First off, I am finding it hard to post everyday here in Peru. Secondly, it is trying to get photos on to a computer that is connected to the internet making me less zealous in my post a day quest.
Anyway, on Tuesday, I spent time reconnecting with two of the artisan groups that I worked with when I lived here before, Mana and Kuichi. It may be a stretch in some ways, but I think building relationships definitely falls under the category of the creative act. But, with Amelia and Bertha of Mana, we made a new reusable grocery style bag out of an old flour sack. It's pretty dang skippy if you aske me (I will post the photo when I can). I also started knitting a new sweater.
29.8
I have returned home.
To a home of hospitality
where chicken is the norm, I'm never fat enough, and toilet seats are rare.
I've missed Lima in ways I never thought possible.
Like the odor that wafts down every street...it may be strange,
but it feels good to smell it.
And the crazy commotion of the traffic in the streets,
seemingly constantly out of control with horns blaring and tires squealing.
The utter lack of control forces me to relax, to let go
and learn to be like the water under the control of the moon.
Forcing me this way, then that way, then this way again.
I must float here, without control, without consent.
It is something I strive to imprint on my life and my actions
--but then there I go--
trying to control my life and what happens there in.
When in all reality, it is not my life -it is God's life- to do with what God chooses.
My only job is to flow.
With the water, with the moon, with creation.
To do my best to follow the path set before me with as much grace as possible,
and with my gracefullness being akin to a walrus on dry land
I need to be reminded daily what water feels like.
What it feels like to float, what it feels like to swim.
I need to remember what the blundering, clumsy, non footed mammal looks like when she swims.
Gliding under the waves, unstoppable.
And so I pray, God
let me ride the waves as I ride in a taxi cab,
coursing through traffic, pulled by the moon, pushed by your spirit.
Help me remember that it is your Will and not mine.
That is the lesson I keep forgetting to remember.
It is not my plan, it is yours.
And my energy, and my spirit, and my passion all come from you
and to you they will return.
To a home of hospitality
where chicken is the norm, I'm never fat enough, and toilet seats are rare.
I've missed Lima in ways I never thought possible.
Like the odor that wafts down every street...it may be strange,
but it feels good to smell it.
And the crazy commotion of the traffic in the streets,
seemingly constantly out of control with horns blaring and tires squealing.
The utter lack of control forces me to relax, to let go
and learn to be like the water under the control of the moon.
Forcing me this way, then that way, then this way again.
I must float here, without control, without consent.
It is something I strive to imprint on my life and my actions
--but then there I go--
trying to control my life and what happens there in.
When in all reality, it is not my life -it is God's life- to do with what God chooses.
My only job is to flow.
With the water, with the moon, with creation.
To do my best to follow the path set before me with as much grace as possible,
and with my gracefullness being akin to a walrus on dry land
I need to be reminded daily what water feels like.
What it feels like to float, what it feels like to swim.
I need to remember what the blundering, clumsy, non footed mammal looks like when she swims.
Gliding under the waves, unstoppable.
And so I pray, God
let me ride the waves as I ride in a taxi cab,
coursing through traffic, pulled by the moon, pushed by your spirit.
Help me remember that it is your Will and not mine.
That is the lesson I keep forgetting to remember.
It is not my plan, it is yours.
And my energy, and my spirit, and my passion all come from you
and to you they will return.
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