Steve said this morning that, "Enthusiasm is the engine of the world." I like that. He has a great new elevator idea, a glass elevator with a glass counter-weight. Imagine watching a glass counter-weight move up and down opposite you. I have stood on top of an elevator cab as it went up and down and it is pretty exciting to do so. This would re-create the feeling, only it would be like magic. It feels like Cinderella's glass slipper at the ball. We will see. Buildings codes are not easily changed.
I feel well this morning and ready to go back in on the book and polish, just polish. The hard work is done. What a relief!
Someone spoke yesterday of pregnancy, of having life within, creation, a being. It is quite amazing and those days are no longer possible for me, at least not in the form of a little person birth, but I see that those days of the womb and creativity are always there for us, both male and female. There is a great deal to ferment within, and there is always something new to brew.
May today bring creativity and life to the song you are here to hear and sing.
There is a new film called Waitress which is billed as an ode to pies. I love to make and I love to eat pies. It reminds me of our many car trips when I was a child when we stopped in the middle of the night for a piece of pie. Nobody seemed to gain weight in those days. We ate and ate and all was just fine. Now, people look askance at the thought of a piece of pie, but a movie like this may change things, or not. It sounds like fun, and it definitely is fun to make a pie - pumpkin, apple, lemon, blueberry, cherry, chocolate. At Christmas I make a crimson pie with blueberries, cranberries and half an orange. Yum!
This, though is strawberry shortcake time. Again, Yum!
I can tell my mind is not on the book and that my hands and tummy are thinking of fillings and dough. It is time to turn the layers of my mind toward work and words. The pie and shortcake await, though perhaps there is also a place to consider dinner and dessert!
Yesterday when I heard that a friend's mother would be having a double mastectomy even after undergoing breast cancer treatment a few years before, I didn't have the emotional response I had when I heard the news of Elizabeth Edwards. I recognized I had healed and separated myself out from some fear around the return. I intellectually understand there are percentages involved here and I don't have to panic and fear that another's illness is my own.
I was feeling pretty good about that and then a friend asked me advice about buying hats for a friend of hers who is now bare-headed from chemo. I checked out some web-sites and found myself recoiling from the hats I had once worn, so it is a back and forth and in it all is a place to continue growing and expanding my own heart to contain all of this and more.
Pema Chodrun has an article in the May 2007 Shambhala Sun. I quote from it by plunging into the middle, knowing you will catch up.
"And what's especially encouraging is the view that inner strength is available to us at just the moment when we think we've hit the bottom, when things are at their worst. Instead of asking ourselves, "How can I find security and happiness?" we could ask ourselves, "Can I touch the center of my pain? Can I sit with suffering, both yours and mine, without trying to make it go away? Can I stay present to the ache of loss or disgrace - disappointment in all its many forms - and let it open me?" This is the trick."
She continues on and then says this.
"When we're putting up the barriers and the sense of "me" as separate from "you" gets stronger, right there in the midst of difficulty and pain, the whole thing could turn around simply by not erecting barriers; simply by staying open to the difficulty, to the feelings that you're going through; simply by not talking to ourselves about what's happening. That is a revolutionary step. Becoming intimate with pain is the key to changing at the core of our being - staying open to everything we experience, letting the sharpness of difficult times pierce us to the heart, letting these times open us, humble us, and make us wiser and more brave.
Let difficulty transform you. And it will. In my experience, we just need help in learning how not to run away."
She makes it sound so simple and we know, as does she, it is a life-long practice and there are tools. May we each find the tools that ease our way and allow us to stay with pain until there is no more. Expand and open as you look within to open and clear your core.
Remember, also, that "spaciousness includes pain."
Gary Young wrote this prose poem. It comes from his book DAYS.
Our son was born under a full moon. That night I walked through the orchard, and the orchard was changed as I was. There were blossoms on the fruit trees, more white blossoms on the dogwood, and the tiny clenched fists of bracken shimmered silver. My shadow fell beside the shadow of the trees like a luster on the grass, and wherever I looked there was light.
He talks about form in poems.
"My attraction to the prose poem is emotional rather than critical. The prose poem is a maternal form. It is comforting and embracing, but it can also be smothering, constricting; once inside, there is no way out, no place to rest until the poem is finished. It is a clot of language, and must convince through revelation.
But, in truth, what I treasure most about this form is the moral pressure it exerts. The prose poem encourages a particular kind of modesty. It might even at times achieve a certain humility, a humility which may, through grace, be reflected back upon the poet's own heart."