windthread

the louder the world,    it's the small things that are speaking,  calling my attention for long long periods of time.   How,  illuminated by the flashlight last night…when i got up to Listen….how these dried seed pods became  so vibrant….like exotic blooms.   

 

tonight will be the first night of this Circle that i close the door.   

Always,  it's been this way.   and then,  more so with the Goats….in N Mex and especially, now, here.   Tay comes in but all others remain Out There.   The first nights are hard…i wake often,  listening,  listening.   i get up,   listen.   Sometimes i wrap self and go Out and listen.   There have been those nights…since here,  but in December,  where there was buck Goat commotion,  loose Goat commotion but otherwise….i listen to nothing.   a still night and i guess my dreams.  and i guess my uhhhhh,   selfpart that still says…..anything can happen, grace.  be vigilant.   As if vigilance might prevent occurrences.  i know it does not.   Tay will alert me.   She hears Everything.   it's her job.   I could just learn to leave it to her….right?

double click the pic.   the Brilliance of this Earth is here in these seed pods

 

the bouquet…most recent from Emrie.

 

She is dead.   Dead.   She    died     on October 11th.    Dead.   

This morning i thought….Where is Joanna?  and i went to Future Primitive Podcast   to see that yes.  She has died and today is a Memorial on the Future Primitive Face Book Page.   I go there.  It's the most Beauty Full memorial i have ever experienced…so many people loved her and told their story of that love in such extremely personal and specific ways, ….  as befitting her,  their love for her.

She was a Woman.   so much ALL a Woman.   In the time of the podcasts,   she had softened and mellowed and croned.   All that was left of her Womanness was 

Wonder.

Wanting to know.

Curiosity.

Deep tender Love.   Really deep.    Really tender.   Love.

after the memorial,   i needed to Give Water and i thought….She is FREE now.   Having no particular form…..i can ASK her….Joanna…come down there with me.    And she did.   We sat as i watered the final things of this cycle.   Being free of a body,  she was very quiet and whispy but as always….INTERESTED

i realized i could ask her questions,  like she had always asked questions of others…i could ask her questions?….like….What do you think????? questions….in her now dead form…….her Dis~embodied Beingness      She would Laugh at this.   I know her laugh…..the thick loving sound of her laugh….how do dead people "think"?

Joanna.   you.   like so many,   i have never seen,  face to face.   But i KNOW you and know that you will KNOW me if i ask

i ask.

please.  know me.  Come here.   Hang out.   I can be made more whole with your Joy,  your Curiosity,  your Wonder,  your Fierceness,  your so so total WOMAN~Ness   Such love,  to you,   Joanna Harcourt~Smith….GO!  and STAY!   both, 

GO and Stay…..you are needed in these times.

 

 

 

 

for things to Move…..like they did,   at Tassajara….Fire Monks……,   there needs to be a Central Heart Beat.   

Here,   it's the Goats.    Unplanned,  Unenvisioned,  they have taken their Place in our lives  as that,   over almost 10 years.      Because. 

They are the beginning and the end of days.   Every Day.   Year in,  year out.   This last pic….Onday's eye.   She is now the Elder.

We do what we do because of Them and she is the Elder,  the Center.   OnDay.   She was the first i named.    there were three… of SnowBunny….two little bucks that couldn't be kept and so….Iko Iko….leave them un named…or same named but the little doeling….Onday.   Dixie Cups…UTube.   

so much feeling,  arising out of so much thinking.    I sat here.   Quiet and Alone.   , how i am,  alone,  not really.   

thinking about Acey's Nichobella post.  not knowing it's informative details…just the spare words.   and i was FEELING.

and the Feelings made me want to make…..make….a diorama,  that thing again,  the ever recurring thing of diorama,   A being.  Doing something that that being Does.   I scribbled on a Post It note   and i don't like the word…scribbled…but it's fitting for what happened,  i scribbled this.   She is giving.   there is a bowl.   She squats.   A Plant watches,  looks down and in.   They are ToGether.

 

 

 

from Fire Monks    " Not knowing is the habit. We become elemental ~ earth  air  fire  water".     

Letting it sift through,  much of what i'm feeling is from the demise of the Wall Garden.  I'd begun in March and been devoted,  imagining many outcomes,  but not the outcome that has occurred.  But, so, it is.   I spend time now with the Trees.   Their leaves,  these Oaks,  will remain green,  dusted with brown earth.  BrownGreen.   They wait.   I watch them wait.  i  breathe in their Waiting.   Waiting is quiet and still.   Not so much to SHOW.   unless,  like here,  SUN set,  that paints them with the Glow

i remember writing so many times….Receiving the Given…..in New Mex it referred to the Grass People,  clump grasses,  which there are not so many of here    I wrote….Receiving the Given with a fierce and pointed Will.    The words return,  but here,  Receiving the Given is      soft.   Is quiet.   is  unsure.    There is so much change,  even in the 3 short circles  of seasons that i've been here.   "Not knowing is the habit."

so,  here.   As is.   Enough.   no need to be other than how it is now.   Loose.   but very together.   a lot of space,  a lot of flexibility , a lot of movement.  a lot of Free.   This way is good.    Holding,   fingering, touch ….Good.   No need to become anything,    a different Cloth or compost.   Here we are.  

 

almost finished with sorting through that back room….the last basket and in it this first weave experiment from Jude's teaching, remembering how amazed and exhilarated ….being able to make something as big as i might need with just strips. I remember thinking i could weave a home if i needed to.  

i'll take it apart,  some of the black/white fragments i like a lot…at least one small piece will go into the Letter Blanket.  i like this otherside the best.    ~……but then,  as i type this sentence,  i pick it up…it's sitting right here next to me,   and holding it….it's so light,   soft…..and so something more that doesn't have a word for it and in this moment,  i'm not sure about taking it apart.  Maybe i will finish it….as originally intended,  stitch it?  or leave it just as is….?   Let it be some kind of Holding Cloth …somehow there's a lot of love in it

Mashed potatoes with garlic.   A bead of Wasabi.   maybe two.   maybe three.