Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Re-entry


I've been flitting around the house, the garden, the studio, everywhere lately.  Going 100 mph and getting nowhere.  That's the feeling anyway.  There have been fleeting moments of inspiration and bursts of creativity, action on the to do list, but nothing seems to really get done.

We went on vacation the last week of March.  You know how it is, those days leading up to vacation and all that goes along with them.  Packing, planning, dog to kennel, airport transportation, arrangements, where's my passport? Upon return home on April Fool's Day, I felt recharged, re-energized and ready to rock it.  And I did.  In fits and starts.

At the same time...I feel like I might be in the midst of a significant shift.  That this might just be the reason I can't settle in, move from activity to completion, get something done.

I have an inkling, a vision, albeit not completely clear, a titch fuzzy.  And so I've quieted down in hopes of hearing what is calling me.  It's tricky, because I feel restless, that I should be doing something.  But my heart is telling me to slow down, to sit still, to listen.  As I quiet my mind, as I dream in the pages of my journal, the vision becomes clearer, the inkling more of a call to action.   I'm releasing some stuff, literally and figuratively, making room for something else to come into my world.  Something that fits me better.  Something that will help me grow, as a person, as an artist, as a friend, as an inhabitant of this big blue ball we share.

As I write this, I can't help but wonder, do you really want to read about this, my idiosyncrasies, my loose footing, the flotsam and jetsam of my days, the crazy stuff that rolls around in my pea brain?  Well.  Maybe you do, maybe you don't.  Either way it's okay.  It feels important to get it down.  To let you know where I've been.  I hope you'll stick with me, meet me back in this space from time to time, check in to see where I'm headed.

Ode to Hope
by Pat Mora

Daily hope rises,
  a radiance streaming
into our white, sleepy
  bones.

From a fiery sphere
  light, like love, journeys,
offers the grace we can hear.

Hope rose long ago
  for your great-grandmother
washing her morning dishes.

With her favorite towel,
  cotton, blue and faded,
she dries the cups and saucers.

She plans a special sugary bit
  to feed her family gathering,
like yours.

By a sunny window, eyes closed,
  she sits and places her hand
on your warm head.

She prays for you,
  a face she never knew
but vaguely imagines -
  all promise.

She counts her blessings,
  the expanding ring,
and smiles at the thought of you,
  here, glowing.

2 comments:

Anne D said...

I always find your posts interesting, and this time there was new poetry for me to enjoy.

I hope that vision becomes clearer for you soon.

beenebag said...

Thank you so much for sharing that poem. I just read your "Being Brave" post and then the poem. Tears are flowing. I lost my Mom last August and then on Christmas Day my best friend of 30 years died suddenly from a hemorrhagic stroke:( Talk about valleys, I think I'm in a bottomless pit! Slowly crawling out and tears are here for a purpose. I found your blog through Teesha and the Artstronauts Club. I decided to jump back in to a creative environment even if I don't feel my mojo. Hoping by just absorbing the positive creative energy from others I'll find my journey back to my dream. Thanks again for sharing. It really helped:) Take care.