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Busy of late.  Measuring, pouring,  mixing words.  Storms pass, more to come.   But the road seems firm.  Even footing is good, steer clear of worn potholes glistening with flies, familiar stench.

In my neck of the woods winter has been mild.  What could have been snow today was rain – the story of the season.  Moisture delivered without treachery and transportation ill.

Now the sun is full out, sky is blue with high clouds kicking up at the rim of the horizon.  A large flock of crows caught my eye, heading north.  Smart birds those ones.

The light is long this afternoon, like a waning summer day, sepia tone overlay.  You know the look,  memory before your eyes.

What a gift to wander this world, walk its streets,  ride within a body that still works, feels deeply.

There is something to the light this afternoon – trying to tell me something.  What a gift to wander this world.

Wake up

Over twenty years ago I worked in the legal department of a food and drug company.  Always  my habit to arrive early – around 6:00 AM.  A lot of work got done in relative quiet and the only souls about were me, the switchboard gal, and the building manager Pete – a brusque fellow  kinder than he liked to appear.

In my cubicle early one morning I was reading a file when a glitch beeped my phone, causing me to look up.  To my wonder, the date on the phone changed from the actual date, to my year and date of birth.  At the same time, I impossibly heard my mother’s voice comment loudly Cynthia, it is time to wake up.

It was just a  moment, as those things always are.  On meandering out to the switchboard, the receptionist confirmed yes, there was a  glitch, yes, a different date appeared.

Ascribing logical meaning to illogical events is a common human mistake.  The stuff of religion and even the New Age.  Another human mistake is failing to notice, however unattainable, the meaning behind such an occurrence.

Last week during a yoga class I am privileged to attend, came another unmistakable command to wake up, without technical proof this time, and only by way of feeling.  Proof changes with age.  It is my belief  a well-lived life yields certitude of feeling,  faith in messages of self at middle age.

And on walkabout several days later, leafless trees, wind, clouds – even the ground I walked  – at once rose up with the same message, filling my body with an electric sense of now.  Even later, at mid-of-night, as a shining sun, an exhortation to wake, wake up.

I am not wise enough to translate these things, but I am present enough to withstand them  – and to take the point.

Look around you – the door, the the wall to your left, the fabric that envelopes you.  The  fullness of atmosphere that only appears invisible.  Our world is limited  by our view, our perspective.  In each scene, at each door, in the posture of  objects and orientation of events, our time is only part of a far more complex setting.  Beyond the punctuating clock is integrated space, experience.  Expansive depth and wrinkles  of  understanding clamor  – if only we could roust ourselves.  If only.

No one wakes up – because no one knows, or truly believes they are asleep…but I know I am.  It is time to wake up.

Regulation

Leaking water has long been a feature in my home.  Even  before the departure of X, bathroom faucets,  kitchen faucets, kitchen sink sprayer, water filter outlets, and outdoor hoses leaked incessantly.   Mostly they leaked  for months and years.  Occasionally, effort was made, and one leak would be stopped.

As time passed, and water and money drained away, I made friends with the drips and drops, tried to ignore the water bill, and resigned myself to forces beyond myself.  Like many, my financial status does not correlate with the cost of paid plumbing assistance.  With the effort toward divorce in the past several years, I was under water and accepted it.

Last summer I repaired each outdoor connection.  Last December, the bathtub faucet drip became a drum beat, difficult to ignore.  This January, the kitchen water filter, cartridges unchanged for years, let out a final  high-pitched whine before I shut it down for good on a Friday afternoon.  Remarkably, I was able to speak with a fellow that day who could replace the filter at a price I could afford – and he could do it the following Monday.

On Saturday, without prerequisite knowledge, I undertook the kitchen faucet after a motivational trip to the local hardware store.   Faith and YouTube prevailed and to my amazement, the kitchen faucet leaked no more.

With earnest naivete I tackled the bathtub faucet on Sunday.  Hours and several trips to the hardware store later, my repair yielded a bathtub faucet spewing water at high pressure when off.   End of day found me further under water than ever before.  A fast-thinking friend suggested returning the internal cartridge, and faucet, to their  previous condition – a move that proved so successful the bathtub faucet leaked no more.

On Monday, the fellow who installed the new water filter explored the leaking, mouldering seal around the kitchen sink drain.  Over the next two afternoons, this gracious guy helped me remove and install two new kitchen drains – all for the reduced wholesale price of the water filter and a  plate of cookies.

I learned a lot about leaks.  I learned faucets and switches not only provide access to natural resources, they hold them at bay.  Without the right fix – a strong, tight connection – the undefined stuff of water drowns out the senses and drives up expenses.  I learned old solutions sometimes work – when examined,  reinvented, suffered, and restored.  And I learned sometimes you can fix things by yourself – and sometimes you can’t.  Near or far, there are good folks around that can help.

There are no leaking faucets, drains, or hoses around my house at present.  First time in over a decade.  Nature – supply and demand – and the  fine line between on and off.  Regulation – a  good thing.

Another day

Dawn over the strip mall.  Deep indigo sky, vibrant reflection in sheet ice over asphalt.  Blue above, blue below, a shock of pink apricot on the horizon.  Just for a few moments – wish you could have seen it.  Reason to be.

Cars roll up to the everlasting light of a nearby gas station, coffee, fuel.   Indigo to robin’s egg sky.  The day has begun.

A simple song

Try this at home – hum or sing a tune – no words, just a tune.

While moving into the song,  change it.  Just decide  here or there  that it might go up, down, slower, faster.

Uncomfortable at first, not familiar, no pattern to speak of as it rambles a bit.  But then it repeats –  now you have a little structure.  Add another change.   You might end it there for now, or keep going.

Change it up, do it different  – or better yet, hum your own song, one played before only in your head.   Melodies pass my way on occasion,  I  appreciate their flavor and let ’em go.  Here and gone – some return, some do not.

Mythologist Joseph Campbell said [i]f you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path.  Maybe that works for songs too.

Anew

Of things gathered but not described, researched but not written.  Excerpts, pages, references and me – needing an organizing principle.  A work of life, of years, an effort frustrated and sidelined by the very events it foresaw and sought to explain.  Experience takes time.

The scratch again of pencil on paper, I am Home.

Breathe

Short, sharp, shallow, the brutality of breath.

Sinuous inhale,  1-2-3-4, exhale the same way.  Juice of mind and body.  Languid, giddy.

Breath, simple, accessible, powerful. Rise and fall.

To inspire.

Sensation

A world so bold, loud, large, ceaseless, angry, joyful,  spreading.

A world so small,  infinite,  still. One sound can raze a city, one colour create a civilization, one sensation can capture eternity.

From one to another, and back.

In the trees

On New Year’s Eve my children and I were on late night walkabout.  No snow, a breeze, lit homes and a last show of Christmas lights along roof lines, lamp posts, and in the trees.

Up the street, the pin oaks were whispering louder than usual.  We stopped to note the conversation.  White pines said little and the deciduous trees were downright silent.

Rounding home, our Norway spruce stands over 20 feet now, festooned with lights, pine cones for ornaments.  It caught my attention as my children ran in the house.

Deep, brilliant, dark, with majestic green leader pointing toward a waxing moon half hidden by clouds.  The tree spoke of  shifting years, of mystery and invitation to the unknowable – an eternal, ephemeral moment.  How far can flesh and blood go into that beckoning?  How far can a cellular creature blend and survive?  Never has the question, or the invitation, been more concrete.

I wonder.

Stop and start

Early morning neighborhood drive  last week.  A school bus pulled even going the opposite direction, its lights began to flash, signalling  pick up of precious cargo bound for the elementary.  I stopped.

Throughout that mildly grey day, stop signs at corners, in parking lots.  I stopped for each, and started again.

Within each stop is a start.  And who is to say which is first?  Beginnings get all the press, but endings do most the work.   Even the universe was doing something before the Big Bang.

They say change is constant, I believe it.   Human equations, fluid equilibrium, stop and start.