windthread

so,  i've carried all those thoughts from yesterday and have really Enjoyed them.   And the Enjoying them has made me happy.   That's enough for now.  What comes of those thoughts will come,  but for the time being,  it's just that i Allowed them.  Allowed the initial thought and then let it Go…..as in, Continue… of its own accord.  I think really,  what all that meant yesterday is that i'd like to THINK like a writer of fiction.  I'd like to let the Ordinary flower out….Why Not?  And most of all i'd like to be Curious about Everything.  Everything.  Thinking that feels very good.

 

The Returning is in place and the threads of Mother Night are finished.  A few more stars to go.

 

My son's daughter,  Giana Lily Alluvial Fan and the Fischer Price Keyboard i sent her.  He called this morning and said whenever he picks it up,  she yells NO!   "that's MY Song!"   not referring to the sounds played on it,  but to the keyboard itself.  Song is the name she has given it.   It is an entity to her whose name is Song.   This is the mind i would like to cultivate.  She's two years old.

so,  sitting in the Morning Chair and it's still dark,  as in STILL dark,  it's not letting go,  but sitting there because somewhere in the night i'd made the decision to make the MOST of this one day that i possibly could….. …… ….. my mind is wandering back to  Big Magic….about creative living….not necessarily "art" but creative Living…. and my mind goes to the part where she tells about coming to write The Signature of All Things.  It's in the part of Big Magic called Scavenger Hunt.  I won't write what she wrote here,  but it was a really great example of just letting inspiration IN. 

Letting it In,  without knowing a single thing about Why.  Just letting it IN.  Well,  maybe i'll write some of what she wrote tomorrow,  but not now.  

What happened this morning, for me,  was a totally NEW and really exciting thought.  The thought was that i could write a work of FICTION.  It never occured to me to write FICTION.  I don't necessarily love FICTION except for Louise Erdrich's   or maybe Housekeeping and i can't remember who wrote it…should have checked before starting this post,  or maybe the God of Small Things,   Arundhati Roy,  and too Barbara Kinsolver's  the Poisonwood Bible….so maybe i DO like fiction,  not not all enough to go to the library to get it and then not so much because of how reading it eats my life up.   But it was never a question,  when i thought of wanting to become a writer way back,  it was never fiction.  Fiction would be so beyond me.  

But somehow,  that use of the expression "out of character" yesterday set something loose.  Out of character would imply there being a character.  What if i am just a character?  

Sometimes when faced with some dilemma, i use the tool of becoming the observer of my Self…looking at my self as if i were just someone i know, faced with a dilemma.  What would i make of them?,  their dilemma?  What would i say if asked?

So this is kind of like that,  but really way more fun.  What if i make the 70 Person into a character in a NOVEL,  the novel being really my life,  but not so much really because tho it would be maybe structured around true events and feelings,  it could also include……

Fiction   stuff made up.  

So i got all buzzed with this thought this morning and these are some of the things i wrote down really fast:  

How there is true fiction everywhere….my neighbors with the couch stuffing ALL OVER their yard and how they will most likely NEVER clean it up,  and still have one more lazy boy chair and one more couch still out there with the same bored pit bull,  how even though there are quite a number of ify homesites around here,  theirs is the WORSt…?  Why?  who ARE they and don't they NOTICE the total MESS their place is?  and if they do,  what keeps them so reluctant to do something about it or are they reluctant??????

Robin,  who came from somewhere,  i think Texas,  to work on the Mustang Ranch Project last year,  who i talked to this morning about coming to help me do stuff here and thinking of her i thought about how there are many Stray Women in my world…Stray Women, like Jude's stray Cats,  Women who have strayed ……so Robin

And then the Two Moms and their daughter Talula,  and really Talula and her two friends,  Jora is one and i can't remember the name of the third,  but they are like joined at the hip,  the three of them,  have been since very young maybe 5 or 6 yrs and they are Eleven now,  i listened to them in the background last night at Jamie's,  often they talk at the same time,  totally in unison,  long things,  i don't know what they were,  memorized and spoken completly in unison,  Sydney said something from a TV program when i asked,  but WHAT IF they became the Three Mothers?…what if THEY went on to have children together?????  as Three Mothers….like Talula was conceived?

So…characters and Sydney and Shela….both strays again,  Shela from Canada…She is an Arborista.  Teaching Sydney.  How they are lovers in such an interesting way to me.  While Jamie is the Other Mother,  she is no longer the lover but how they all hold so tight and well to the Family that they are.

and how it's all such a Grand Story.  I don't intend to become a Writer,  but i might want to Think like a writer,  See it like a writer might….with Intense Interest…

Write about the Goats,  about TenZen's vocalizations…not just one sentence, but really try to convey the thing it is,  the guteral to the shrill falsetta,  their sticky faces     Which would be part of it…What DOES she DO,  the 70 Person,  having inherited 17 Goats.  How does that happen in the story?  What do they do with ThemSelves?  How?  Fiction.  You can make part of it up.  Having to do things to create the story lines might make the reality of the doings really interesting,  Try it,  E. Gilbert says.

Try it E Gilbert says.  What if it goes on getting written until the last line when the 70 person dies?

But then, of course there would be a sequel.  Who would write that?  Talula?

And i forgot the woman who is making a Shrimp Farm in Lemitar down the road.  I read about it in the crummy little local newspaper….someone has a Shrimp Farm in Lemitar.  You can call and order your shrimp and she will have them ready for you.  OK.  Yes.  The woman who is a Shrimp Farmer in the desert needs to be included.

and back to it going on till the 70 Person's Death.  And how death comes with the last INHALE,  not exhale….as i'd believed before,  But the INHALE.  You breath IN then there is just the slightest pause,  the moment of saying OK,  and the in that pause,  you lift up into the Inhale and continue on.  Lifting Out of the body,  loosening at first,  lifting then,  until you are Free.  There IS the exhale,  but that belongs to the physical body,  because you have lifted OUT,  and the shell exhales, or,  that last breath simply escapes naturally,  slowly and at ease.

So…all the above this morning and then a truly excellent day when i worked some on the Net of Mother Night

adding the second round of split back stitch….Jude Hill…. and how incredibly GOOD it was after a few days away

Then OutSide to prepare for the days of cold that are coming.  5 of them.  Making things Good for the Goats,  as Good as i can.

Bring in 5 days of wood.  Turn the wheelbarrows down so the snow does not settle.  Tarp the feed.  Tarp some firewood in case.  Move the truck.  Change all Goat Water tubs.  We are Ready.

ADDENDUM:

Tay is sleeping in her crate but hears the laughter of drunk people in the distance.  Comes out to stand, listening.  Growls,  which is rare and goes through the dog door to stand OutSide at the gate.  It's Christmas Eve here in the barrio.

 

 

 

 

 

Next to the Morning Chair there is a wooden box,  about 18" wide X  3ft long and probably close to 18" deep.  It acts as a table.  There's books on it,  the wood matches for the fire lighting,  a jelly glass with pens and stuff.  sometimes sewing stuff but this morning not because i'd cleaned all that off when i thought we were going to be moving the futon frames.  But there was  this

 

i think it was part of a hem of something.  I'd walnut dyed it a year or more ago…it had been White and a more bright blue.   So i began the day with the scissors,  cutting it free from it's stitching,  opening it up.   And then i washed it in my hand in the kitchen sink to see if i could get the creases to let go

 

B side

 

A side

both,  wet.  It's lighter dried but not much really.  And that's how the day began and kind of continued.  Kind of an altered state somehow.  I was outside a lot because the day after tomorrow there will be a cold snap…love that "snap"….the word of it but not the reality of it and it drizzled off and on too and i stayed out in the Albatros during 2 periods of drizzle to see what the Goats were doing…WAS Nogal letting Tenzen into their shelter?  I never found out.  Tenzen just was moving around in the rain.  Don't know if it was his choice…rain was very light…or….

Gideon and Flash cuddle close under their portico.  and the Doe Goats,  well,  they are all so sheltered IN,  inside the Albatros.  so i shoveled and loaded the wheelbarrow with manure and scrap hay and hauled 4 barrow fulls to the garden beds and  in between i just looked at that denim futon cover,  wondering if i liked it or not and then Jamie called of Sydney and Jamie the Two Moms of Talula saying she had cooked and some people were coming and since i'd gone to Sydney's the other day she wondered if i'd come to her house and

so i went,  which was out of character completely because it was not till 5 at the earliest and was IN TOWN  (which is really very close)  but i went because i am experimenting with things and it was nice  but once again i only managed till 6 something and was home by 20 minutes to 7.  And i built the fire and sat down to wonder about myself  and why i was feeling so adrift and realized it was because i missed the conversation with E. Gilbert,  even tho from her it was written on a page and from me,  was only in my head…..

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Creativity is sacred,

 and it is not sacred.

What we make matters enormously,

 and it doesn't matter at all.

   We toil alone, and we are

       accompanied by spirits."

Elizabeth Gilbert   Big Magic   Creative Living Beyond Fear  

 

What drew me to get the book was reading something about how she talked of Curiosity…..because it was syncronicity with my own  renewed preoccupation with Curiosity.   I followed the thread.   And found a friend.  It's not a magnificant book,  but it is like having a Friend.  a Friend who is similar to yourself and who can wander through thought and love and just Enjoy the wandering…Like my most loved friend Marjorie Burke Price,  that i have been missing so much,  she is like her…having no destination,  just the joy of wondering.

There are many things in this book that will stay with me.   They will be perceived differently by those that read.    But things that will stay with me.  For instance…if something Shows UP,  welcome it.  Who knows?

 

The Old Cowboy's futon frame has been in the back of his (mine) truck for maybe a week or more.  It's exactly like this one except it works easy when you go to make it flat.  So i was going to change it out.  Take this one to the Thrift Shop.  Needs some nuts and bolts or something and anyway,  it depended on me finding someone to move this one Out and OCB's In and i was malingering.   It's too long a story to tell for "nothing",  but he called this morning saying that he and Alan would come after work and do the thing.  After work means 5:30.  In the dark and they would need to come through the Way Back gate that is sensitive in daylight let alone DARK.  And would mean that i would need to do many small things to make this ok to happen like make a fake Goat gate in order not to lose Goats in the process and move almost everything around in the house so it could go smoothly and i said ok.  But then

as morning progressed,  i thought….This is NOT how i had wanted to spend this day.  So i checked out the present futon frame and lo and behold i got it to work just ok enough to call him and CANCEL the mess of moving it.  And suddenly in the midst of that i thought of the old cover i made in the beginning of the Jude stuff which has been in a basket ,  the BOTTOM of a basket in the bedroom for a few years.

 

 

this is not at all the true color…this kind of greybrown strip,  i don't know how it happened this way in the pic but i really really LIKE it…

and what's the Deal with this denim futon cover?  But then i though about how i'd been thinking about Julie's question.   Did i think about going to California to be with them there or something and i responded that i thought i "should"

But i don't want to.  Yet.  I don't want to.  But what if they came here?  Alyssia had said that she wanted the kids to "know" me.  Well….could they "know me" if they came here?  And if instead of the oh so light grey blue futon cover,  there was this denim one that could take the wear and tear…..?

What if the kids,  Julian 6 and Destiney 7 came here?   Say for a month of their summer vacation?  What if we made a pond out where the Raft is?  With plastic and then stone and cement?  What if we made a Navajo shade house over where the Old Cowboy's lawn furniture is?  Would that keep us busy enough?  For a Month?

 

i woke this morning to find this

 

Creativity has so many forms,  each form so much nuance.   Marti is a Master of Remembering.  Of Keeping.  Of Detail.   I appreciate this so deeply because it is how i am not.   This Beauty FULL Being of Light is her creation of small branches coming Back together to form a tree.  It took my breath away.

Gilbert says

"Creativity is sacred.  and it is not sacred.  What we make matters enormously,  and it doesn't matter at all.  We toil alone, and we are accompanied by spirits."

It is the eve of Solstice.  The eve of the 70th time this body has felt the love of this Earth.  70.  70 times.   I am finding this hard to take in.  

 

 

when does it Begin?

that thing about Scarcity/Abundance.  And here,  not about money,  goods,  but rather Time.    

the other day,  Sydney of Sydney and Jamie the Two Moms of Talula,  who all used to live up the road from me,  but now only Sydney,  Jamie lives in town,  Talula who is now 11 goes back and forth,  anyway, Sydney stopped by to bring me this gift

 

a shopping bag from World Market.  She got one for herself and one for me.  And invited me to her Solstice Celebration on Sunday (tonight) saying it's ok if you don't come but it would be nice if you did and as i always have,  when invited to her Celebrations,  i said ok,  maybe.  I think the last one i went to was maybe 4 or 5 years ago?,  it was the Martin Luther King,  Prayer Tie making Celebration with a wrestling workshop by her then newish lover Shelah.   She lives less than 5 minutes away.  But i don't go to stuff.  But they keep extending the invitations.  She really likes to cook for people.  Likes very much to have people come to her home.  I really love her and people she knows are always good and interesting people.  It's always very very nice.  But i don't go.

so for a couple days now i thought about it and today thought about it in terms of that concept of Scarcity and Abundance which is usually applied to money and goods.  But i was thinking about it in terms of 

Time

having to choose to "spend" time socializing with people  v.s.  being Home alone,   the Home alone always would win.  There was not enough time,  never enough time.  Any time there was must not be squandered,  must be held and savored as if it was the last piece of time ever.

somehow it was different.  Found self thinking…Why Not?

so though i ended up staying less than two hours (because it was just totally Enough socializing even with really great and interesting people) ,  i made scalloped potatoes and went.   And the real difference was that when i was there,  i was fully present.  I was not sitting at the edge of my chair, restlessly waiting for the first moment of polite escape.  I was There.  I was There in conversations,  There in eating the lamb stew and ayurvedic lentil dish,  There in the bourbon hot toddy,  the best corn bread i've had in a lifetime,  the dark chocolate with sea salt,   all the dogs,  those that live there and those that came as guests,  the kids.  The huge Christmas tree,  Bing Crosby singing.  I was

There.

and i am happy that i went.  And am happy that it provided the really first example of how things are different after the Old Cowboy Time.   Things are different.  There is Enough Time.   How BeautyFULL is This???   Enough Time.  There is Enough Time.

 

 

he and his Mother.  

Light Candles,  on Solstice light bonfires.  Light everything you can think of to light that things can go just enough Ok for them to hang in. 

But he is there.  They, he and his mother are traveling toward some kind of home for them….to Alyssia's, to my daughter's.    This is going to be hard.  But he is there.  Small soul,  he is there.  Everyone is awaiting him.  

oh just Joy.  Just relief.  Just Going.  Everyone Just Going.

Big and Giant Love to all who hang around here and Thank YOU all for what you have given thus far.  It's not over.  Need all the good vibes that can be gathered.  Please Send.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

early part of day was wrapping gifts to fill a big box to California and Denver.  THE comprehensive Pokemon encyclopedia,  a finally found musical twirling ballerina jewelry box with a nondescript skin color and BROWN hair (!!!!),  a FischerPrice keyboard,  headlamp flashlights for all,  little stuff from the dollar store…scented markers,  solar candles,  alphabet beads.  The drawing things for the grandson,  E. Gilbert book for Alyssia.   A wooden painted hand with milagros on the fingertips for Veronika, 19 yrs.  The children's T Nat  Hahn  4 stone meditation book,  The Quiet Place  book, Tango makes Three about the two dad penguins for the kids to share.  The line at the post office full of Good Will.  Done.  One more year.  There is no Christmas here for many years now and all the "adult" children are done with it,  but then,  those young ones….o welllllll,  those young ones.  So, ok.  and ok.

 

how is it,  really,  that Night becomes Dawn?  Close your eyes,  see it.  See it in your mind,  how it is,  what it is….so slight at first it almost isn't,  but then it moves and it Is.

 

the small high table from Old Cowboys…his mother Flossie found it at the dump and refinished it.  Alyssia insisted i bring it home,  i said i had no place for it.  It's next to the bed.  I clipped the little lamp to it but didn't plug the lamp in.  Just was there.  The last time i was there,  at OCB's,  i brought home his wall clock that he liked.  He had many things to say about the Chinese,  but for some reason,  this clock he found in some catalog,  it was in the kitchen,  over the sink.  I brought it home.  Battery.  and it makes a distinct sound as it marks the minutes.  Right now,  i like that sound when i wake and everything is completely dark.  Dit.  Dit.  Dit.,  etc.   

I woke at 2 something last night as is often the case in winter…to pee because i've gone to bed so early, and now too  because i hear Chinche stirring and need to carry her outside to pee.  I woke from a very active dream and was Given something.   Not ready to put it into words,  but i had to get up to write it down,  i knew i would lose it otherwise and i didn't want to get up to write it down,  too cold but i did because it was that important,  so have prepared now.

 

i hung the clock on a push pin and connected the lamp.  Ready.

If nothing else,  the Elizabeth Gilbert book,  Big Magic gives me this.  I am only on page 64 of 272 but this in itself is Enough.  Just this  from the part How Ideas Work:

" I believe that creative process is both magical and magic.  Because here is what i choose to believe about how creativity functions.

I believe that our planet is inhabited not only by animals and plants and bacteria and viruses,  but also by ideas.  Ideas are a disembodied energetic  life-form.  They are completely separate from us,  but capable of interacting with us….albeit  strangely.   Ideas have no material body,  but they do have consciousness,  and they most certainly have will.  Ideas are driven by a single impulse:   to be made manifest.  And the only way an idea can be made manifest in our world is through collaboration with a human partner.    It is only through a human's efforts that an idea can be escorted out of the ether  and into the realm of the actual.

     Therefore, ideas spend eternity swirling around us,  searching for available and willing human partners.  When an idea thinks it has found somebody…say you….who might be able to bring it into the world ,  the idea will pay you a visit.  It will try to get your attention.  Mostly,  you will not notice.  This is likely because you are so consumed by your own dramas, anxieties, distractions, insecurities, and duties  that you aren't receptive to inspiration.  You might miss the signals because you are watching TV,  or shopping,  or brooding over how angry you are at somebody,  or pondering your failures,  and mistakes,  or just generally being busy.   The ideas will try to wave you down  (perhaps for a few moments,  or perhaps for a few months,  or perhaps even for a few years)  but when it finally realizes  that you're oblivious to it's message,  it will move on to someone else.

But sometimes…rarely…but magnificently….there comes a day when you're open and relaxed enough to actually receive something.  Your defenses might slacken and your anxieties might ease,  and then magic can slip through.  The idea,  sensing your openness, will start to do its work on you.  It will send the Universal physical and emotional signals of inspiration (the chills up the arms,  the hair standing up on the back of the neck,  the nervous stomach,  the buzzy thoughts,   that feeling of falling into love or obsession).  The idea will organize coincidences  and portents to tumble across your path,  to keep your interest keen.  You will start to notice all sorts of signs pointing you toward the idea.  Everything you see and touch and do will remind you of the idea.  The idea will wake you up in the middle of the night and distract you from your everyday routine.  The idea will not leave you alone until it has your fullest attention.

And then,  in a quiet moment it will ask,  "Do you want to work with me?"  ……"

 

Again.  if nothing else from this book…THIS is enough.  I KNOW this.  And to read something that i know so intimately only Inside myself,  that i have never put words to,   is just beyond Grand.  So,  i Thank her,  Elizabeth Gilbert. So much.  so so Much.

 

 

 

 

 

from the beginning,  through,  and toward Dawn,  the density,  intensity of the Night Hours are not the same.   Listening to distant dogs,  coyotes,  and in these days,  the owl.   They mark the hours.  My deep sleep and wakefulness mark the hours.  Winter.