Into the Mists

The Old Poets of China

Wherever I am, the world comes after me.
It offers me its busyness. It does not believe
that I do not want it. Now I understand
why the old poets of China went so far and high
into the mountains, then crept into the pale mist.

~ Mary Oliver

courtesy of palindrome6996

In my own way, today, I drift into the mists. Anesthesia-induced, yes. Though it still counts. I’ll think of it as time travel.

And when I come back to this world, my retreat will begin. Bed and rest. I’ve put everything in order. The busy will go on without me.

If I’ve got to pull some wisdom teeth to get my modern hermitage, then so be it.

Respiration, Jumping Jacks and the Thread

At 5:55am, I have no idea what today brings.

I tried that trick a friend told me about. Jumping up and down within the first 15 minutes of waking. Repeating the mantra “Abundance is here now!” Or inserting whatever you wish to be here now: “Love is here now!” “Health is here now!” “Happiness is here now!”

He says it’s a fun way to set the tone for the day. But I live on the second story so I was sort of making quiet, 5:15-in-the-morning hops. I was too lazy to go outside in the dark on the wet grass. So my jumping jack intention may have had only half-power. But you, see, I’m trying.

Following these threads. Listening for guidance.

Tomorrow my wisdom teeth are extracted. Yesterday, Jeb got a prescription for antibiotics for some funk in his chest. Today’s events are yet unknown.

If I begin to think about the work I have to do, the preparations needed for the upcoming days and the obligations I have to fulfill, I think those jumping jacks would turn into the fetal position. Alas, a mother has no option to assume this position.

In fact, in this “now”, a mother may have no more time to post a rambling Archive post about following a thread, as her sick child emerges from bed with a sweaty head and whispered voice.

I’ve leaned on the words of William Stafford before. Quoted him right here in the Archives. I like to think of his reference to the thread as a description of the artistic process. But it’s not only that. It’s about so much more. So much more, that it then becomes elementary.

courtesy of noii

Perhaps that thread is simply the essence of life. An essence most readily touched breath by breath. That respiration our heartbeats track, weaving moments to days, days to a living.

In a day, chaotic, like today. Uncertain. I hold the thread of the present moment, following it and trusting that all will unfold in some way that will be ok.

“Now is here now!” And I guess later will be here later.

One step at a time, I follow this thread. Watch for magic in unexpected places. Hopefully laugh a little (or a lot).

Trust.

The Way It Is

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change.  But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

~ William Stafford ~

Of Course Things Like That Can Happen

Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved

“…And still,

Light stretches its arms

Open even more

And shouts to you, because you are His lover,

To forget your harsh actions of the past

And just Dance!”

~ Hafiz from “Of Course Things Like That Can Happen”