This morning I consider
connection. Usually, on week-day
mornings, Jane and I speak, then write
30 minutes, and check in again. This
morning, we spoke, and the poem “Three Days til Chemo” splurted out, and then,
the phone rang. Chris had a flat
tire. I
hopped into the shower, happy to help.
A cloud does not know
why it moves in just such a
direction and at such
a speed.
It feels an impulsion ...
this is
the place to go now. But the
sky knows
the reasons and the patterns
behind all clouds,
and you will know, too, when
you lift yourself high
enough
to see beyond
horizons.
I am reminded of the Rosen
intensive, where there was a day for art, and relaxation. I was not sure that I needed such a day, but,
of course, there it was. At the time, I did not do art, but I did survey the table, and it didn’t seem too intimidating. Summer led a meditation where I saw myself
opening up a waterfall, like a curtain,
and walking through the mist. Penelope
laid out paint, silk, and hoops. I picked up a small brush, and dipped it in
paint, and began, and swung into something, or was swung, like a chalice spreading incense
in church. I felt myself painting my
heart. I truly felt I was painting my
heart on the silk, and it sprouted leaves from the top, and floated like a kite
reaching out to other hearts. I titled
it Fly Your Heart, quite original, you must admit. : )
Isn’t that what this whole
thing is about? Living centered in the heart of the medical
community and family and friends?