29.14

So, this might be cheating.
I wrote this about 5 years ago when I first moved to Washington.

The moon was out tonight.
Orion at her side.
Her blue light shining
on the back of my hand, clutching the steering wheel.
And it brought me back...
to a large snowy field,
with two girls lost in footprints.
to rolling down a white hill,
with stolen cigarettes on our breath.
to a depressed and happy time in my life
when you were there.
The bumps on the side of the road
bring me back...
to my hands righting the steering wheel
of a different car, in a different state without snow,
in a different year, a different time.
But the moon's blue light
still glows on the back of my hand
and I am still a scared young girl in a snowy field
and you are still with me.

29.13

29.12

I was in the desert.

My mouth was dry. I could feel the sand, the grit against my teeth, whipped up by the wind, unknowinly entering the dark cavernous realms of my mouth.

I was walking along a road, red rock mountains in the distance. I came upon a tree, the only shade for miles. Caught in the uppermost bows was a kite of pink and yellow and green. Trembling in the wind, trying to loose itself, to fly, to be free.

I watched it dance it's imprisoned dance.

I sat below the tree to rest. The leaves of the tree played a sporadic melody as the wind continued to wind it's way across the plain.

In the distance I saw a mirage. A man was walking towards me, dressed in white. His loose clothes hung over a skeletal frame. He carried a cage made of wood, sticks bound together in a manner I had not seen before. There was nothing inside.

He walked as though I was not there below the tree. I thought perhaps he did not see me. I was hoping he would pass by. He stopped.

He turned to face me. His eyes were closed. The wind failed. The leaves quit singing. I could hear his breath. In, then out, then in once more.

Nervous I watched him.

His eyes opened suddenly.

They were the color of the ocean, far from land. Far from the reach of the average person.

I felt as though I was falling into them, into their depth. Into the depth of the ocean.

My breathing failed.

I felt as though he was looking not at me, but in me. Into the very center of my being. Past the layers of protection I had constructed through the years. Past every defense I held, into the heart where my deepest wish and my greatest fear both resided.

My eyes continued to hold his gaze. It seemed as though they posessed all of the knowledge ever known in the world. I was lost.

He raised his palm as I stared entranced. Showing me each finger, he slowly opened the door to the empty cage. He thrust his hand inside, feeling around for a moment, then clasped his hand tightly. He retracted his closed fist and held it for a moment in front of me, then threw it into the air and released his grip as a small white dove took flight, away into the heavens she flew. He watched her as she ascended and began to laugh, the sound of which made the leaves sing once more as the wind began to whip up the sand from it's momentary rest.

He lowered his gaze to mine once more, and with the force of a wave meeting the shore, my breath returned to my chest.

He turned and continued walking, his gait slow, and never once looked back.

29.11

Come on now,

put your hand out,

touch the rock.

I know it seems a long way off,

but I promise you it's not.

And it may seem

too big,

too far,

too scary,

but if it didn't seem that way,

would it really be worth doing?

29.10

Mira la luna llena.
Filled with reflection
of the absent sun's rays.
I watch silently.
She shows me the sun
even though it is night.
She shows me what's gone wrong,
as well as what's gone right.
Unaware of me as I stare
searching for energy
an answer, a prayer.
All she shows me
is all I can see.
Reflections of who I am,
who I'm called to be.

29.9

From yesterday... I knitted for about 4 hours. Sweater on the way.

29.7.8

29.7
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.