Ways to Kneel
“Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.” - Rumi
I feel like I’m living in a strange and horrible dream. It's hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that my husband died unexpectedly just 7 months ago, and now there is a deadly pandemic. You know those old b/w movie reels of people trying to walk on a shifting floor of a Funhouse? That is kind of what it feels like to me, only not so fun.
I’m remembering my guiding symbol for 2020, Starling, and how the flock can shift directions on cue at a moments notice, creating those beautiful murmurations. I am doing the same...watching, listening, waiting, shifting. I also remember how creating and photography and journaling helped me thru the trauma I suffered on 9/11 so I’m going to retrace my steps, do what I know is my medicine. I worry about my son whose whole life has been turned upside down. It’s super isolating, just the two of us, tho I’ve lifted all screen time restrictions so he can gather with friends whenever he wants. He’s in remarkably good spirits as tho he’s on holiday. This gives me peace.
Yesterday I made tissue paper Forsythia. As one does during Pandemic, lol. I used to buy armfuls of forsythia branches at the union square green market when I lived in NYC. I had to stop when my late husband moved into my flat because he was allergic - so I started making them. It's easy and relaxing. Because Spring is a season of rebirth and renewal, I sometimes make a ritual out of this, a touch of reverence, and think of something I’m grateful for as I glue each blossom to a branch. Sometimes I think about things I wish to see bloom in the world, as a kind of prayer or meditation.
I slept until 6 which is remarkable and refreshing. I rolled out of bed and onto the mat for my morning ritual of core/yoga combo, and a pep talk whilst facing the mountains. Since I dreamed of hummingbirds Tuesday night, the window feeder is out and ready for the return of our bold Bessie Coleman and the bossy Amelia Mary Earhart II. The nectar is a tad sweeter to restore their energy after a long flight.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.” - Rumi
I feel like I’m living in a strange and horrible dream. It's hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that my husband died unexpectedly just 7 months ago, and now there is a deadly pandemic. You know those old b/w movie reels of people trying to walk on a shifting floor of a Funhouse? That is kind of what it feels like to me, only not so fun.
I’m remembering my guiding symbol for 2020, Starling, and how the flock can shift directions on cue at a moments notice, creating those beautiful murmurations. I am doing the same...watching, listening, waiting, shifting. I also remember how creating and photography and journaling helped me thru the trauma I suffered on 9/11 so I’m going to retrace my steps, do what I know is my medicine. I worry about my son whose whole life has been turned upside down. It’s super isolating, just the two of us, tho I’ve lifted all screen time restrictions so he can gather with friends whenever he wants. He’s in remarkably good spirits as tho he’s on holiday. This gives me peace.
Yesterday I made tissue paper Forsythia. As one does during Pandemic, lol. I used to buy armfuls of forsythia branches at the union square green market when I lived in NYC. I had to stop when my late husband moved into my flat because he was allergic - so I started making them. It's easy and relaxing. Because Spring is a season of rebirth and renewal, I sometimes make a ritual out of this, a touch of reverence, and think of something I’m grateful for as I glue each blossom to a branch. Sometimes I think about things I wish to see bloom in the world, as a kind of prayer or meditation.
I slept until 6 which is remarkable and refreshing. I rolled out of bed and onto the mat for my morning ritual of core/yoga combo, and a pep talk whilst facing the mountains. Since I dreamed of hummingbirds Tuesday night, the window feeder is out and ready for the return of our bold Bessie Coleman and the bossy Amelia Mary Earhart II. The nectar is a tad sweeter to restore their energy after a long flight.
Labels: art and craft, corners of our home: Shenandoah Valley
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