Priming the well...

     I’ve been so blessed by this sunny, sunny fall.  I love the backdrop of the blue sky against the harvest colors: the shorn wheat fields are still golden until they kiss the horizon all around on the drive into town, and then of course there is the remaining bit of color left on the trees, hills, and grasses around Rosebud.
     It beckons one to wander out and explore.  To breathe and recall once forgotten memories.
And to create, in this time of transition.

Our family has been quite creative lately with food, crafts, and a steady diet of voice-over work.

But still I’m restless.

     I want to pour my feelings into a work of art, but it’s hard to parcel it out.  There is no sizeable opportunity in front of me or scheduled time to enable my appetite for endeavour. --And thus begins the battle of bulges.  My gut and my mind both are fat with needs and plagued by the fear of lost chances.

 Why is it so hard to just begin?  Why must I wait for a four hour chunk of uninterrupted free time to write or work on my memory book?  I know those projects are huge, but I don't have to do them all at once, right?  Why can't I just begin?  Is it too far to venture into and still leave time to crawl back out?  Maybe.

     It seems the more I'm at home, the more I struggle with working.  Strange.  The pantry with its all important snacks are so much easier to think about.  They provide instant gratification, fodder for work, and inspiration!  For example, right now I am slowly dissolving a Cadbury Dairy Milk Mint chocolate square between the roof of my mouth and tongue.  It oozes silky sweetness and cooling mint simultaneously in a way that awakens mystery and awe at confectionary chemistry.   See?  How can writing my play compete with that?

And now my Arvo Part music shifts to Jane Siberry and I have to shift it back.  I can no longer write to interesting music with lyrics.  "Spiegel im Spiegel" is the only music for me.  It subtly primes my well of feeling and draws it up hand over hand by a golden thread, so that even my ugliest regrets seem suddenly forgivable in the bright light of today.
     Understanding softens the sorry choices made out of fear --and beauty is found everywhere I look.  Now the after-mint coolness in my mouth is a stroke of brilliance, not over indulgence.  It's honesty and grace in action.
     Or am I kidding myself?
Regardless, I am relieved by putting some of my thoughts and feelings into words.  The fog clears and I see where I'm standing and realize again it's not so far off the path.  My feet are on the ground and I'm grateful again for my good health and the gift of my family.  They're so interesting.  *****

     Only at this time of year does Rosebud look this way.  The fall is so much shorter than the winter here, and summer feels long and dry. White winter reigns for months and Spring doesn't seem to claim it's own space - just a war between winter and summer - whereas Autumn... Ah.  Such a beautiful sad/grateful way for leaves to go and this year, with time to process.
     A year ago I was still reeling from the awful death of my friend Jeremy.
     I continue to carry a vision of him in my thoughts often.
But this year is different.
It is not saturated with death after shocking death of ones I know.
No.  It is not.
     Instead, it is like the bursting of tree blood into its extremities, causing them to show themselves in their true color.  It is the full-headed glory of age and wizening and the fury of love of life in the face of the imminent dormant season to come.
     --It makes me want to hear stories of elders who have weathered the storm and have such clarity in their vision now that death is indeed the next season.

Happy Chef pancake

Do the trees know (I wonder) if spring will come again?  Is that why they bend to the law of nature?
I can't help thinking of Jesus, knowing the joy that was set before him... -- sorta takes the risk out of it for a moment, if I may be irreverent.  I mean, if it was a magic trick all along, where was the sacrifice?
But then
That journey of feeling forsaken, of sheer pain and finitude, even for a bit, -- guess it was enough to sweat blood and cry out for another way.
Giving birth is sorta similar.
The likely aftermath is gonna be good, so do it.
And then there's this entrance of an amazing creature into your lap that can't even stand up.  So you carry it around with you, outside your skin this time, and sure enough you find yourself pretty attached and with a strong urge to see them live and laugh and love.
     My little creatures are now so smart and hilarious and rascally and strong-willed and joyful and quirky and sensitive and industrious, and they really want nothing more than playtime and freedom.  ******

     I'm reading lots.  Just finished the huge Harry Potter adventure with Weston.  Wow.  Wonderful excitement and pathos, and such a great opportunity to read aloud.  Now I'm onto other books and am overwhelmed by the choice of readings for my faith and art class.  I resound with each author as they reflect a piece of the gospel in a new way, most often through story.
I get it now.
My truth, when uttered kindly and artfully, can resound with others who love truth.
     And maybe it's not as hard as it sounds.
It really only takes beginning (whether through a particular song or piece of great chocolate), and then it's a process of letting it be drawn up out of the well, picking out any obligatory debris or bits of borrowed truth I haven't yet made my own, but staying open and letting me deep thoughts be seen in the light.

* David is gone now.  Just for one day, but he'll be gone overnight, so I will soldier up in the morning to rouse and feed the boys and get their little buns on the big yellow bus in the wee light of dawn without him.  God help us.

Hey, ya know what?
I may just be facing that huge chunk of unscheduled time tonight after the boys bed down!
Here it is staring me in the face and while I've been monologuing on principles.
Still, I'm grateful.
This has been important.
A runoff first gush from the deep waters.

 There may be no stopping me now.