They did not want to stay with me in the barn where I was taking pictures the new calves. I love the barn at the Putney School more than they. I love the calves, their dark moon eyes, their tiny hooves, the feel of their noses, the softness of their coats. I love their innocence.
When I walked out of the barn toward The Puddle, there they were. My angels. I walked up quietly so that I could catch them, just like that, just there.
My friend Polly sent me this poem after reading my post on grieving. Our friends Jon Katz and Maria Wulf suggested that we visit the wonderful Patti Newton for a Tarot card reading when we visited Brattleboro for the Putney School graduation. We did and her insights were powerful and clarified some deeper sense of direction for both of us. A way to vision into both what is here and what is coming with fresh eyes, insight and inspiration. Thank you my friends!
We have set out from here for the sublime
Pastures of summer shade and mountain stream;
I have no doubt we shall arrive on time.
Is all the green of that enameled prime
A snapshot recollection or a dream?
We have set out from here for the sublime
Without provisions, without one thin dime,
And yet, for all our clumsiness, I deem
It certain that we shall arrive on time.
No guidebook tells you if you’ll have to climb
Or swim. However foolish we may seem,
We have set out from here for the sublime
And must get past the scene of an old crime
Before we falter and run out of steam,
Riddled by doubt that we’ll arrive on time.
Yet even in winter a pale paradigm
Of birdsong utters its obsessive theme.
We have set out from here for the sublime;
I have no doubt we shall arrive on time.
I am so excited to see this work. I keep starting to write that I RARELY see work that touches me and excites me this way. But that is not really true. I do see it, and every time I do, I share it here. Even so, those finds are treasures, surprises, gifts from the big sea of the world washing up on my shores. This is a gorgeous gift from French choreographer Luc Petton. Aren’t we lucky! This next one made me weep!
Friday was a day of tears. On Thursday we had a realtor preview the house for a client. he told out realtor that the house was too “specific,” whatever that means. I think actually, it means that the house was not generic enough for his toney Mannhatten clients.
When our house was redone by the couple that owned it before us, they infused it with themselves. There are little traces of them nestled all over the house. We saw them as blessings, and loved their imprints.
After the preview, our realtors sat me down and said that we had to de-clutter the upstairs – specifically my daughters rooms which are filled with their momentos and treasures collected over their lives. The things they love. The things that I am used to seeing around them, that give them (and me) a sense of history with us. My youngest daughter went first and put all of her treasures in a box in the attic.
When I saw her de-nuded room, I lost it. Great waves and spasms of grief. It felt as if she had packed her essence away, that she had removed something precious and incalculable from her space. I could not stop crying. What I realized was that I was letting myself grieve the loss, the change, the leaving that will come when it comes. I suddenly felt all the emptying that is here and coming. I have been so boldly going forward that I had left out that part – the grieving part, the sorrowing. It was like I had been surfing along on the surface, and suddenly the abyss reached up and pulled me under.
I went to my usual wise places and read Jon Katz and Maria Wulf. I leafed back through Maria’s posts and found the one about riding the shit train, which made me smile. I don’t think I had ever read her so bold, so THERE. I loved it. I looked for Abraham. It all helped, but the tears were there all day, leaking, pooling, dripping.
I am allowing myself the sadness. I am not parked in it, but feel it as weather passing through. Today was like that too – passing storms – big weather, then little sprinkles. Tomorrow, different weather.