June 9th, 2006

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(no subject)

The day softly begins.   For some reason I begin with reading the paper, probably not the wisest move, but here I am.   I realize now, I should say, I read the news.  I read on-line, and yet, I still say I read the paper.   Time to advance my use of language.  

I appreciate the advice of an op-ed contributor to the NY Times who suggests we outsource  the executive office  to China and India as a way to save corporate money.  Why not?  Other jobs are outsourced.  Why not their's?     "I.B.M.'s chief executive, Samuel J. Palmisano, who has been moving jobs to India, last year saw his total compensation rise 19 percent to $18.9 million — even as the total return for his company's stock fell 16 percent."   Let's get a local guy to supervise, one who understands math.  

I also want to applaud  "George Voinovich of Ohio and Lincoln Chafee of Rhode Island, Republicans who broke with their party to help block consideration of the repeal of the estate tax.   Mr. Voinovich said, rightly, that the idea of eliminating the tax under current conditions was "incredibly irresponsible and intellectually dishonest."

I saw Caroline Kennedy on Jon Stewart the other night.  What a wonderfully poised and competent woman has emerged from childhood tragedy.  She admitted it is not so easy anymore to find politicians for the Profiles in Courage spots.  They are there, but you have to look.  Maybe now it will become easier.  Stephen Colbert led the way.  May others now follow on speaking out for what is morally right, and may they vote their conscience, not their bank account. 

I feel cheery today.  I can read the news and not be brought down.  It is part of the whole.  I enjoy all the varieties of birds and their songs, and the space inbetween.   Enjoy a quiet, twittering, cooing, quivering, caw and ork filled day.  
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Today -

Jane and I worked this morning with two poems of the past, Still Point and Waiting Room.  It was the beginning, where I was the still point and she out in the world.  She wrote hers in the center of a conference.  I wrote from home.  Somehow, seeing those two poems together has released a sadness,  tears from a deep, deep place.  I see what I could not touch then.  I did not cry then.   Ah, I am reminded now of a poem I wrote years ago for my friend Liz.  She could not cry. 

I kept putting Jane off on going back in to see what we had written.  I didn't think I could do it.  I didn't want to see what was there.  I decided yesterday I am ready.  I am strong enough for these tears.  I will not break.  

I also note when I see  what I wrote on fatigue that I am not that tired now.  I could not write that poem now.  I feel tired at the end of the day, even in the middle sometimes, but, not like that.  There are so many levels of fatigue.  I do have a reserve now.  I feel the difference as I read the poem.  I suppose today I see where I have been, and there are tears now for that place.  Oddly, today, Jane wrote of my courage, and I wrote of hers.  We continue to match in what we say.

I was going back through the blog to understand what was going on then, or, at least, what I shared with you.  Neither Jane nor I could find the words I was so responding to on the blog.  I didn't think I was censoring, but, perhaps, I was.  I also see that though the words were coming, I wasn't really feeling them. I do now.   I feel the words, mine and Jane's.   We are hoping that what we are doing will not only help the person with cancer, but also, family and friends.  We debated starting from the past and coming forward, or starting now and going back.  Now, as we comment in the present on what we wrote, we do both. 

Anyway, in going back through the blog I came across this poem Karen sent me to offer comfort.  I place it here today.  I have some stuffed animals here.  I think I need a hug.   My little friend Mandu is becoming very frail.  I am parceling out times of disturbance for him.   He, now, is very tired.  He is living in a place of rest. 


Poem from  "Love Poems from God" by Daniel Ladinsky.
It is by St. John of the Cross.


A RABBIT NOTICED MY CONDITION

I was sad one day and went out for a walk;
I sat in a field.

A rabbit noticed my condition and
came near.

It often does not take more than that to help at times -

to just be close to creatures who
are so full of knowing,
so full of love
that they don't
- chat,

they just gaze with
their
marvelous understanding.
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Eggs in a nest -

Jane and I are laying twigs for our nest. 

I found myself this morning with an image of my past.  My mother loved handkerchiefs.  One of my last gifts to her was a set of pretty hankies.   I chose one of them, after her death,  to carry in my purse.   I don't use it, but I am comforted in knowing it is there. 

My mother said when I was around three,  I was outside playing in my playsuit when I realized I had a pocket.  I ran into the house, and came out with a hanky tucked inside my pocket. 

We forget about hankies.  Tissues abound.  At Molly Stones, they even have sanitary wipes so you can wipe your shopping cart of germs before you touch it.  I remember now, as a child, ironing my father's handkerchiefs.   Times have certainly changed, and yet, we still need to cry, and, I hope we stil do.

I melt in sweetness today.  I taste my mother's fudge.  She placed the tests for soft balls in my mouth with her long, cool fingers.  My younger brother loved to stand on a stool, and wash the fudge pan.  I'm not sure where she got that turquoise pan, but she kept it until her death.   I remember a pink kitchen when we lived in Florida.  Yesterday, I bought some colorful ice cream bowls, soft colors.  I need color to suckle right now, soft color, warm breath.  I iron the years with tears, washed well.
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universality -

I find myself touching universality.   My sorrow is universal, not connected to anything in particular.  I am simply absorbed in the miracle of a bird building a nest, twig by twig, and, then, having a place to lay an egg, something that comes from within, fertilized by another.  How amazing is that?   And birds fly, and walk on the ground, and swim.  They are adapted to their niche.  I want to know all niches somehow, while still resting in my own.


Here are the first three paragraphs of Jon Carroll's column today.

"Good news! According to a survey by something called Common Sense media, 85 percent of parents distrust the Internet the most. Eight-five percent think their children are more likely to be imperiled by the Internet, versus 13 percent for TV, 1 percent for videos and 1 percent for radio.

I have no opinion about which medium is most dangerous, and I tend to be suspicious of any group calling itself "Common Sense" anything, because "common sense" usually means "unexamined beliefs," but let's say the poll is right. I want the poll to be right. Why? Because newspapers didn't even make the list.

Apparently no parents at all thought their children were in danger from newspapers. Parents would let their children read newspapers anytime, anywhere. There would be no prior censorship. Kids could have newspapers lying around their rooms, and parents would suspect nothing. Malign influences in a newspaper, a sweet innocent little newspaper? Of course not. Sure, we write about sex and violence and alternative lifestyles and unhealthy eating habits, but in a really bland way."


Stay safe.  Read a paper paper.  Don't risk this way.

I wish you, instead, a perilous day!   : )

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Balance -


I am enjoying a balanced day and my energy is still here at almost four in the afternoon.   Hooray!!!

“Meet this transient world with neither grasping nor fear;

Trust the unfolding of life, and you will attain true serenity.”

                                                -Bhagavad Gita

 

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becoming -


I come across these words of Anne Linnea, written in her book Deep Water Passage.

     "There comes a time in our lives when we are called to believe the unbelievable.  If we allow ourselves to believe, we open the door to the infinite possibility of who we might become."


    Perhaps that is why cancer and chemo have such an effect on a life . We are called "to believe the unbelievable."  May I now open the door to the infinite possibility of who I might become, of who I am, now and now and now.  

 

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A Poem!

I was reminded of this poem this morning.


                “Coloring Angels”

 

Liz buries her raw tiles in sand at the beach to fire,

willing color, not white - color.

She wants the vibration of blue, red, yellow,

purple, green, indigo, orange, hues and tints.  

 

She never leaves the burning,

sits there as the sun moves across the sky,

seers color, seams.  The flame turns to ash. 

 

She tells of rape.

No pain, she says, only compassion,

for the pain in the man,

who banged her head to concussion,

and slashed her back on glass.

 

The technician in the hospital,

            would not touch her.

“He would not touch me,” she says,

            more hurt by that than the man,

            who banged her head to concussion.

                        She felt his pain,

    The technician was sterile,

                absorbing no color,

                of kelp, dung, copper.

 

 Her tiles broke in the fire, to colors,

            earth-tones –

                        to shapes,

            fish, swimming round,

    each scale weighing the weight,

              of angels hovering,

             hoping to assimilate,

                           color

                         from Liz.

 

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the moon -

You've seen the man in the moon,  but have you seen the woman in the moon?   Or the dog, or the cat?   Play with form tonight as the moon shines luminous in a sky fanned with fog.