It feels so good to feel peaceful again. Confident that the book project will work out well after all is said and done -- and all is almost done. Tomorrow the printer proof comes in and something inside tells me that it will pass muster. It feels good to sleep through the whole night, to feel the future will unfold the way it's supposed to and no matter what it brings, it's all okay. It has to be. There are uncertainties, more every day, but what should I do? Cave in? Not likely. At least not tonight. I also know that this is a very middle-class American point of view that doesn't apply to so much of the rest of the world. Or to the friends who have been recently diagnosed with cancer. Or to the ones who are are in limbo waiting for diagnoses, or chemo to begin...
outflow makes way for inflow
Yesterday was a sweet day with new women friends at the rummage sale at RuYi Studio. How good it felt to sit outside under the portal and in tree shade on a lovely cooler day filled with sunshine. To send off the things I didn't want anymore to buyers who may love them anew.
The African mudcloth zafu will be installed in the meditation studio from now on. The Zen-white teapots on the tables of the fiber artist and the psychoanalyst. The yarn will comfort the 8 year old boy whose allergies are so bad that he needs something soft when symptoms of agitation strike. He chose several balls from my yarn stash -- some hand dyed in colors that appealed to him; a ball of muted earth colors; a ball of thick and thin fuzzy blue yarn that I once made a scarf with and wore to Italy. A beautiful boy with a delicate constitution in this edgy world. Precocious and smart, with an attractive young mother who allowed him to chose on his own. And the little handwoven pouch from Bolivia where he wants to stash small treasures. That's what makes this sort of endeavor worthwhile. I'm grateful for the small amount of cash, just as the studio was grateful for donations to keep the doors open. I scribble in my notebook during lulls in activity.
coming down from the sky
The night has grown colder now. The kitchen slider, still wide open, let's in a breeze that feels fresh and ocean-like. I wonder what happened in the middle of last night when the sound of yelping coyotes awakened me. There was no sign of disaster this morning. I hope my neighbor's goats and chickens are okay -- I didn't ask. No cricket sounds tonight. When did they leave?
A freshness lives deep in me
which no one can take from me
not even I myself --
Gunner Ekelof
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