Creating Space

In my decision to blog I created a promise to myself to once a week polish up some words presentable enough to post. This week was a challenge however and this morning I found myself without a paragraph and uninspired. I was only inspired to clean. Friday was always cleaning day when I was growing up and I suppose I unconsciously tap into the rhythm of that cycle each week. My Mom said it was better to get it done on Friday and then have the weekend free. Having five kids and a full time job I don’t think her weekends were ever really free but I understood the intention. I realized my intention recently has been to try and create space. It is a way of cleaning up to free myself and not be a caretaker of “things.” I’ve concluded that by getting rid of things that no longer serve me I can create space to grow. My practical goal is ten things each weekend. Last weekend I succeeded and this weekend I will try again. Earlier this month in my Yoga class Stacy spoke of creating space as well through different asanas and breath. It reaffirmed that my goal was worthwhile, universal and a benefit to me on internal and external levels. Even with the best of intentions it’s daunting. Attachments grow strong and quiet, cluttering up the space I believe I have. Identifying what to let go of is a challenge but I am inspired by the wisdom of Maggi Horseman’s quote, “Letting go is flying”. Meanwhile, I’m off to dust my broom.

Awakening

Today dreamed of spring

And the earth felt the beauty of awakening

The sky smiled blue

Each moment reflected in a different shade of happy

Until from the West a setting sun

Blessed the Way

For the rising Hunter

Sparkling in the twilight of the January sky

Touched by today’s dream of spring.

Last Thursday I woke remembering a dream fragment. I was looking up in the dark night sky at the constellation Orion. Nothing else from the dream returned to me. This time of year he is clearly visible and so the dream fragment and Mondays beautiful weather were my inspiration for the poem. I wrote it Monday night without an intention to post it here. I write poems and rarely share them. For some reason they are important to me and I am afraid to own up to it. I began to do it because they gave clarity to my day, especially if it was a really bad day. I could fix it in a poem and make it beautiful. Or at least try to. Meanwhile even if the rest of my day could fall apart I had the poem to keep changing til it was perfectly beautiful. Anyway, now you get the reason for the cowardly lion J

Smile du Jour

The Song du Jour on the Dakotah Blue Facebook page quells my desire to share music and sometimes sparks a memory or an interesting dialogue. Yesterday I posted a Richard Thompson song called ‘Beeswing’. It is one of my absolute favorites although I haven’t known it long. I don’t remember the first time I heard it but somehow it missed being on my radar until recently. Richard Thompson however I have known of for (ouch, this is a reality check) forty years. I grew up loving Fairport Convention, Sandy Denny, Richard Thompson and early English ballads and music. Together with Steve Winwood and Traffic, their music was a kind of soundtrack to my childhood and growing up years. Fast forward to October 2006. I am all grown up and accompanied my friend Assunta to San Francisco. Her husband Tony was playing at a huge free 3-day concert in Golden Gate Park called Hardly Strictly Bluegrass. He had left several days earlier to rehearse and teach a workshop in the Bay area. Assunta and I spent time with Tony when he was able, touring the city and visiting Chez Panisse in Berkley for a most memorable lunch. Primarily though it was three full days and evenings of music. It began on Friday with Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Elvis Costello. On Saturday we heard Gillian Welch, Guy Clark, Steve Earle, Jerry Douglas, Earl Scruggs and Billy Bragg. Sunday was filled with the music of Hazel Dickens, Tim O’Brien, Molly O’Brien, the Del McCoury Band, Emmy Lou Harris, Iris Dement, T Bone Burnett, Hot Tuna, Richie Furay and the Waybacks w/special guest Bob Weir. Besides hearing all this music I was able to meet many of the performers and for the most part saw the shows from the stage. It was an unbelievable experience and I am still in awe of it. I learned that weekend that Assunta and I shared a love for Richard Thompson’s music as well and although we tried to hear everyone we loved, there were 5 stages and Thompson was performing on a stage we wouldn’t have reached in time. He was on late Sunday afternoon and we had to catch the red eye home. Time was running out and the sun was beginning to set. We looked for the courtesy van for performers and family to return us to the hotel. We found it and had to wait for a few more people to arrive before it was ready to leave. Our hotel was a half hour away and we had just enough time to get our luggage and a taxi to the airport. Hardly Strictly had been a phenomenal time however we were both bummed a little but resigned to the fact that we had missed Richard Thompson. Assunta was having a cigarette when I decided I was too cold to wait outside so I climbed into the back of the van where it was warm. There was one other person already waiting inside. I chose the last seat as it was away from the open door and as I turned to move my pocketbook I realized the only other passenger waiting with me was Richard Thompson. He too was waiting to get back to the hotel….We were joined a minute or two later by his sound guy, Assunta and several other band members. Through the streets of San Francisco there were jokes to be traded and conversation with the driver who was a Hardly Strictly volunteer. The smile traded between Assunta and I though was hardly strictly anything but happy and for my part filled with wonder of the way of the Universe. Remember Serendipity? An aptitude for making fortunate and magical discoveries….unexpectedly.

LONDON CALLING

My phone rang repeatedly while I was in the shower. It rang again soon after I got out and I answered to a familiar voice saying Hello. It was the Band Director calling from London. It was the day before my son Eric was to return from a weeklong trip with the High School Marching and Jazz Band. Two conversations immediately began. One dialogue was internal and one was external, requiring control. I knew something was very wrong. As he spoke the Mommy alarm began to go off in my head while my mind was running rampant through an inner list of things. What went wrong was not on the list though. I thought illness, accident, drinking, smoking, partying…….The Director was saying missing. My son was missing. He had turned the corner with a group of ten and then he was gone. I immediately recognized that missing meant “can’t find him” companion phrase of, “don’t know what happened.” It was different from Lost. I wanted Lost. Lost belongs with Found. There are Lost and Founds all over the world in schools, workplaces, libraries, etc……Lost includes the hope that sooner or later the partner Found will arrive and Reclaim can take place. It’s a Holy Trinity of universal energy. My son was missing and it happened in a flash. The Director wanted me to know should Eric call home I could reach back to the group, from Ramsey, with Eric’s location. I hung up shaking like a leaf on an oak tree when the November wind blows and the leaf is frightened about where she will land. Just like the leaf must wonder what happened to the warm summer sun, I wondered what happened to my son. Shaking and feeling helpless as well I heard my husband come home and I went down to the kitchen to tell him. He too was so upset that I had to leave the room. It was my own need for damage control. Confusion and fear had filled up the kitchen and it was a recipe of unknown outcome. I needed to walk away, light a candle and say a prayer. Saint Anthony is invoked for all things missing, lost or in need. I lit the candle with a match that sparked all over my bedroom. I begged him to see the light in my darkness and answer my call to find my son, my sun…..an incomprehensible hour went by and the phone rang again to let me know he had walked into a hotel in London and that they were going to pick him up. He had been lost and was now found…. I could only thank his guardian angel, St Anthony and the Band Director for this happy ending. The echo though, from London Calling, has left me to carry a tiny teardrop of the understanding of the nightmare when someone becomes missing, not lost. Even now I still reel from the clash.