Knitting 2014

I knit
Hours and hours I sit knitting
Almost compelled to sit, and knit.

I drive far and wide seeking yarns,
Colors and textures, wools and silks and cottons,
Thin yarn, fat yarn and all in between.
I stash the yarn, hoard the yarns
In my grandmother's cedar chest.

I take pride in the finished piece, briefly
Before moving on to the next, starting anew
Casting on with new yarn, a new color, a new pattern.
The finished project matters little compared to a 
New beginning.

My need is not to pile up knitted pieces, but
To knit with the deep and secret desire that
I too am being knitted,
With the prayer that if I diligently sit and knit
It will knit me, fashion me, adding colors and textures.

My longing is not to become a finished piece,
Rather I fervently hope that my, our, Knitter 
Will not give up on me, as I have often done, 
Leaving me half knitted, still on the needles 
In a basket gathering dust.


An aside:
I have never knitted anything that did not contain flaws, mistakes, imperfections.  I have yet to knit a perfect piece.  Sometimes the flaw is so glaring that to continue on without going back and repairing it  would be too disheartening, and so the tedious task of backtracking and reworking becomes the work.  Other times the mistake, in context of the entire piece, is minimal and not worth ripping out and starting over...I continue on, leaving the flaw in place, or patched.  

Likewise, the Knitter has on occasion taking me apart and started over, but usually She says learn from this mistake and carry on.

An 80th birthday poem

Not long ago I was asked to write a poem for a woman's 80th birthday.  I like it.

What have I done?

Where have I been?

Who have I known?

Who did I become?

You likely don’t remember your beginning, and

If you do you can assume your memory is not accurate.

None of it.  Your memory of the events in your life

Leaves gaping holes and embellishes with manufactured experiences

That never took place.  Memory is the most fallible aspect of life.

Without trusting memory how can you possibly embrace these questions

As if they matter, which is questionable in and of itself.

Tuning into your innermost heartsong is far more trustworthy

Than scanning the pages of a scrapbook.

Today, who do you know yourself to be?

You know, not by listing your many accomplishments for

You are wise enough to accept that for every accomplishment

Is a stone unturned, someone neglected, a lie told, a grudge held.

You will only truly know who you are today by listening

To your inner song, its resonance, its harmony, its honesty.

On this, your 80^th birthday, you will be celebrated, feted, honored and extolled,

But you, and only you, can hear the inner chords from Life’s Heart,

The resonant hum that whispers Lillian, Lillian, Lillian.

That song will remain with you until the end.

It will continue to uplift and reassure, console you and release you,

Draw others to you, frighten some away.

It is your song, your composition, your unique melody

That you have been orchestrating your entire life,

Your indestructible song, your signature symphony,

Now 80 years in the making.

Nothing, no one is more reliable, more dependable than

The unique, magnificent and now ancient song in your heart.

Born to Perform

I was born to perform

An audience completes me, yet

All these years I felt ashamed of that need.

In order to know myself,

In order to recognize you,

I must express and observe your response.

Without your feedback I live in a vacuum,

A cave where I lose myself and lose sight of you.

I marveled at people who could unabashedly admit

They felt most authentic “on stage.”  

I could not say that out loud.

I set it aside, put performing behind me,

Fifty years ago.

I moved to a small town

Where no one knows me and found

A small community theater.

What the hell?

Each night I show up for rehearsal where

I am becoming a clown.

One of the young children in the cast

Approached me and asked, “are you a clown?”

“Yes,” I replied, and she asked

“With gray hair?”

The oldest member of the cast by at least 30 years

I am showing up, 

Remembering how to be a clown,

Bowing to the cliche “it is never too late,”

I memorize my few lines,

Finding myself, and hopefully, rediscovering you.

Elections

Disengaging from this or that, right or wrong, smart or stupid,

Informed or ignorant, progressive or backward.

Losing interest.

I hear the stakes are high and yet remain unmoved,

Doubting.

Voting Democratic in today’s world is, for me, a no-brainer,

Yet the will to persuade another is lacking.

Passivity? Apathy? Laziness?

Perhaps.

I see people passionately persuading,

Passionately defending

Passionately accusing

I cringe, and envy their passion.

What is more troubling to me is

Why do I not have one black friend?

Why won’t I offer our rental property in Section 8?

Why do I check out the drivel on Facebook multiple times a day?

I find myself more concerned with

Extending or withholding, engaging or ignoring, expressing or containing,

Seeking or hiding.

That’s what I feel like saying.

World Events

Pondering why Anne Lamott can say what I'm thinking better than I can think it
As I sit here safely in the heart of 4 tranquil acres.
Willing myself to not succumb to despair or futility or cynicism.
We spiritual types eschew cynicism like the plague, even when a plague is plaguing Africa.
Drawn to and repelled by Facebook, Jon Stewart, Diane Rehm, The Huffington Post,
Resistant to daily practice or reading yet another spiritual picker upper
While exploring Robin Williams's eyes in all the photos of his precious life.

Here I sit in Paris, Tx half-heartedly registering folks to vote in the November elections
Thinking to myself this is not the playing field where real change can happen.

Remembering the refrain of the hippie-dippie Harmonic Convergence of yesteryear,
It's gonna get worse before it gets better.  

Overwhelmed by peering and staring at world events, out there,
I can only, reluctantly, turn within even while that voice whispers cop-out.

From within I type these words, eyes closed
Seeking that harmonious touchstone, landing one foot on home base,
Where baptism without water stands a chance of refreshing me
So that I can meet you eye to eye with gratitude and compassion.

Hobby Lobby etc

I am disturbed by the recent SCOTUS "Hobby Lobby" decision, but I will not be boycotting Hobby Lobby.  Though I think HL's beliefs on contraception and abortion are very misguided and erroneous, I respect their right to hold those beliefs.  I know that every one of us acts based upon our beliefs.  That HL took their beliefs to court, awaited a decision, and got what they wanted does not upset me.  They, and I and you, have every right to do that very thing.

What profoundly disturbs me is the direction the current Supreme Court is taking us as a nation. What profoundly disturbs me is the growing popular opinion of what "Christianity" means, of what "Christians" believe.  I am not angry at Hobby Lobby; I am disheartened that so many Americans celebrate the "Hobby Lobby" worldview.  I am chagrined that so many of our elected public servants pander to this worldview.

Boycotting Hobby Lobby hurts their employees even more than their refusal to pay for morning after pills and IUD's.  If you need to boycott, and I do, boycott today's Republican party...vote Democratic this fall.  VOTE!

I long to reinvent my life,

Not so much start over, God forbid, but

Transition from this to that.

She is weary and ready to let go,

Not so much from fatigue, but

From a sense of completion.

Truth is, she no longer sees the point.

It’s a good thing, really.

The challenge is that

She who is emerging is

Hovering in a cloud, a phantom.

I’ve seen her do this before, but

She seems to have forgotten how it goes.

The caterpillar is dissolving, and the

Butterfly is not as yet fully formed.

She is squirming.

The way it is...for today

There is a thin boundary
Where once there was a thick wall
Between She who knows and
She who questions.
I love them both.

She who questions is skeptical of
She who knows.
She who knows
Embraces she who questions.

Anew

Everyday something or someone changes, and yet
So many days feel just like yesterday.
The sun rises, the sun sets, and truthfully
Nothing is the same today as it was yesterday,
Especially me, especially you.

Did I miss something?
Do I take for granted the evolution of consciousness?
Is it true that some people are really, truly stuck?
Not likely.

If you arose this morning
You are different today than you were yesterday.
Can't help it, but
You can bury it, forget it, deny it, ignore it.

Life is always "anewing."
Even mine, even yours.

Within

Let me live from within
Rather than taking cues from without.
Now that I know Within is...
Without a Within
The only landmarks are without.
Once Within reveals itself,
Once we learn to pick up the signals,
Once we find the patience to listen
The cues from without no longer seem so very trustworthy,
While the nudges from Within ring so very true.

I can't disown you...

I breathe in, I breathe out
You breathe in, you breathe out
Until it stops, once and for all.
I breathe in thoughts; I breathe out thoughts,
I express; I am impacted by your expression.
The air I breathe out, you breathe in,
Giving and receiving, offering and taking.
We cannot walk into a cafe without taking with us
The essence of those who sat at tables near us.
You are not only not different from me
You are part of me.  
True, no matter your race, religion, politics or nationality.
You breathe me; I breathe you...
To pretend otherwise is ludicrous.

Life

Popped a strawberry into my mouth that was still on the plant 10 minutes ago.
Walked 2 miles with an aching foot
Kissed my husband this morning because yesterday I didn't like him so much
Applied Rogaine to the top of my head
Gazed at our new goldfish, swimming, swimming
Plucked the latest dead goldfish from the pond
Had dinner with folks who run really deep
Weighed myself this morning
Reminded myself of my (our) God connection
Got a fun text from my daughter
Watched my son look for hidden strawberries

All this since 5:00 yesterday afternoon.

Life is like that.

Hello

I've been away for a while...not so much physically, more mentally.  I've also been away physically, which is unusual.  I've had much to ponder and little to say.  Recovering from my latest and perhaps last foray into "church" has been tougher than I anticipated.  Maybe I'm beginning to snap out of it; maybe not.

Here are some random thoughts, as yet undeveloped.

I was raised on propriety.  We drank and ate propriety in my home.  I adapted pretty easily to proper dress, proper table manners, proper language, etc.  The real struggle has been and continues to be proper diplomacy.  I tend to say the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong people, making my mother (yes, even from the grave) cringe.  Not much improvement over the years.

I am so very weary of the Bible.  Not so much what it says but how it is used.  I just do not understand why every profound thought, every revelation, every inspiration some folks have must be authenticated with a Bible verse.  These thoughts, revelations and inspirations are gifts, freely given and authentic for the person who receives them.  They stand on their own, and when shared other folks can take them or leave them.

Life is simply amazing, confounding, and awesome.  I want more.  I'm not asking for added years, though that would be nice, but additional depth, breadth and wisdom.

Choices

When a long cherished belief proves through our own personal experience to be false we have two options:

1.  Cling desperately to the belief despite all evidence to the contrary, or

2.  Let go of the belief with immense gratitude that we have been proven wrong once again.

Option 1 is not only heartbreaking and deadly for the one clinging, but incredibly frustrating for the people who love the clinger.

Option 2 can be initially quite painful, but oh so freeing and life expanding in the end.  Each time we opt for Option 2, we pave the way for a larger and larger world with much more reliable vision.

It's me

You wake up one morning and nothing is the same.
You know nothing can stay the same.
The time has come.

In days past I'd look around trying to decide
Who or what needed changing.
Those days are long gone.
It's me.

A new hairdo won't do it,
Nor a new wardrobe,
Nor a trip or vacation.
Probably don't even need to read a new book, or
Find a new teacher.
Just accept that it's me.

Something is rearranging within,
Beyond my sight, in the background, and
I am unsettled, disturbed, lost.
I feel it shifting, whatever "it" is,
I so want to orchestrate this.

To those watching
It looks like anger perhaps, or
Depression or lethargy or even self-loathing.
More likely it is my awkward attempts at
Remaining present, not flinching,
Eschewing distractions.
Hard work.