remember

One of my favorite artists is Brian Andreas (if you do not know his work, stop reading and head over to www.storypeople.com and explore; right now). His words, his poetry, his stories, are a gift to me in their simple, deep truths. We have several of his prints and a few sculptures in our art collection. Pausing to read his stories that adorn our walls is part of my sacred life.

Early on when we were dating, Jon and I visited a shop that had Andreas' work and I was able to introduce Jon to a favorite past time: looking through all the prints to discover which one resonates deeply on that day. The story that day was "Real Reason," and days later Jon drove 90 minutes back to that shop in Valparaiso, Indiana to buy it for me as a "two-month dating" anniversary present.

A few months later, weeks before we became engaged, we had the opportunity to meet Brian Andreas at a signing and we bought the sculpture of "Real Reason." As we handed it to him to sign, he said, "who do I make it out to" and without asking each other, together Jon and I said, "Liz and Jon." He looked at us and said something like, "that's a big commitment;" in a way, it kind of felt like we got engaged in that moment.

Of course, the truth is that my Storypeople collection began years before I met Jon. I wrote about my first introduction to them here. I remember reading the stories aloud in the car with my mom and coming to "Fog People" and pausing and reading it again and again. I love that story and my mom gave the sculpture to me as a college graduation present. I wouldn't say that I think of it as a test when I show people the sculpture, but I always giggle a bit when people say, "but I don't get it." Another favorite print that hangs alone in our hallway so that you pause to read it is "Crayon Pirate." The simple wise truth of a child's world – that is what that story says to me.

Last week, I spent some time clicking around the stories at the website and the two stories that speak so deeply to me in this moment of my life are "Whales" and "More Fair." I hope to one day add those stories to my collection.

When the events of September 11, 2001 happened, I found myself, like so many others, trying to find something to help me wrap my brain around what had happened and the grief and helplessness. Sitting in my office one evening a week or so after the eleventh, I turned to the Storypeople website, seeking the wise words of Brian Andreas, and found that he had written a story to commemorate 9/11. The story is "Awakening." At the time, Storypeople was selling the story as a poster with the proceeds going to raise money for the people affected on that day. I bought ten planning to share them with others. And after framing one for myself and giving a few away, I did what I do best, I put them someplace and forgot.

As we have been organizing and cleaning and all that stuff over the last few weeks, I came across my carefully rolled up posters of "Awakening."

I am wondering if any of you reading this might want one. I have five and would be happy to mail one to you. Please just send me an email at waywardtulip at gmail dot com and let me know. UPDATED: The posters have all been claimed. Thank you...

Many blessings to all on this day,
Liz

conversation and quiet

september 6, on the phone with my dearest friend

september 7, a quiet hour before bed

time spent on the phone with friends who share their joys and struggles and truth and then also listen...these long conversations fill me up. yesterday, i had a talk like this with a dear friend. i first brought her up to date on some things in my life. as we talked, i took millie outside and stood talking while millie zoomed around in the yard chasing squirrels and imaginery creatures. i knew that this moment, of someone deeply listening, was something i wanted to capture as my sacred life photo of the day. and as i took the picture, the conversation shifted, as it should, and my friend began to share a lesson she is trying to unwrap; one of those lessons that seems to simply repeat for her without kindly skipping a year or two. and i listened. and i talked. and she talked. and it felt like we didn't solve it. and we like to solve things. in fact, i think we could open up a friendship shop of sorts where we solve things for people. but, we both know that this is friendship too. the not solving. the sitting in the quiet in a conversation, even one over the phone, when you realize it can't be solved. it is what it is. it is life.

tonight, after a really nice evening out with jonny that included a trip to borders, i sit in the quiet of our (newly reorganized) living room with my cup of tea, new magazines, and some twine and clothespins. don't you just love this twine? i remember seeing it in issues of martha stewart living back when i was in college and wishing i knew where to get some to use to tie my christmas gifts. you can now buy some at michaels in martha's new craft line. or, you can come to artfiberfest and get several yards from me as a trade. you might notice that i have, ahem, more than i need on that spool to the left. i use it to wrap my orders from my shop. i am happy to share. i am wrapping it on those clothes pins as a trade and will attach a little card with my info.

(and by little card i mean the wicked cool business card heather designed for me! i have been wanting to show you all for weeks, but the box that holds the card was, of course, put in another box in this great cleanup decluttering we are going through. i haven't uncovered that box yet. i will. and then i will share. cause you guys are gonna want her to design you a card too.)

spending time with poetry

this week, the community formed at Poetry Thursday is leaving links to their thursday poetry posts at delia's blog...go visit her to find out next week's prompt and who will be hosting the next week of, in her words, the traveling poetry show. love that. at some point tomorrow (thursday), i plan to share some more personal thoughts about what's happening (a bit more than what i shared on the most recent post at poetry thursday) and why the community is going to "jump from blog to blog" for the next couple of weeks.

*****

september 5, a moment tucked in bed with the words of sharon olds.

to read the words of sharon olds in her collection of poetry in the book "the gold cell" is to repeatedly breathe in the knowledge that my story, although it is my story, is a story, a song, a path that is known by others.

feelings long pushed deeply into a little pocket inside me burst out of me each time i visit with this poet.

but i come back often because i am face to face with the knowledge that to examine the bits in the internal pocket is to examine the quietest, most truthful pieces of me. it is a raw, breath-catching experience that somehow makes me feel more whole instead of sad.

the gift of poetry.

(tonight's experience was with the poem "late poem to my father," which you can find here if you scroll down a bit)

still seeking the sacred

august 31, the organizing continues...

september 1, a moment with millie during the football game while jonny puts together the ikea "stuff"

september 3, loving those flowers at the market and connecting with friends (and taking a break from all that shedding of the clutter)

a poetry thursday favorite poem

The Sunday before the Wednesday I was to see you
the conversation played
on a stage in my mind.
Knowing you would pretend to be irritated that
I had flown across the country unannounced
because you did not
want me to see you like this,
I would pull the chair next to your bed,
see your emaciated body,
and my hand would brush
away the hair around your face
like I did twenty-five years ago
right before I would smear Pond’s cold cream
across your nose, cheeks, and forehead.
I would tell you that I finally understood.

But then you died on Tuesday.

In their need for reason,
people said you chose to die
the Tuesday before the Wednesday I was to see you
because you knew I was coming and
you wouldn’t have
wanted me to see you like that.
Infuriated, I turned my back
on the words that meant nothing
to the open wound you left behind
that people saw as me, and
I sat in the darkness,
my throat choked with silence,
my fingertips filled with regret that I
did not brush your hair
away from your face
when I saw you on
the morning of the Thursday after the Wednesday I was to see you,
when I heard your voice say,
It isn’t me.

****

I originally shared this poem in the summer of 2006 and again here as part of Poetry Thursday, which was an online community I co-hosted. It poured out of me one day when I was processing the grief surrounding my grandmother's death and my anger at the platitudes people say. Of all the poems I wrote during my experience of Poetry Thursday, this was my favorite.

the last poetry thursday

I cried last night as I wrote my last post for Poetry Thursday. I surprised myself a bit by how deeply sad I felt as I saved and published it. This project has been more important to me than I think I even realized. Part of the reason is how connected it is to my own discovery of how much I love poetry and how I believe poetry can change a person…and the world. I know it is also connected to finding light in darkness as poets (the ones I discovered on bookstore shelves and the ones I connected with in blog world) were some of the first people to say to me, "You are not alone in the deep well of grief." So, this gift is also connected to Poetry Thursday.

I realize that I don't have to return these gifts because the project is ending. It isn't as though I will suddenly stop reading poetry or stop writing it. Of course not. I am not leaving blog world, and I will continue to connect with other bloggers who love poetry. I will continue to share my own poetry, links to other poets/poems/blogs, and thoughts about poetry here. And, I imagine I will probably find myself sharing them on Thursdays the way many of us still share Self-Portrait Challenge photos on Tuesdays. I suppose I must admit that I will have more time for my own love affair with poetry as cohosting a site does take up quite a bit of time. But, to me, it is sad all the same.

To all of you who have participated in Poetry Thursday: Thank you for all you have shared and taught and the community you created. Please keep changing the world one poem at a time.

*****

A short poem note (or maybe it is indeed simply a short poem) on this last Poetry Thursday…

We stood until the drum of your heart, the water rolling down my back, and your hands cradling my head were all we were.

just feel.

the view from my bug, august 29

i am feeling sad this evening, but earlier today, i got out and enjoyed the sunshine on my drive to and from teaching yoga (i was subbing at a senior center - love teaching seniors!). the bright blue sky and some song i now don't remember playing as i sang along as i drove along the water and through a couple of neighborhoods i don't usually visit. i felt light and very happy.

although i don't feel that way tonight, i know that this is how it goes. and that is okay. no need to panic.

just feel.

the ups and the downs.

looking for peace among patterns

my sacred life, august 27

attempting to let go of some of the old patterns, the samscaras, of my life. examining them daily - this is who i am - and sometimes it is tiring. but, then there are the moments when i can step outside myself to realize i can stop examining and simply loosen the grip a bit and move on. let go. let something greater than me take over holding tightly for a while. realize that maybe holding on too tightly has created this groove that could become impossible to stop tracing. i do not have to hold it all up. i can take a breath. i can take a breath and allow peace to fill the maze of trenches the patterns (the ones i must let go) have created. i can (let peace in).

looking for a shift by rearranging and letting go of some of the physical things in my (our) space. looking for closeness and warmth and rooms that feel more like nests and less like storage spaces. letting go of the stuff that held significance once and now just collects dust. sending it on to be loved by someone else. looking for more peace in less clutter, more peace (between us).

being honest about what i need. what. i. need. being honest with myself first. being. honest. with. myself. (first)

letting go (trying to let go) of the invisible piles (of guilt).

finding peace in this new corner of my home where my favorite chair, my first big purchase just for me years ago, now resides. we were going to give it away, but simply rearranging has created the perfect space. it is my new corner to work and nap and read and curl up with a favorite plaid blanket. it is another little space in my home; my home: the place i spend most of my hours. it is another space where i can seek and find peace (within).

*****

see more self-portraits on the theme patterns here
visit more folks participating in my sacred life here