Tag Archives: writing

It is Always a Beginning

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"In a time of destruction, create something.
 A poem.  A parade.  A community.  A school. 
 A vow.  A moral principle. 
 One peaceful moment."

                                          ~~~ Maxine Hong Kingston
There was  -- as I explained in my first post 4-1/2 years ago -- a reason why I named this blog Trickster's Hoard:

“Trickster Spirit is a paradox. Whatever you can say about him, the opposite is also true. For example, among the Akan-Ashanti of West Africa, the Trickster (Anansi, the Spider) not only scattered the world’s Wisdom among the people but also, in other stories, brought the people Disease and Death. Among the Diné of the American Southwest, Trickster (Ma’i, Coyote) is a source of both healing and witchcraft.

So, is he a culture hero? Yes. Or the source of trouble? Yes. Or a character in instructive morality tales? Yes. On & on… The only things I might dare say about Trickster are that he is insatiably hungry, insatiably curious, and an inveterate boundary-crosser and transformer. In many of his stories, Trickster brings things out of hiding or tricks others into giving them to him. Then, most often (as in next week’s story), Trickster inadvertently spills his cherished hoard out into the world.

Hence, this blog. For far too long, I’ve kept my weavings of words, fiber, and ideas safely hidden in closed boxes. Now, in response to Trickster’s prodding , I’ll open some of those boxes, spill out the contents, and see what happens.”

But for the last months, I have been hoarding again.

I have taken photos to share, entertained ideas, even — occasionally — found words. But I have kept the coffer sealed, waiting for some unimagined “perfect” moment. And the result has been, of course, stagnation and inertia — the very things that Trickster abhors. And so he has come again to poke at the walls I have built around myself. There are cracks. And through them I hear his croaks and howls and the sound of his flute calling me to come out & join the dance once more.

Oh, the importance of cracks! That’s where a seed might find soil to grow or (thank you, Leonard Cohen!) where the light may get into a darkened space, a darkened time. As Cohen councils,

“Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering.”

So here is my imperfect offering.

A large part of my problem has been not knowing what the purpose of this space wants to be. I am — as I’m sure you are too — filled with frustration, rage, and abiding grief at so much that is happening in our world. It seems impossible for me to write without reference to all the on-going destruction on so many levels. We do need to be aware of the negative forces that are rampant, so that we can understand them, resist them, and work towards healing.

There are many ways to begin the healing, even in the midst of the onslaught.

An African proverb reminds us:

The times are urgent.
Slow down.

How am I to begin imagining a better way of being if I am not actually “present” in my own body as it is, if I am not attentive to the small things that compose my current world?

And how will I find strength to move towards the enlivening future I’ve envisioned if I cannot draw energy from the good that –nevertheless — persists here and now, if I cannot find joy in the beauty that exists, if I cannot allow myself delight in a moment?

"The call to slow down works to bring us face to face with the invisible, the hidden, the unremarked, the yet-to-be-resolved. Sometimes, what is the appropriate thing to do is not the effective thing to do."   -- Bayo Akomolafe

While I ponder Akomolafe’s statement, I’ll continue to find joy in the rowdy colors of summer flowers in my front yard and in those they feed.

Including, of course, the brilliant goldfinches who forsake the bird feeder to pull petals off the flowers, digging out the seedlets beginning to form beneath.

I can even cut some blossoms for a vase on the table.

There are plenty for everyone, and most of the fun is in the sharing.

Was that a hummingbird I just glimpsed?

“What I Did On My Summer Vacation”

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"As you remember and record,
 you pass the story, and the memory,
 back through the heart once again."

C. Chambers, 2004

Do you remember the stories our teachers asked us to write on our 1st day back in the fall? “What I did on my summer vacation.” Here is a much abbreviated list of some of the things I was doing on mine.

Watching ants use a crack between cement blocks of the sidewalk as a safe super-highway.

Seeing a sprouting potato turn into a strange barren desert landscape with the most amazing exotic plants growing in clusters.

Drawing inspiration from the algae art on an old bench.

Reveling in the endless variety of shapes and textures created by the Earth.

Finding endless delight in the twin fawns who have been growing up in the woods behind our house.

Marveling at the intricate webs of spiders and the glorious flash of dragonfly wings — and then pondering the places where they meet in the endless cycle of life and death.

Admiring the makers – the finches building nests on our two porches, the tireless spiders filling space with their complicated structures, and the hornets working together to build their home. Fiber artists all!

(I, too, did some making over the summer. More about that next time.)

I also found myself reading each day, as I’m sure you did too, about wars, storms, droughts, fires, human inequities, species extinction, and the authoritarian drum beat that threatens this and other nations. I heard the lies, deceit, disinformation, conspiracy theories, and just plain disrespect that masquerade as news and wondered at the ease with which so many have been seduced into believing that false painting of “reality.” Sometimes it has been hard not to succumb to a numbing, paralyzing despair.

Theodore Roethke writes so beautifully:

In a Dark Time

“In a dark time, the eye begins to see,

I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;   

I hear my echo in the echoing wood—

A lord of nature weeping to a tree.

I live between the heron and the wren,   

Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.

What’s madness but nobility of soul

At odds with circumstance? The day’s on fire!   

I know the purity of pure despair,

My shadow pinned against a sweating wall.   

That place among the rocks—is it a cave,   

Or winding path? The edge is what I have.

A steady storm of correspondences!

A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,   

And in broad day the midnight come again!   

A man goes far to find out what he is—

Death of the self in a long, tearless night,   

All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.

Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.   

My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,   

Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?

A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.   

The mind enters itself, and God the mind,   

And one is One, free in the tearing wind.”

from Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke. 

“What,” Roethke asks, “is madness but nobility of soul at odds with circumstance?”

My mentor Judith-Kate Friedman added, “What is health but facing circumstance with presence?”

Spending time with the beauties and marvels of this creative Earth helps keep me present, grounded, aware of my place and my responsibility as one of the myriad, wonderfully diverse participants in the on-going emergence of the world. It helps me face my/our circumstances with true presence. It helps me, in Roethke’s words “climb out of my fear” and stay open to wonder and possibility.