We're heading into my favorite time of year. Emerging from the hunkered down posture of Winter, I feel like I can see the deep bone structure of the land, of my life. The green hum of the sap rising is beginning, and I feel flooded with possibilities, projects, births, new routines, a shift in awareness.
I still feel so little energy or desire to "do" much of anything but I've had a couple of good days of late, where I felt the silt settle and a little more clarity and agency flow through my body. Just a little. As I walk the goat fence, I realize how far I and the farm came last year. We are in far better shape to fall in love with some idea or project and make it happen. And no deaths this winter! Though I haven't checked the bees yet, they may not have made it. But I did, despite a lot. I wonder if the strong woman I used to be is lying dormant, giving my wispier self time to satiate on silence and sleep and all other indulgences and becoming ready to "pull up my socks" and start using this life I've been given , to live? I feel that strength in my bones but not in my stomach yet.
Gently, gently, it's coming, no rush.
I want to feel my own sap rising!
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Noticing
Sometimes I feel a little guilty, it's been almost three years since Gil's death and I still haven't reentered the fray, so to speak. I say I'm still working on deferred maintenance of my body, soul, home and farm, but is that enough? Shouldn't I be reengaging with friends, giving back to the world from the gifts I've been given, "getting over it" as a friend asked me?
I don't know, and that's the simple truth.
I relish not knowing, not being sure, open to the odd syncronicities, not sure what to make of it all. I like noticing things, little things, like tracks in the snow which I can only guess at their origins.
I am a noticer. I remember walking in the Arboretum when Gil and I were first together and noticing this and that and his saying "You think too much". My noticing is not thinking so much as it is being open. Some of it may be trying to figure out cause and effect , like my recent epiphany about freezing radiant floor tubes, but mostly it's just being aware of what weather front is blowing though my soul, what I am drawn toward, what away from. I hear people, some close, some far, in pain or crisis, and I nod, I bear witness to how hard it is to be alive, and to be growing up, always being challenged with more. I know that feeling. I watch my goats, two older and bigger, two younger and smaller deal with hay and shelter, my sibs and I as we deal with our relative positions to our past. I don't know what it all means, but I notice it.
Perhaps the blessing I have of time, time without pressure to earn a living, or care for a spouse of kids, perhaps that blessing is time to just be. It may not be forever, I suspect I will be seduced into a cause or a project, a relationship or (heaven forbid) a crisis and reengage with gusto, but not now. Now may be the time to simply notice being alive, how good it feels to breathe, how beautiful the sky is, how the sun rises and the moon sets and the snow falls, bearing witness by not knowing, simply noticing.
I don't know, and that's the simple truth.
I relish not knowing, not being sure, open to the odd syncronicities, not sure what to make of it all. I like noticing things, little things, like tracks in the snow which I can only guess at their origins.
I am a noticer. I remember walking in the Arboretum when Gil and I were first together and noticing this and that and his saying "You think too much". My noticing is not thinking so much as it is being open. Some of it may be trying to figure out cause and effect , like my recent epiphany about freezing radiant floor tubes, but mostly it's just being aware of what weather front is blowing though my soul, what I am drawn toward, what away from. I hear people, some close, some far, in pain or crisis, and I nod, I bear witness to how hard it is to be alive, and to be growing up, always being challenged with more. I know that feeling. I watch my goats, two older and bigger, two younger and smaller deal with hay and shelter, my sibs and I as we deal with our relative positions to our past. I don't know what it all means, but I notice it.
Perhaps the blessing I have of time, time without pressure to earn a living, or care for a spouse of kids, perhaps that blessing is time to just be. It may not be forever, I suspect I will be seduced into a cause or a project, a relationship or (heaven forbid) a crisis and reengage with gusto, but not now. Now may be the time to simply notice being alive, how good it feels to breathe, how beautiful the sky is, how the sun rises and the moon sets and the snow falls, bearing witness by not knowing, simply noticing.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Be singing
There is a Rilke quote which has been haunting me for the last few months.
"Spirit wants only that there be singing, as to who does it, in that He has only a passing interest".
I went to silence last year because I wanted to hear the silent stirrings of my new born solo self and find out what I wanted. And I have, to a degree. But I've not been singing my solo sweet ruminating song out loud for the world, and so also then for me, to hear. I have this one life, this one set of skills, gifts, accidents of the chemical interaction of genes and experience. Time to sing it out loud again, so I can hear it, learn more about who I am from what comes out of me.
It's been a year. I've crept through my "deferred maintenance of body, soul, home and farm". The farm was hit by the tail end of twin tornadoes, odd spots of trees with their "undies in a bundle". The big hickories below the barn, snapped in half, trees uprooted in the front yard and almost all the big oaks on the rock outcropping taken down. The Gil tree was crushed by two of them; half of it broke, half bent. By some miracle, with "splints" and other stabilizers, it seems to still live. And the house untouched. Neighbors emerged with tremendous help, and the beat went on.
I saw a wolf,
a powerful experience. The dogs were barking. I saw the rump running down hill; it had been fairly close to the house. It stopped and turned sideways, looking up at the dogs, the house, me. It scratched, marked the ground, 6, 7, 8 times. "Set boundaries" it told me, mark your territory, stand up for what you need and what you will not tolerate, do not give away who you are for the comfort of dogs.
The Universe stills sings for me, even in my silence. My chickens, goats, dogs still have much to teach me. I watch the sunrise, remember my dreams, wonder if I should be more engaged with the outside world, and am open. I don't know, what's next, what's right, what I "should" or not do. I trust my gut, who do I want to spend time with, who not? I speak what I know which seems less and less. Yet there is this sense that my foundation is becoming firmer, that some silt of who I am is settling down and forming something I will be able to stand on.
I have no idea if anyone is reading this blog anymore; I don't need to know. But if you are, know that you are the ear of the Universe for me. You are whom I speak to as I attempt to "be singing".
"Spirit wants only that there be singing, as to who does it, in that He has only a passing interest".
I went to silence last year because I wanted to hear the silent stirrings of my new born solo self and find out what I wanted. And I have, to a degree. But I've not been singing my solo sweet ruminating song out loud for the world, and so also then for me, to hear. I have this one life, this one set of skills, gifts, accidents of the chemical interaction of genes and experience. Time to sing it out loud again, so I can hear it, learn more about who I am from what comes out of me.
It's been a year. I've crept through my "deferred maintenance of body, soul, home and farm". The farm was hit by the tail end of twin tornadoes, odd spots of trees with their "undies in a bundle". The big hickories below the barn, snapped in half, trees uprooted in the front yard and almost all the big oaks on the rock outcropping taken down. The Gil tree was crushed by two of them; half of it broke, half bent. By some miracle, with "splints" and other stabilizers, it seems to still live. And the house untouched. Neighbors emerged with tremendous help, and the beat went on.
I saw a wolf,
a powerful experience. The dogs were barking. I saw the rump running down hill; it had been fairly close to the house. It stopped and turned sideways, looking up at the dogs, the house, me. It scratched, marked the ground, 6, 7, 8 times. "Set boundaries" it told me, mark your territory, stand up for what you need and what you will not tolerate, do not give away who you are for the comfort of dogs.
The Universe stills sings for me, even in my silence. My chickens, goats, dogs still have much to teach me. I watch the sunrise, remember my dreams, wonder if I should be more engaged with the outside world, and am open. I don't know, what's next, what's right, what I "should" or not do. I trust my gut, who do I want to spend time with, who not? I speak what I know which seems less and less. Yet there is this sense that my foundation is becoming firmer, that some silt of who I am is settling down and forming something I will be able to stand on.
I have no idea if anyone is reading this blog anymore; I don't need to know. But if you are, know that you are the ear of the Universe for me. You are whom I speak to as I attempt to "be singing".
Saturday, March 1, 2014
The Underworld
It's been a dark Winter. And I've been journeying down into it. I feel like Orpheus. traveling into my underworld , not so much in hope of finding Gil and bringing him back with me, but in hope of finding my desire to live, my energy, my passion for anything, a project, an idea even a recipe. I'm walking in the dark and can't find my spark. In the past I would have stomped my foot at myself and said "snap out of it! You have (sibs, husbands, kids) to take care of! Pull up your socks Ms Page!" but now, I'm letting go and sliding down into it. Depression? Probably, but I sense I need to go down into it to find whatever will make me want to live again. Unlike Orpheus, I hope I will sense it's presence and be able to guide it gently back to the surface without losing it by trying to grasp it. And perhaps there the metaphor ends. Even my love of words can't save me now. It wouldn't be a hero's journey if the end were clear or certain.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Perhaps
I've been swimming in a sea of anxiety, frozen pipes, goat death, endless possibilities. I've endured anxiety, tried to bury it, tolerate it. But perhaps this undertow electrical charge is the primordial stew that Life emerges from? What is "peaceful belly" but sleep, my favorite soporific, lulling me to withdraw from the struggle? Perhaps this anxiety is my "new black", to be embraced as the tension which will pull me into the battle of the "real" world, impel me to walk on the hot coals of my dreams, make them real or at least move through them so as not to be burned.
The endless possibilities scare me, I long for my restricted life with it's clear priorities, Gil and the kid's well being, my identity as a self sufficient pioneer.
If I am free to do, to be. anything? How the hell do I chose? Find the energy to do anything else but survive? Face my dangerous lack of knowledge and skills? Dare to screw up in a Royal way, court death, mine and those I'm responsible for?
Perhaps this anxiety in my belly is like the energizing burn in the belly of my low cal days, to be embraced as a force for Good. Perhaps.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Catching the rhythm
Gil was an "outside in"dancer. When he fell in love with Latin dancing, back in the hayday of the Paladium dance hall in NYC, all the best Latin dancers emphasized, started on, the 2nd beat. Gil would watch their moves and then practice looking at himself in a mirror. He watched himself and counted the beats 'til he looked, when he danced the way he wanted to.
I'm an "inside out" dancer. When Gil was teaching me, I tried to count so I'd start on the 2, but it just made me trip on myself. So I just danced with him, let him lead me (oh, he was such a strong lead, I felt like I could totally let go and he'd carry me) and my body learned, to feel the 2, how to respond to his subtle hand pressure "here, spin, there, break out". If I tried to watch myself to see how I looked, I felt vaguely vertigo-ish, like my body was a moving car and the driver, me, was outside, not in the drivers seat. I had to trust that my body would respond to the rhythm and to let it.
I feel like I'm learning to dance with me. The background noise of crisis and anxiety are largely gone. There is a soft cotton like feel, not unlike my first encounter with a soundproof booth back in my research days, sort of like some motor noise has just stopped and I can feel it's absence like a pleasure in it's own right.
I'm trying to catch the rhythm of living me. Odd, since you'd think after 64 years I'd have gotten it, but I've been so juggling crises and so working to survive, that I haven't really been in the driver's seat. I'm still in the awkward stage of stepping on my own toes every now and then, but I have the space to feel, "who do I want to spend time with? Is this activity something I still want to spend energy on? What do I feel , right now? Who are you? Why are you? What do you want?"
I can pick up a subtle level of sensing that I haven't tuned to in years, if ever. It's changed how I live day to day. I've left some friendships, fed others. I'm trying to set in place a much reduced farming operation next year.... I'll know I've caught the rhythm of me, now, when I can feel the ease and joy I used to feel dancing with Gil, and trust it
I'm an "inside out" dancer. When Gil was teaching me, I tried to count so I'd start on the 2, but it just made me trip on myself. So I just danced with him, let him lead me (oh, he was such a strong lead, I felt like I could totally let go and he'd carry me) and my body learned, to feel the 2, how to respond to his subtle hand pressure "here, spin, there, break out". If I tried to watch myself to see how I looked, I felt vaguely vertigo-ish, like my body was a moving car and the driver, me, was outside, not in the drivers seat. I had to trust that my body would respond to the rhythm and to let it.
I feel like I'm learning to dance with me. The background noise of crisis and anxiety are largely gone. There is a soft cotton like feel, not unlike my first encounter with a soundproof booth back in my research days, sort of like some motor noise has just stopped and I can feel it's absence like a pleasure in it's own right.
I'm trying to catch the rhythm of living me. Odd, since you'd think after 64 years I'd have gotten it, but I've been so juggling crises and so working to survive, that I haven't really been in the driver's seat. I'm still in the awkward stage of stepping on my own toes every now and then, but I have the space to feel, "who do I want to spend time with? Is this activity something I still want to spend energy on? What do I feel , right now? Who are you? Why are you? What do you want?"
I can pick up a subtle level of sensing that I haven't tuned to in years, if ever. It's changed how I live day to day. I've left some friendships, fed others. I'm trying to set in place a much reduced farming operation next year.... I'll know I've caught the rhythm of me, now, when I can feel the ease and joy I used to feel dancing with Gil, and trust it
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Dancing in the dark
I've had this blog idea rattling around in my head for a month or more, but have been too busy and not sufficiently centered to write it.
I'm in the midst of a relapse of the "too much"s.
Last year I sailed through the summer/winter on the food I'd already put by and committed to no garden or animal responsibilities. This year I hoped to enter back in to that world, just a little. oops, need to recalibrate. How much is enough? Why do I want to spend the time/money on gardening and raising our own meat? Is it the strangle hold of my lifetime identity as a producer (I don't buy at farmers markets, I grow my own)? But how much of my life force am I willing to give it? Knowing that that life is becoming more and more finite? I think I want to spend more time/energy with words. Let's see if I can remember and change the pattern next spring.
So the blog idea.
I had been listening to the Gil music and turned the lights off as I was heading to bed. The music was still going and a great latin song came on. I could feel him. There was that magnetic pull to move. And I started to dance, with him. When he had his shoulder/arm surgery he was no longer able to use his right hand to lead in dancing as firmly as he had. So I had to just tune in and anticipate where he wanted me to go. And that's what I did; I let him lead me and I flowed loose and hot. Dancing in the dark is such a great experiential metaphor for what I'm doing right now. I'm trying to listen to "the beat" of what's happening. I'm trying to trust and let it lead me. And I'm trying to feel the joy/pain of engaging and letting loose. I'm recently going through a wet stretch of weeping to certain songs. It's good. I'm harvesting moisture. It's keeping him close.
I'm in the midst of a relapse of the "too much"s.
Last year I sailed through the summer/winter on the food I'd already put by and committed to no garden or animal responsibilities. This year I hoped to enter back in to that world, just a little. oops, need to recalibrate. How much is enough? Why do I want to spend the time/money on gardening and raising our own meat? Is it the strangle hold of my lifetime identity as a producer (I don't buy at farmers markets, I grow my own)? But how much of my life force am I willing to give it? Knowing that that life is becoming more and more finite? I think I want to spend more time/energy with words. Let's see if I can remember and change the pattern next spring.
So the blog idea.
I had been listening to the Gil music and turned the lights off as I was heading to bed. The music was still going and a great latin song came on. I could feel him. There was that magnetic pull to move. And I started to dance, with him. When he had his shoulder/arm surgery he was no longer able to use his right hand to lead in dancing as firmly as he had. So I had to just tune in and anticipate where he wanted me to go. And that's what I did; I let him lead me and I flowed loose and hot. Dancing in the dark is such a great experiential metaphor for what I'm doing right now. I'm trying to listen to "the beat" of what's happening. I'm trying to trust and let it lead me. And I'm trying to feel the joy/pain of engaging and letting loose. I'm recently going through a wet stretch of weeping to certain songs. It's good. I'm harvesting moisture. It's keeping him close.
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