humming the shadow

Love this story that I found yesterday.

Each night, when one lies down to sleep,

the shadow departs,

 going out to explore the world

 it is not free to explore during the day.  

The shadow may become quite intrigued by the large and strange world

, and be reluctant to return home at daybreak. 

 So it is necessary for the person, early in the morning, to hum the shadow home.

  Each person has a song that only its shadow will recognize, 

and the shadow must obey the hum. 

 If one is too busy, or too thoughtless, to hum the shadow home,

 the whole day will be difficult. 

 Until the shadow comes home, the person is not whole, is not all together. 

 It is like the person who got up on the wrong side of the bed--

part of him is still missing.  

Humming the shadow home is necessary for harmony, for inner unity.   

                                                                Mary Jose Hobday
                                                                in Western Spirituality

celebrating imperfection

Kenny Two Feathers a Penobscot Elder and friend told me 

nothing is perfect.

Makes life so much easier when one does not have to achieve perfection or can't.

I find I relish imperfection and celebrate it.  

Many suffer trying to reach it. How sad.

What a waste of time and energy.

If an assembly line turns out thousands of "perfect" same things, 

how boring.  

AND You end up with something that looks like everyone elses. 

how boring. 

My first vase not so perfect.

I love its imperfection and it is anything but boring!

Second vase

my third creation

and number 4

Imperfection

I am falling in love

with my imperfections

The way I never get the sink really clean,

forget to check my oil,

lose my car in parking lots,

miss appointments I have written down,

am just a little late.

I am learning to love

the small bumps on my face

the big bump of my nose,

my hairless scalp,

chipped nail polish,

toes that overlap.

Learning to love

the open-ended mystery

of not knowing why

I am learning to fail

to make lists,

use my time wisely,

read the books I should.

Instead I practice inconsistency,

irrationality, forgetfulness.

Probably I should

hang my clothes neatly in the closet

all the shirts together, then the pants,

send Christmas cards,

or better yet

a letter telling of

my perfect family

But I’d rather waste time

listening to the rain,

or lying underneath my cat

learning to purr.

-by Elizabeth Carlson

wind watcher

My new name Wind Watcher 

for we have had winds worth watching. 

 I am sure this is not my imagination.  

There is a new wind. There are serious new winds.

We have always had wind, 

but not like these days with steady 20s and with gusts to 50. 

 Our highs used to be high 30's.  

Many a night the winds are so strong they turn on our motion lights. 

On and off one and off.

Until we have to disconnect the lights.

All night and day

Wind chimes chiming.

It is all seasons, winter, spring, summer fall.

I love wind, breezes.  

 I have huge respect for wind.   

The sound of wind coming through the tree tops is like a train.  

Furniture blows across the deck and the lid blows off my compost

in spite of taking precautions.

bw or color

“The world is in color, you have to work at black and white.” – Andrew Maclean

“I’ve been forty years discovering that the queen of all colors is black.” – Henri Mattise

“Light and subject is inseparable. But when it is well integrated, it becomes the work of a fine masterpiece.” – Paul Chong

  

To see in color is a delight for the eye but to see in black and white is a delight for the soul.” – Andri Cauldwell

“Colour is everything, black and white is more.” – Dominic Rouse

To Be of Use

 The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters,
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums,
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real. ~   Marge Piercy

yellow oh my ~

spring is ~

The vernal pond disappearing

Flowers and color appearing