ is an idea—it is mind-centered, and truly, human mind believes it is at the center.  Thus, our idea of a last-minute and necessary-for-our-survival change of consciousness is simply another trick of our mind, a desperate attempt to ensure the survival of our being.
  •      Everything has consciousness. But what is that consciousness?  Does it look like our human consciousness?  If it does not, does that mean it may not exist?  Or, does that make it inferior?  We bat around this word consciousness, again as though our own were the apex.  Why else would we fend off the idea of regressing to the form of mitochondria so desperately?
  •      Rather, look at the system: is it not possible that the system of existence itself is conscious?  That it lives and breathes in a way both familiar—because we are an echo of its vast system—yet foreign—because it is beyond the scope of what a homo sapiens sapiens can conceive in its limited conceptual framework of dualism?
  •       Implicit in the present understanding, common to all cultures and points-of-view, is that something within us must be destroyed or overcome before Heaven can return to Earth—and, subtly, that we can enjoy peace on Earth again; and more subtly still, that we have separated ourselves from this heaven which is away and able to return in the first place.

Again and again, I notice there is a reader in me, a second ‘self’ if you will, reading these words my mind produces.  In-between thoughts there seems to be a witness to my thinker; in-between thoughts, in that calm space, something exists.  And so frames the question I ask myself again and again: Again and again, I return to, Who is this witness?  What is the Mind within the mind, the Watcher of these thoughts, that which does not judge nor hold them?  What is beyond decision itself, beyond destruction, beyond construct? 

Becoming intimate with this detail – this intimate study is the key that opens the door to a much wider possibility, one beyond death, Armageddon, and end.

I find myself repeating Dogen, and immersing myself in a brightly comforting riddle, I rest not in hope, but in sacred friendship:

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Here lately...

Knitting baskets have been emptied,
& knitting filled (...for friends, mind you!);

Old jewels (begat from jewels older still)
have been uncovered;

breakfast eaten,
options considered,

old ('s pants!) made new (...a field bag!),
and appreciated.

Now, you might be tempted to think that this is all I've been up to--
sittin' happy in the woods, knittin' (though honestly, it doesn't get much better)--

but quite honestly, there's just one thing that's taken up most of my mind-space of late.
(OK, ok, maybe two things)

and all the omens say
'tis time for a new approach, a new noting of detail,
a new path in these tired, old shoes.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Tender Shoots

(Well, that went quickly, didn't it?)
Blink, it's gone!
Welcome Spring!

I have a new friend,

to compliment my new view;

and while these please me to no end, I am ever-clearly realizing that I must admit,
I am not at all well.

However, there's a silver lining in that my new doctor (whom I think I love nearly as much as my new friend & my new view) has given me a reassuring diagnosis that no, the severe symptoms are not all in my head thankyouverymuch... Indeed I have a bothersome disease, an Undifferentiated Connective Tissue Disease, or, Lupus-Like, to compliment my Fibromyalgia.

And so now I practice making my view even more fluid,

and I grab some yarn

(with which I fashion a pair of very smart Fairy Boots)

and I collect my thoughts:

Oh, bother.
I collect more yarn.

Friday, January 13, 2012

a matter of months

...i've been 'occupied'. ;)

and, surprise, surprise.

by september, i could walk a little further. and my little family & i followed a promising lead, and once there found ourselves in a strange and delightful garden among pines. i made such friends with this place-- and my boys did, too-- that we all decided to stay.

i began my walking with precision and care, being faithful with my meds, leaning on friends and especially my husband... (there's a strength, you know, that has nothing to do with muscles, or decisions. you let go, and it just happens.)

there was a shift in me, a profound one, one i could not move to catch; a shift of old, uncooperative bones that for an amazing (to me) 4 months refused whatsoever to move, and a slowed mind, unable to breathe that precious air of certainty. it took its own time, took me along with it, for once not kicking-and-screaming. because, i couldn't.

all the months before? they are foggy, but gorgeous, and rich.

the boys returned from vermont with the harvest that i could not pick, but indeed i could cook, and that's what i did-- slowly, carefully, and with pleasure. nourishment was measured, and appreciation, abundant.

and as it turns out? after all those months of non-movement, unsteady movement, crippled movement, ironically, we did move! a leap into happiness, long-missed.

and now i move as my spirit moves: with the breath of trees, the fire of the moon, and the ever-present sky.