The little blue birds weren’t perfect,
As they appeared on Jon’s quilt.
Sewn from memory and imagination,
With the firmest of intention
By an unsure hand,
From the floss they came,
Fluttering in the sky,
Above the rooftop of the
Little house with the yellow door,
Where happiness lived.
It is a story quilt made of his shirts, and when finished, will be given to his grand son as a keepsake. There are many little houses, a lot of lovely memories of that place, the house with the door always open. We needle bearers have been invited to embroider whatever embellishments we choose to personalize it. There will be more bluebirds.
Jeremiah was a prickly plant. He grew into a very big pot and scratched if given the opportunity.
He became ancient to generations later. Part of him still exists.
He had his place by the window where he was as happy as he could be.
For a while Floyd moved in and lived in the cage, by the window too. It was like a jungle there for a while with Ivy hanging down.
Jeremiah never seemed to mind having Floyd there when the house was otherwise emptied for the day.
They just hung out together in the corner that was just right.
Floyd made a lot of noise. He was a Cockatiel, found wandering in a snow bank in February. He spent a week in hospital, and it seems that he never got over the trauma of being cold and lost. I wondered if he had run away from home.
So we brought him to live in the little jungle where the little tree house of bamboo hung, where the Ivy grew, and Jeremiah sat.
Panama hats are made with plants such as him. He was beautiful.
I added a couple more bluebirds to Jon’s quilt.
How calming and ancient a ritual,
The communion of
A circle of woman.
I feel as if I am the earth.
Everything is alive in me.
The loam is rich, and the things that slept there and incubated
Are bursting toward blooming,
Seeds broken open and life reaching for light.
I can smell the earth, and feel
Its soft warm texture between my fingers.
It’s what I’ve been growing in.
I celebrate my body, its healing, and its potential. I celebrate my life and the truth that living teaches me. I celebrate that there are such things as transformation, and thought, vision, sound, wind, and passion.
I celebrate the endless rays of all possibilities, the movement of the timeless rhythm of all things, and the spirit bent on creation.
I celebrate that there is a natural way of things beyond my interference, and life to be lived beyond imagination. I celebrate that we have each other to love, that the pieces do come together eventually, and that there is more to life than what we see.
I celebrate the wisdom that comes when I listen, the power of the present when I am still, and the delight of my spirit when I dance.
I celebrate my dreams and my wanderings, and I celebrate that, at least in my illusion, I exist. Let the wind blow. Let the stars sing, and let the dance be endless.
Imagine a deep indigo night.
Imagine being surrounded by stars, eons of them feeling close enough to touch.
You can hear them singing.
The air is clear and warm, still, and alive.
You are standing on a narrow jut of land, a precipice miles high, with stars all around and beneath your feet.
Imagine a man standing beside you with his arm around your shoulders, and he, with a slow and wide sweep of his other, offers you all of this,
All of this beauty and all of this joy. 2009
I believe in the intangible. I believe in dreams, and dreaming. I believe in a source of all things greater than is possible to imagine, present without definition or proof. I believe in the powers of love and creation to heal and transform. I believe that we are all exactly who we are meant to be.
I believe that emotions, senses, and experiences open our hearts, heal our lives, and guide us to our potential. I believe we are much more than we see, think, guess, and know.
I believe in the greatness of the human spirit, and in the process of the endless cycle that is life. I believe that death is part of living, and that we contain the universe that contains us. Life proves itself to me every day.