since first light, this is this day. Now almost late day, this is this day. Start to finish. The "air" is thick with moisture. Sometimes actual rain, but mostly just a moist dense surrounding. There are very few lights in this house. None over 60 watts. There is no electric light in the Room. So i had to stitch in the morning chair with the aid of the lamp that mimics natural light. But, also is dim. I ate spagetti three times. Once with sauteed Yellow Hots for breakfast, then just as is at mid morning then afternoon, with the addition of a spoon of Sambal Oelek…the Rooster Stuff , hot chilis that my family likes. And i read. It began with page 321 in the Anthropology of Turquoise. The chapter entitled A Field Guide to Brazen Harlotry . She writes about flowers. Bloom. Desert Bloom. I KNOW completely and fully all the blooming she describes. I cannot tell you what it felt like to read her words. I can't. I got up, off and on and went to the Wall to look at this Cloth, that is a brazen bloom, that is from a scrap of a shirt from the Thrift Store that i really don't like but i also Do. It's orangeness, it's brazenness, this print of this cloth of a men's shirt. I have never really liked it but i am also very attracted to it…the Backside of the cloth….Vicky knows about this from so long ago in one of Jude's online workshops. I think this is the last time i will use this cloth, will send the rest to Vicky so i am not tempted. Working with this cloth is Work.
So, i read. She takes me places, this Ellen Meloy. I go with her. I am There.
I have been writing down January. I write something in the mornings, usually, on pieces of printer paper. As i have said before, i usually throw out these pieces of paper every couple days or so but this month of January, i have kept them. They piled up. Well, not really, i don't write much, but just some to get it out of my head. Here, from January 25th: Trying to describe the shift. a rhythm, a movement of doing, a steady Ease, the days last for a whole and complete day, a smooth just going. the Rock presides. Sunday, today, the 3rd night of peaceFULL sleep. Dreams, but easy ones. Again, Basic Goodness. Neither for nor against. a rhythmic going. a sway of going. Not wanting to Make anything OF it…just experience whatever it brings. Live it. As is.
January 29th: Something is trying to tell me how to live now. How to Live. How to be in relationship with the days as they come and go, one by one one into the next into the next. How to do this. What to love, What to honor, What to hold close What to grow What to turn under. What to_____________? What to notice, What to create from one's imagination, that rises up from the substance of the Place, the goings on, the Cloth, Turquoise, the Rock….talking, telling. I didn't think to Ask. But i must have been asking? Asking with the sleep less ness, the restles discomfort….things out of focus
Ellen Meloy. Occupying the similar place that one human woman does, earth under her two womanhuman sized feet…sky overhead, similar to all of us, allowed an Expanse in her self in her senses that is beyond Rare and then she wrote it down and then she gifted it to us and then she died in her sleep. I read her thoughts, stitch a Plant Spirit in Bloom of cloth scraps in the presence of a Rock in the living room. Things are talking. How to live in this NEXT. OK.
OK.
Like a cloth, days have components. The components to these last days have been…..A Cloth i stitch. A Rock that i have brought Inside because of a Book about Turquoise. Three things.
Three components. Seemingly maybe unrelated, incongruent? Yet they are tight. Close. Tight.
I have 21 pages left to this book. Tomorrow morning, there will be no more. She's gone., this woman. I don't want her gone. In the beginning of the book she tells us about her imaginary family the Quigleys. And to day i think about that. What if i could have an imaginary friend? What kind of a friend might that be? and i thought…HER!….i would have Ellen Meloy as my imaginary friend, dressed in her accidental neon orange bathing suit, wandering around here with me, feeding Goats, putting up with Tay, staring off to the Rim and scribbling in her notebook. She would be dead, so she would not need more than this acre, unlike in her life she had so much more, she would be ok with it here and she would tell me how to Live. Here. With What Is. I think she would know that…having Crossed Over. I like this thought.
The Sort Of Helping Guy with lead in his balls hung a grocery bag of Arugula and Sunchokes, Jerusalem Artichokes over the fence and Tay, being helpful brought it to the porch and she and Chinche ate the sunchokes UP
but not the arugula
windthread 
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