Judging from all the cards I have sent, all the trips to the post office laden with packages, all the prep done in the kitchen, it dawns on me that this holiday is, for most of us, hyper-focused on seeking where we belong. I can feel completely ungrounded and barraged by commercial promises of a better life (that, by it's very nature, is a strong message that implies my life is missing something). But nothing I buy in a store can give me a sense of my place in a larger family... I need to be near my sons, to reach out to my parents and siblings, and to pass blessings to my friends and acquaintances.Yesterday I took time at the local park to sit among the roots of a giant Ficus tree. I undertook the drawing in three phases- pencil, watercolor wash, then ink- training my eyes to see the shadows and spaces around the roots. My brush taught me to really look. That is where I live most of the time- looking in the space around things...
While I drew, the ducks came creeping to check me out, a group of kids started climbing the tree curiously peering over my shoulder, and couples posed for their photograph a few feet away. For the time I was creating I felt the sense of place in the wider sense of family.
Hope everyone, including myself, can stay grounded and in the light this day.
How wonderful that you were looking at roots. I was just thinking about them because they're all covered up by a foot of snow...but here's what I thought:
ReplyDeletePersephone's Seed
This day, dishonestly full of busy lists and brutish,
Impending items, the precious ruby was lost
and at the end, where I am now, I wander
Through my last wakeful moments,
Searching for the seed that can plant
Me, give meaning to my breath, help me to
Feel
That I live
With the same kind of purpose an aspen in
The forest has, connected at the roots,
Spreading, changing the light, wearing a snow mantle,
Like glamour to hide the Goddess, sequins painstakingly
Sewn there all day long by the clouds.
In spite of accomplishing my little tasks set by time
(It is true),
My tears come more easily, than the ruby hunt.
I yearn for a way to hold onto the ground.
No. I want to walk into it, to trudge through it, to suck
In its aroma until I am myself that ruby,
Planted like one of Persephone’s pomegranate seeds,
To entice springtime to stay with me this longest night.
2011 @ Amanda Morris Johnson