Floating through the cloudless pool
on a skyblue day
heading nowhere
in the firmament
counting moments
stroke by stroke
made by each other
heavenly
pulling against the water,
resisting only
time.
Category Archives: photography for self reflection
My Other World
My other world,
where the internet always uploads quickly, and I am thinner, and my hair un-falls-out, and there is plenty of time, and oh, I don’t know, nothing is like this.
You know….that world
where angels do not fear to tread, but can’t be bothered,
because we need them here, right here, with us.
People Who Worry I Will Think Their House is Messy Are Wrong
This is the floor of my home, May 24, 2013. You can believe me when I say it isn’t a lot different today. And do not think it is hilarious to point out to me that the title of the book showing in the corner is “Organizing Your Day.” Because I already noticed.
Maybe it sounds melodramatic, but I’ll say it anyway – some of us are truly wounded when it comes to the disorder of stuff in our surroundings. The painful self conciousness we feel is equalled only by our discomfort with our body size.
The terrible irony is that the shame we feel about our messy living spaces is the very same emotion that keeps us from just emptying all our stuff into a trash can, and moving on with our lives. I’m ashamed I haven’t finished the project I started with that yarn, so I can’t get rid of it. I’m ashamed I gave in to the fantasy of selling afghans on Etsy for extra income, so now they tower in colorful columns on the floor of my room. To admit that I won’t do what I imagined with the countless layers of incompletes accumulating in my home seems like admitting that I am weak and lazy. And who was every motivated by that?
You know, I might love your messy house. I love to look at people’s things, and see something about them. You could take a deep breath, and let me come in, and be curious about all your stuff. I know, I know — that’s what you are afraid of. I might see something about you, that I haven’t seen before.
Make Something
Some things have been building up. Maybe ignoring them seemed like a luxury I could afford. Maybe the stronger I felt, the more I took for granted that I could pass the next test. Maybe its all just rotten timing, the reassuring essence of chaos that is oh-so-impersonal and inconvenient.
From the outside I might have appeared to slip on the ice, but from the perspective of my shoes, it feels like the sidewalk moved in the opposite direction from where I was so confidently heading. With a sharp impact of cement against my back, the wind is knocked out of me, and even caffeine is powerless to restore it. Who knows? This could be an opportunity to check my assumptions. What if the sidewalk did change direction? Would that be so bad?
Making something helps. I’ll be ok. But right now, I really want my Dad.
Castles in the Air
I think I might sit in this chair and dream a little bit. When I sit, I like to bend one knee up to my chest, resting my foot on the seat of chair, hugging myself a little as I reach for the coffee cup, or turn the page of the book I am scribbling in. This posture comforts the Restlessness of the What-Ifs. The arms of the chair encircle me, like a captain steering through waves and winds of thoughts which come and go – not quite inside me, but not quite outside me, either.
That is where imagination is – already real, yet still becoming.
Time Capsule
I want to challenge myself to tell more stories from my life, but the challenge may be too great. Not that much happens while you are driving 200 miles a day, and work is just work.
There are at least three or four stories embedded in this pair of images, though – maybe even more.
On the left, there are stories of our family hobby, visiting old things in Long Grove antique stores, and stories of wishes my mother lost and avoided for fear of failure. On the right, I see my 6 year old self, captivated in museums, not entirely sure which items in the cases can be alive and which can’t, and stories I still need to tell myself, before I can tell you. Stories where the mask with the sharp teeth becomes my best friend, the one I have been waiting so long to find – red, and dangerous, and so very fiercely me.
Live is Where the Heart Is
Recently, I have been telling certain parts of my story to a really good listener in my life – describing things that I have lived with for a very long time that aren’t exactly secret, but that only I think about, or realize the consequences from. It shocks even me, how much there is to say, and how full that well is. The timing for this cloudburst of emotion is oddly appropriate. Over 30 inches of rain have fallen this year so far. Everywhere I look, the land is full to overflowing.
Emotions swell and crest, and then, finally, drain. Their repercussions ripple through my surroundings, where I am beginning to turn the tables on my possessions. Papers and geegaws and bric a bracs held me in thrall for so long, I hardly noticed how much room I didn’t have. But the more I am here, the more I see that I need myself, oddly, the fewer things I want.
This sampler spells it out. Is there anything to add?
Inside the Lion’s Paw
Being brave sounds good theoretically, but I don’t always know where to start. For example, I am faced with a difficult choice today. No matter what I do, someone will be disappointed. I want to do the brave thing. I want people to know I love them. On days like today, I really, really wish I was one of those people who – you know, right? – doesn’t make such a big deal out of everything.
When I feel the quick sand pulling at my feet, it’s time to come here, and make something. That is crystal clear for me by now. Just to see myself peeking out into the world changes things, changes me, even though nothing is really different. I feel better. So maybe that’s enough bravery for today.
Skipping the Garden Path
I had ambitions. Oh yes, I did. But for this week, just one or two little posts will have to suffice. Going around in circles in real life has been very, very wearying. I suggest you take a different path. Wander with the blue daisies and pansy ring, instead and I will see you where the crochet rose blooms, in the center of everything!
Dimestore Heart
Most of the things I still love in life could, once upon a time, be purchased at Woolworth’s, including (though not pictured here) – hot dogs wrapped in bacon, surrounded by crisp grilled buns; machine knitted lace cardigans in yarn so skinny it seemed like thread, tiny blue bottles of Evening in Paris perfume for birthdays and Christmas, and many, many things with swans on them. I liked to look at the embroidery kits, but mine didn’t turn out like the picture, so I lost interest. Probably this was the beginning of my life-long addiction to the fantasy of making things, rather than the actual fun of trying out an idea. Now I buy these things for myself, leftovers from other people’s unrealized flights of fancy. I still like to stick to the five-and-dime budget. Ok. I’ll give you a dollar, but that’s as high as I go!
what is beautiful remains 