Tag Archives: cocoon

it’s a beautiful day…

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big sky...big life...

the waiting of winter, of soul’s light…captured in this luminous poem…

Eye Mask…

In this dark I rest,

unready for the light which dawns

day after day,

eager to be shared.

Black silk, shelter me.

I need

more of the night before I open

eyes & heart

to illumination. I must still

grow in the dark like a root

not ready, not ready at all.

Denise Levertov

it’s a haunting day…..ethereal & moving…

…’soul making’ wrote philosopher Jean Houston, ‘is not necessarily a happy thing. Crucial parts of it are not. We need to hold onto the celebration of becoming, to the bliss that wells up from the deeper places we’re tapping…I stared into the night, my heart pounding…..Sue Monk Kidd

don’t forget…it’s a beautiful day… 

wild winter….

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wild & open

I have such a strange relationship with winter….complex….not so simple as love/hate….

but defintely ambiguous…..

love the deeper places I can go to hibernate & restore….

love the wild & open sky…..the raw & barren places which open new sensibilities….

love the white glare & the icy trees in sunlight….& wearing boots….

really dislike (hate the word hate ya know) being cold…..

really dislike being drowned in gray skies for long periods….

really dislike missing beach walks because it’s too cold….

dreams are more vivid in winter for me….I am astonished at how deeply I am drawn to the cold earth….such a mythical time of waiting…of cycles & sleep…

In Blue

———————————————————

I said to my soul, be still, & wait without hope

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing;

wait without love

For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith

But the faith & the love & the hope are all in the waiting. Wait without thought,

for you are not ready for thought:

So the darkness shall be the light, & the stillness the dancing.

Whisper of running streams, & winter lightning.

The wild thyme unseen & the wild strawberry,

The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy

Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony

Of death & birth.

T.S. Eliot

lookin’ for adventure….

Detachment as Spiritual Order or Fortune Telling

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St. Teresa of Avila once compared the soul to a silkworm. She wrote,

It is necessary for the silkworm to die. Let’s be quick to do this work & weave this little cocoon……Let it die; let this silkworm die, as it does in completing what it was created to do…A little white butterfly comes forth. Oh, greatness of God!….Truly I tell you that the soul doesn’t recongnize itself.

Like letting balloons go….or caving in……

They are the same in their paradox of ‘die to become.’

And what about the waiting? Sue Monk Kidd writes…

How do we create the threads that hold us in the painful, uncertain, solitary darkness of waiting…and hold us not only in the waiting but through the waiting? If we’re to wait, we must relearn the extravagance of grace.

Waiting for what? Inspiration? Holy divination? More time?

This little tininess, this choking, this uncertainty is………..probably not real.

Maybe I’ll dust off my wings while I wait…maybe I’ll get my fortune read.

The artist need not know very much; best of all let him work  instinctively & paint as naturally as he breathes or walks…….Emil Nolde

Will continue to sit in the doorway……letting balloons go one at a time….watching the sky as they get smaller & smaller….creating all the while…… considering my fortune…..waiting…..

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