but finally, in the home stretch I snapped, and yelled.
sigh.
wednesday. my least favourite day of the week, for various reasons too persnickety to go into.
but it was a minor outburst, more frustration than anger, and all it says is I let myself get too low, and so it's early to bed for me tonight. a busy end of the week and weekend ahead.
first, though, a cup of green tea with honey. and some time and quiet to make something, or unmake it, whichever best works through whatever it is that's troubling me. sometimes that doesn't become clear until I forget that I'm bothered at all, which I suppose is perspective working its magic, or magic working its perspective, I don't know which. it could, of course, be both.
and no-one seems in the slightest bit put out by my childish display (I stamped my foot, like a petulant, pouting child) so I suppose it's not that big a deal. I do tend to give things more weight than is necessary sometimes.
I feel old today, and tired, heavy with possibilities curled and fluid, pushing everything else out of the way in their unthinking need to grow bigger than the confines of a temporary and insufficient home.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
so for a good part of the day I was sweet, kind and patient.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
7 comments:
and now I've painted, and cried (but just quickly, and it was a good thing, releasing excessive yin I said to myself as it was happening) and I've found something that has been obliquely eluding me for a few weeks, just in time for something I need to do tomorrow, which is thursday, the day I've decided I will take for myself to work without intention or distractions, once the studio I want becomes available to me.
then again, intention and distraction focus as well as obscure, the way the light obliterates or points out the shadow that was there all along, only hidden.
or something along those lines. it's been a long day and it's so quiet now, just the computer humming and the keys click-clacking and now and then I sigh, or the wind blows, it's hard to tell sometimes which it is, and if it matters at all anyway who knows? one time I heard cicadas that turned out to be the sounds of someone snoring or traffic baffled by trees, but the cicadas were there inside my head so who's to say they weren't real.
I miss my mother, and my sister. neither one of them seems able or likely to get in touch, so I guess missing them is unavoidable. I can't or won't let sorrow to keep defining me, whatever losses past or present ache and pain me, stubborn thing, grief, as patient and persistent as the birds I hear singing sometimes in the bamboo after it's just beautifully rained.
You don't get to see the butterfly until it's struggled out of the chrysalis.
If you miss them, paint them. Write them, sculpt them, whatever. What do you think I do? It's the best way we have, now, of taking in/letting go.
peter I comfort myself with that thought often, that the struggle or the seeming inertia is the stag before the unfolding of something that will push me ahead to the next thing, the next becoming of something.
kathryn, they're in everything I do to some degree, whether or not I'm aware of it at the time. and others, too, living and long dead and not ever personally known to me. the more I think about it the more I think I'm no more than a distillation of everything and everyone before me, and a source or everyone after, the pivot point of one line of balance, no more and no less critical than any other, ultimately. or something along those lines.
oh now I'm laughing at myself and vowing once again to proofread the next comment I leave. though the stag before the unfolding sounds intriguing, like something in a trilogy with quests and antlers and trumpets.
"... I'm no more than a distillation of everything and everyone before me, and a source or everyone after, the pivot point of one line of balance, no more and no less critical than any other..."
You've put into words a thought I've comforted myself with for years. It is such a relief to know that the worlds' turning does not depend on me alone and if there are days when I cannot participate to my satisfaction, nobody else's world will collapse (including my own).
oh I know, pauline, thank goodness there's always someone somewhere picking up the slack on the days when I just have to let everything fall.
(as an aside, the word verification is "whamatio" which I can't help saying out loud in a sort of bruce lee cry. it's oddly entertaining.)
Post a Comment