In my corner of the world mornings are filled with the bustle of dreamy-eyed children getting ready for school and the shuffle of papers into this backpack...no! that backpack, a hurried breakfast out the door...a clockwork schedule. The days are a variety of obligations and therapies, meetings and connections with like-minded friends, appointments and activities. But, also randomness and dreaming. It is in the dreaming and spontaneous activity that I find myself marinating in the delicious light that filters through the sheers, propped up into a cozy chair, just allowing myself to be empty. To be empty so that I leave room inside of myself to be filled with whatever the universe decides should settle into my being. Sometimes a soothing melody works its way into my soul and alters a course of thinking and at times it is more pleasant to bask in the calm quietness and hum of familiar noises or singing birds. No matter what, though, I am always drawn to pick up a book of poetry that I may let myself go within or grasp my journal and scribble a collection of words plucked from the ordinary onto the virgin paper aching to be wanted. Perhaps some days that collection of words emerges within symbolic imagery and paint onto the page...still, telling a story. It is a relation to a dream: a dream of consciousness and also one of complete openness to something, anything exquisitely subconscious and awakening.
I have realized that I have fallen in love with a sort of quietness I had been frightened of once before. You know the kind, the one where all the world seems to be still and gone where you can hear and sense every minuscule alteration to that gentle quiet. I was afraid of the heavy stillness that is something like driving through dense fog; when you can only see a mere inch or two in front of your vehicle and it seems as if you are the only living soul left in the world getting nowhere as you drive from a seeming nothingness into more nothingness. It is a fear of not knowing what lies ahead. It is the fear of being alone. Perhaps I should say that I have rather fallen in "like" of this quietness because I do still feel a sense of uneasiness at times.
I have a lovely gentle reminder of why I should keep myself open to this quietness and deeper sense of awareness hanging on my wall. At least twice I have been oddly attracted to a piece of art I knew I just had to have but without the understanding of the real reason I was drawn to it. The first example of such: this stitchery. The reason I thought I could relate to it was for the simple depth it related in a single sentence, but now I see that it has a much bigger purpose as I am quietly open to the signs being directed my way. It is a whisper, a promise, a hope. I am trusting and I am listening.
The other time I can definitively point out where it happened that I was drawn to something without the awareness of why came when I was wandering around Minneapolis and stumbled upon a wood sculpture "story person" by Brian Andreas. There were many in the store, but one in particular caught my attention so strongly that as I read it huge tears formed lakes into my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. It has only been recently that I understood why I had this reaction and why there was no other option but to purchase this artwork. For those of you familiar with these story people you know that each one holds a saying, or mini story, within it. The story on mine reads...
"I read once that the ancient egyptians had fifty words for sand and the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep...and there are no words for that."
Being single at the time and having such a strong reaction to the piece once led me to believe that I had associated my children with these powerful words. Oh how wrong was I! I was never to understand this until years beyond the purchase coupled with a set of experiences matched with someone I have known since childhood, who has criss-crossed my path time and time again throughout my entire life, and who fits perfectly the missing puzzle piece to my soul.
Truly. That is how it is, simple...complicated...beautiful...love. There are no words for that.
Love at First Sight
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is beautiful,
but uncertainty is more beautiful still.
that there'd been nothing between them.
But what's the word from the streets, staircases, hallways --
perhaps they've passed each other a million times?
if they don't remember --
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a "sorry" muttered in a crowd?
a curt "wrong number" caught in the receiver?
but I know the answer.
No, they don't remember
They'd be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.
even if they couldn't read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood's thicket?
where one touch had covered another
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night, perhaps, the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.