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The face of Beloved

Stranger

Sometimes it is just that darkness that holds the spark on the surface of the eye. It pools, liquid velvet, black, deep, some warm bed for that hot white fire that emmanates from deep within. The spark grabs me by the collar, yanks me to awareness of his eyes. "I am here"...and my inner shutter clicks and clicks, trying to preserve this moment, as he moves on. Never to be seen again.

Foundlings...

There is no denying Pussywillows. It is Spring.

Dancing with the Bones

In the end, we all dance with bones. Basked in moonlight, the hollow sound of their clacking against one another when lifted by the fire with song.

The loss, the decay, the ugliness depart. And all becomes apparent. The stucture, the support, the one atop oneness of it all...

We all come to this...this dance of bones.

Dam

All that force crashing though. Downstream, against the bridges and past the towns. Spring bursts the barricades of life and takes no prisoners along the way. Full of force and change, this power courses ever down to the sea.

War

This war must stop. I don't have any answers as to how to accomplish this, but the losses far outweigh the gains. Some say that limiting our dependency on oil will make the difference. I don't know about that. It might stop some of the madness, deflate some of the air from this ballon of misery and destruction. But, it is within the historical nature of many countries outside of ours to fight, to believe in things so deeply that they defend with their lives, and take others in homage to their belief systems, consistently, as far back as time is recorded. Centuries have proven that thier cultural identity is partly defined by these peoples engagement in war. I believe that undoing that history is not possible, though change IS possible, slow, change. Someday this type of war will be a fossil in the bedrock of Human Nature. Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know.

All I know is that when I found this doll on the side of the road, all I could think and feel was a sadness at the losses.

Some child made this doll and lost it. Some mother made a child and lost it.

This is so sad.

Foundlings...

Finding things as I stroll along on the dog walks on Tuesday and Thursday is turning out to be an amazing process. Now, so many things call to me, like long lost orphans,to take them home. I am thinking, thinking, thinking, art, art, art, constantly these days. Or blogging in my head, writing witty and moving things which never see the light of day, having flown the coop and out into the void.

I think I shall continue with this Foundling series. It is great fun to see abandoned things take on a new life.

Needless to say, I did not rescue the pile of goldfish crackers I stumbled upon. But, Biscuit, the dog I was with, made quick work of them.

Art and snack...what a way to spend the day.

Found Things...

As a dog walker, I find lots of interesting things along the side of the road. Especially as the snow has melted and all kinds of objects are surfacing. Yesterday I found some wire, this newspaper and a foam number three. On my dog walking days my neck and shoulders get sore and tired. I spend too much time looking down for cool stuff. Odd bits of rusty metal, chain, papers, bits of glass, they all call to me. I feel good about picking them up and making something from them. It breathes into them some new life. And rescues them from the dirt and the grime of the street. Recycle...

Gesticulation

I have always loved this word...."gesticulation". Today, as I was sitting in traffic in the heart of Lawrence, listening to classical music, I saw a man talking on his cell phone across the street. He was gesticulating wildly, hands flying to and fro, up and down, making a very important point. He was walking along in the midst of a forceful conversation, using his hands. On the phone.

It made me thinking about how ingrained gesticulating is as a behavior. The person on the other end of the line could not see the actions of his hands, but the man who was talking was using those hands as if the person listening could see them...a habit of communication. It served a purpose of making him feel as if he is being heard more clearly. It was made all the more interesting by the fact that I could not hear, either. I was listening to music. All this passed by and through as the rain on my car pattered down and over and into the street.

I love watching people.

Practice Abundance

I often take my jar of pennies to a playground when no one is around. I bury mounds of pennies under the sand, or scatter them here and there, hiding them behind the playground equipment, or at the bottom of the slide. There is something really rewarding about creating magic for children, and I recall as a child finding a huge pile of pennies on the sidewalk. I stopped everyday, for weeks, hoping that the penny fairy would leave more. She never did. But that did not stop me from looking.

My partner has been dropping nickels on the floor at work for a few months now. Here and there, sometimes one, sometimes three. No one knows where they come from. It is not even known if someone has caught on yet. In the warren that is the cubicle world where he works, it could take a while to catch on. Eventually, the hundredth monkey will strike and it will become a game for more than one.

There is something to be enjoyed in the momentary magic of a "find". I believe that I am practicing gratitude for abundance when I feel generous and playful and scatter my extra copper in the path for kids to find.

Go practice some Joy. Dump a dime. Anywhere. Try the middle of the floor at the grocery store. Or, pay for someones french fries in the drive through. Spend a dollar doing something kind for someone who least expects it.

It feels really gooooooood.

Hands....

I also study hands. A lot. It is profoundly moving to me to watch someone who loves what they do, do it. My friend loves music, and plays very well. He has beautiful hands. I love watching them do their Blessing Work of making music.

It's about the eyes...

There is always something to be followed. I find it even in the least likely of places. Even with someone who won't normally look me in the eye. Eventually, some trust comes between us and an opening happens. I follow gently, and I find the most amazing stuff.

This is my friend, Ken. He is deep, and warm, and nervous and talented and funny. And, often, closed. This day he opened up and let me and my camera in. Just a little.