...the dove descending

...because sometimes, often, phrases ricochet through my mind, and sometimes, often, i want to hold them, soaking in them, turning them over until the flash brilliant light and i am transformed. t. s. eliot's 'the four quartets' remains one of my favourite poetic works. here are some line, from 'little gidding.' ponder, dwell, listen...

"... and what you thought you came for
Is only a shell, a husk of meaning
From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled
If at all. Either you had no purpose
Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured
And is altered in fulfillment.
...
If you came this way,
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off
Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiousity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more
Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying."

when inaction just won't do

I was a master of inaction.

I dedicated years of my life to learning invisibility. I watched from the edge, the corner, watched closely, but did not interfere. I didn't volunteer my opinions, advices, or beliefs. I let people assume what they would, but did not solicit their concern. If self-effacement is an art, I was an artist. Or thought I was, and pretended to be satisfied.

But now, ten years later, I regret those habits I so painstakingly formed and built, fortress-like, around my self. Because now, when I want to be known, want to be involved, want to speak, want to act, I battle not only unformed habits but also formed anti-habits. It's not just that I don't know very well how to relate with, live with, and love on people - I know very well how to cut them out, avoid them, and hold them at a cautious distance or in casual disdain.

Doing nothing is easy.

But doing nothing is neither acceptable nor desirable.

"It is given to man to lift up the fallen and to free the imprisoned. Not merely to wait, not merely to look on! Man is able to work for the redemption of the world. The work is not yours to finish, but neither are you free to take no part in it."

I always knew this. Deep inside, under all the layers of self protection, isolation and indifference felt wrong. Dissatisfaction curled in my gut, but all those noises outside were unfamiliar and frightening and potentially dangerous and it was simpler to stay alone behind closed doors and shuttered windows with a half-empty mug of cold tea, staring into a pathetic smoky fire.

At some point, dissatisfaction grew so big, and my curiosity got so strong, and all my little dreams begged so loudly to be let out of the stifling room, that I started opening the windows. And sometimes the doors. Then stepping outside to breathe, to play, to explore.

Now I've gotten so far away from that little smoky hut that I'd have trouble finding it again. Yet I still habitually look for shelter. I flee loud noises. I hide from people. I sit, knees pulled up, back against a wall or tree, wondering if life ever feels stable or secure. And always, always, there's a running discussion in my head over whether I want to explore alone or with someone else, and whether I can trust people or not, and whether anyone will want to go to the places I want to go, or find interesting the things I find interesting (which is almost everything), and how in the world will I manage finding my friends in this great wide life if we step away from each other for a moment.

The habits of fear, of doubt, of second-guessing, are strong. Retreating is still easier than pressing through.

But it just won't do anymore.

I've seen enough love, heard enough answers, enjoyed enough spontaneity, received enough encouragement, and felt enough life, that I can not - will not - back away. I know what it's like to get this far - how could I stop now?

I have felt myself grow, deepen, strengthen; I feel more alive, more complex, more full than I've ever been. I have tasted freedom, joy, trust, abundant laughter, and fun. And I want more.

I want to become a master of action. This doesn't mean some uncontrollable, undirected wildness - doing things for the sake of staying busy. Rather, the one who is a master of action knows when - and how - to be still as well as to be in motion. It is the comprehensive attainment of balance.

I want to be one of whom it can be truly said "she is never shaken or dismayed." I want to be one who persistently explores the depths and potentials of goodness and strength, in myself, in others, in communities, in this world. I desire consistency among my thoughts, words, and actions. I desire truth in the inmost parts. I desire peace, and joy, and health, and strength. I desire challenge, stretching, development. I want to be a different person yet again next year than I am this year. I want my actions to be thoroughly directed by the conviction that there is always hope, always growth, always a future.

Let there be life; and let that life be abundant and free.

rainy day

And so it rains.

Today, my day for walking errands: post office, bank, grocery store. And it's raining. And will be dark soon. And I still need to take my car up to the shop, take the train back down, walk home from the train...

I should have gotten going earlier. This is my day off. I could have scheduled it much better. I could have actually scheduled. But I didn't. And now the rain falls.

But these things must be done. I must drop my car off. I could - and probably will - stop by the post office and grocery store on my way home from the train station. The bank will wait. The food can't.

And then? I will still have several hours of day. All to myself.

I will have to choose to do what I wanted to do. I hate the pre-choice moments, but I know I'll be glad I made them - afterwards. When I get home from the store, I will make dinner. And render lard - a new process that I hope I won't screw up.

Then, in my Wednesday evening apartment all to myself time, what shall I do?

What should I do?

What do I want to do?

Does what I want match what I should?


I wish it weren't raining, murmurs below my breath. Or that it gets dark so early now. I'd go watch the sunset. And be refreshed.

Because refreshment is what I truly want. Refreshment and rejuvenation. How will I find those, alone in my apartment, on a dark, rainy Wednesday night?

But my angle is all wrong again. So I deliberately pick up my viewpoint, turn it around, and resettle my head, my heart.

I'm going to have an evening alone! (For introvert me, alone time is a blessed thing. Remember that, self.) And the rain will patter its feet outside! (I'm the one always telling people how beautiful the rain is! Why would it bother me?) And I will be able to do whatever I choose! (Again, such a glorious thought! I can do something I love, and nobody can stop me or mock me.) This is good. I have so many choices. Opportunity will join me with a slow, encouraging smile.

Again, I ask myself: what will I do tonight?

But this time, I ask with expectation.

(So, it turned out well. Unexpected, but well. I didn't leave my car at the shop, so I drove to the grocery store - in the rain - and drove home. I rendered a batch of lard, and exercised, too! The lard turned out well, and it felt so good to work out!

Blessings followed me.)

Looking for the Celebration

As we approach the "holiday season," most people think about the food. And by think, I really mean worry. They're plotting all those extras - extra helpings, extra desserts, extra everythings - and also plotting how they will go on a strict diet at the end of the "season" to make up for what they ate.

I, too, am thinking about the food. But my reasons are different. You see, so much of what fills standard table for Thanksgiving and Christmas is food that I can't eat. This isn't in some I-know-it's-better-for-me-if-I-don't-way - this is serious. No gluten, no dairy. And, in addition to those strict restrictions, I know from experience that I feel and operate much better if I don't consume very many grains or much sugar at all. So, without gluten, dairy, or sugar, what does one eat when groups gather to celebrate?

That is why I'm thinking about food. I don't want to be thinking about it. I'd like to be able to go to parties and eat whatever was offered, but I can't. If I do, I'll get really sick. Seriously. And be unable to function. And be miserable, and go crazy, and, in short, be SICK. So I HAVE to think about food.

Next week is Thanksgiving, the first of the upcoming celebrations, and the one that, due to my upbringing, is the biggest deal of them all. Thanksgiving is the time to be with people, and be thankful, and enjoy good things. But I won't be with my family this year. I am undecided regarding where I will be - thankfully, I have options - but in making a decision I am plagued with this question: will I be able to eat what I am offered? Who but family would readjust their entire menu so that I wouldn't have to double-check the ingredient list for each dish?

Thankfully, there is one option at a gluten-free household. I wouldn't have to worry there. I can trust their sources of meat and eggs, and all my concern over the details of food would evaporate. I trust them. Most of what I know about food I learned from them.

Then I have another option, one with more concern, but with a group of people that I see less often. Right now, I'd prefer to be with them. But is it worth the potential hassle? I know if I ask, they'll be willing to try to accommodate, but I hate asking so much, and it's hard for me to not be wondering the whole time what is in my food.

And later, there's Christmas. This year - finally! - I'm going home. Gluten-free is even more necessary for my sister than for me, so that won't be an issue. But there are other questions... Other things I have ideas for... I'd rather have more veggies and less grain... and so I'll probably be bringing my own recipes, looking for ingredients, and trying to find ways of baking good things without dairy (for me) and without coconut (for my sister). Tricky. Very tricky.
And since my dietary habits have changed a LOT in the past two years, I don't know how much I'll have to buy and prepare my own food while I'm home to avoid falling back into relying on grains to fill my stomach and sugar to give me energy.

The other tricky part of going home will be seeing friends I haven't seen in... a long time. Going out to eat may not be possible. Hanging out at someone's house, snacking and talking, may not be possible. And since food is such an integral part of the social experience, how do I show my care for my friends when I won't eat with them? They won't deliberately be offended, but unconsciously, we are bothered when people won't accept what we offer them.

But here's the thing: I don't want to be thinking about food, and seeing people, and celebration, from the point of view of concern over whether something will make me sick. I don't want to be worrying constantly. I don't want to have to explain, over and over and over again, why I'm not eating their food. I don't want to be sitting on the negative side.

I want to celebrate.

I want to rejoice, to laugh, to smile, to relish the flavour of a tasty dish, to sing, and to be filled to overflowing with joy. I want my Thanksgiving day to be overflowing with gratitudes, with thanks, with praises, with an awareness of all those good things, however small, that add up to make this such a wonderful world. I want my Christmastime to be a time of celebration, of love, of catching up, of walking by the Pacific, of fun, of challenges, of being with my family in a real and powerful way.

And, yes, I want to eat. I want to eat food that tastes good, looks good, and is good. I want to feel nourished, strengthened, and rejuvenated by my meals. I want to eat large portions. I want to eat blackberry pie again. I want to enjoy the food that is such a marker of our holidays.

And I want to eat without worry or fear.

This is what I want this holiday season: free and jubilant celebration.

afire

"Man is made so that when anything fires his soul the impossibilities vanish."

'But if I say, "I will not mention him or speak any more in his name,"
his word is in my heart like a fire,
a fire shut up in my bones.
I am weary of holding it in;
indeed, I cannot.'

Fire.

I've always loved fire. Not the smoke, but the flame. Now, as the trees in New England burn and fly off their branches, and a bright round moon holds sway in the night sky, I feel a fire inside. This fire is yet a few sparks, some smoldering wood - enough tinder and matches but not enough air. Not yet a full, roaring bonfire.

But it wants to be. Yes, this fire has its own desires. It wants to be a big one, a flying all-consuming one, the kind that burns but does not consume: a glory fire.

A few of the giant logs waiting to burst into flame I can identify. I see their shapes, and know what they are, where they came from, how seasoned they are for the burning, but I do not know when their glowing ends will breathe into full fire.

Other pieces of wood, some twigs, some giant quarter-sections, I don't recognize. But they're waiting, too. And I hear the footsteps of the wood-gatherer in the forest, and know that as this gets blazing, more fuel will be added - much more.

I don't want to ride on somebody else's passion.
I don't want to find I'm just dry bones.
I want to burn with unquenchable fire.
Deep down inside, see it coming alive.

I long to burn. If I don't, I shall explode instead, or go stark mad. I've got wood ready, and my matches, too. Now I simply wait the wind to set me afire.

Soon...

Bibliophilia

Signs that you may be a bibliophile:

Number 2n+1 = a book is one of the ONLY things that can keep you sitting still and fully occupied for more than 2 hours.

Not even most movies can do this. I get antsy watching movies. I tend to pause them somewhere in the middle to get up and go do something, get something, say hi to someone, or at least make snarky comments.

Books, on the other hand... Granted, it depends on the book. BUT, books DO have the ability to keep me in one place for four hours straight (barring the necessity of a bathroom break... which I sometimes put off a painfully long time because I DON'T WANT TO STOP READING).

Ah, books. I don't always understand them, and sometimes a voice in my head mutters that I could be better spending my time, but when I find one that snatches and grabs and won't let go, and I spend a good portion of my day reading it ALL THE WAY THROUGH... 'tis one of the joys in life.

I am truly grateful for books.