Myrtle

 Herself speaks.

Where have I gone?

I am so wrapped up in an all-consuming project that I have undertaken -- let us call it the Orange Project -- and it occupies so much of my time and my thoughts, that there hardly seems to be any moments left for me to contemplate anything else. 

I like the Orange Project. It feels very worthwhile, as if I am doing something meaningful. It is a two-year project; I can do anything for two years. I have done harder things, for longer. 

Sometimes, when I am driving from point A to point B and have fifteen minutes to myself, I enjoy a few non-Orange thoughts. 

I think about my Offspring. I miss them. I hope they are doing well in their own unique lives that they have established for themselves. Is it a sign of success as a parent, to be no longer needed? They are such lovely people, and I am tremendously proud of them. 

I think about Cherished Friend. It is still a grief for me that he lives Oceanside. I miss the mundane aspects of friendship -- running errands, having lunch on the occasional weekday, going for a walk. Cooking a bit extra at mealtimes, to give to him. Listening to him and Beloved Husband discuss politics on the back patio. Scrabble. These pieces are the ones that ultimately, I enjoy most. 

I think about my lovely Daddy. Just the other day, for the first time ever, that feeling of "I really must call Daddy to say hello" crossed my mind, as if my brain had temporarily forgotten that he is dead. And then my brain remembered, and was embarrassed, and sad all over again. 

I think about what I would like the future to look like, and I cannot imagine it at all. When did I stop having dreams? 

Maybe I didn't really stop. Maybe my dreams are just metamorphosing.

To allow them to fully spread their wings, I need to let go of the fruitless longings that hold me back. 

I cannot change other people. And I cannot make them care for me in the way I care for them. 

I can, however, be myself, and give as I like, but without exhausting my own resources. I am not The Giving Tree.  

I shall aim to be like the myrtle.

And there are those who give and know not pain in giving, nor do they seek joy, nor give with mindfulness of virtue; They give as in yonder valley the myrtle breathes its fragrance into space.

-- Kahlil Gibran, On Giving

In The Desert

Let Us Try

Every time I have one of those infrequent opportunities to spend concentrated leisure time with one of my Important People, I am very conscious of the rarity both of the moment, and of the feeling of peace that accompanies the occasion. It is not at all often that my brain, so constantly full of Work and Volunteer Commitments and Ordinary Obligations, is able to relax and unwind enough to feel unhurried and at peace. I am so grateful to have had one such opportunity this past weekend, and it was Lovely.

Now, as I sit in limbo in an airport in the pre-dawn hours, I am trying to adjust to the inevitability of re-entering the hustle and bustle of my Ordinary Life, while simultaneously holding on to  the Intangible Joy of the time of the past weekend. I am trying, too, not to let Grief creep in - although I know that is inevitable.  As Kahlil Gibran reminds us in The Prophet, Joy and Sorrow are inseparable:

Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

They are, in fact, opposite sides of the same coin:

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

The hardest part, is knowing that Sorrow is necessary, in order to have Joy.

-----

I'll do my best to focus on the mundane for now. I'll go get an overpriced airport snack, continue my DuoLingo streak, and then I'll be boarding the plane back to my desert homeland soon. I will be glad to be back there. Even though I leave a piece of myself behind here. 

We will do our best to move forward, day by day. 

As the French say: Essayons. 

You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place. ― Miriam Adeney

Forever A Favorite

Song of the Vowels

The sculpture, in front of the tremendous library, depicts two harp players. Can you see it? I never knew its name before - so appropriate, for its location. 

Scorched

What a beautiful little piece of poetry. 

Daydream

Sometimes I daydream
About being valued for who I am
And not just for what I can do

For others

And I pause

In the midst of all my Doing,

All my Paperwork, all my Tasks

And I contemplate

When I am loved

In a way that, unexpectedly, 

brings me a beverage

Just because

Or a way that

Tells me all the right words

In just the right moment --

And I sigh

And I shuffle my papers

And keep going.

The Light That Is You

Equilibrium

 Last night, as I lay awake contemplating so many Things, the books of Irish poet John O'Donohue came to mind: Eternal Echoes: Celtic Reflections on Our Yearning to Belong; Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom; and especially, To Bless the Space Between Us. It has been a while since I reached into these books to find words of comfort. It's time. Past due time. 

Today, I look in the book of Blessings. 

For Equilibrium

Like the joy of the sea coming home to shore,

May the relief of laughter rinse through your soul.

As the wind loves to call things to dance,

May your gravity be lightened by grace.

Like the dignity of moonlight restoring the earth,

May your thoughts incline with reverence and respect.

As water takes whatever shape it is in,

So free may you be about who you become.

As silence smiles on the other side of what's said,

May your sense of irony bring perspective.

As time remains free of all that it frames,

May your mind stay clear of all it names.

May your prayers of listening deepen enough

To hear in the depths the laughter of God.

Amen. 

All the Tribbles

 Herself speaks.

One of the hardest parts about middle age, is the abundance of small heartaches that have accumulated over time. Like a slow-growing group of tribbles, they appear here and there. We become used to their presence, and we go about our business, watching them out of the corners of our eyes. Every now and then, though, we open an overhead compartment and are besieged by an abundance of tribbles. We suspected they were collecting in number, yet we could not help ourselves -- we looked behind that door to see if they really were there. And yes. Yes, they were. 

Last night as I drove home from work in the waning twilight, I was visited by an armful of tribbles.

There is that large, heavy tribble, that looks like: Beloved Husband's job is wearing him down in ways I am powerless to change, and he has so little time for things that bring happiness. 

There is the quiet background tribble of: my elderly relatives are increasingly ancient and frail and we can see  inescapable Mourning on the horizon.

There is the omnipresent tribble, which I do my best to ignore because I cannot alter its existence: my Cherished Friend is far from this desert land.

There is a small flock of sibling tribbles that appear unexpectedly to tug at the heart: here are reminders of Tiny Dog and my other well-loved pets that have Gone Beyond.

All these tribbles exist in conjunction with many other tiny tribbles of unknown provenance, many of which are ill-defined but nevertheless form part of the tribble flock. 

I cannot change the tribbles. I have to acknowledge their presence. And learn to embrace them as part of How Life Is. 

My new goal: to find tribbles of Joy that will coexist with the tribbles of Sorrow. Together, they will form a beautiful panoply of understanding.  

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.... When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. 

- Kahlil Gibran

HeftyBun

A haiku for Poppy:

Placid and patient,
Sheds the least of all the buns -
Hefty, pretty girl.

Rabbit Haiku

When a rabbit feels

Unsafe and unprotected 

Where does she shelter?

She needs a respite -

A place of security,

Some rest, and some peace.

Spider

There once was a tiny fierce spider

Surrounded by greenery to hide her,

Whilst searching for food, found gnats in multitude --

A tasty feast they would provide her.

 Photo Copyright 2020, 2021, Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

Alligator Bridge

A bridge that leads... where?

Might be some alligators

Hiding underneath

Imagine a day

When it is safe to travel --

Check for them myself.

Photo Copyright 2020, 2021, Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

Hellican

I have been in the desert for so many years now, that the ocean seems like a foreign land. Perhaps it is, in a way.

If I concentrate, I can almost hear the waves and smell the salt of the water. What a beautiful place.

And the fauna of oceanside -- so different from desert creatures. 

I am reminded of an old poem, attributed to Dixon Lanier Merritt, that I learned in my childhood:

A wonderful bird is the Pelican.
His beak can hold more than his belly can.
He can hold in his beak
Enough food for a week!
But I'll be darned if I know how the hellican?

All photos Copyright 2021, Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

The Flowers of Spring

In the autumn I gathered all my sorrows and buried them in my garden.
And when April returned and spring came to wed the earth, there grew in my garden beautiful flowers unlike all other flowers.
And my neighbors came to behold them, and they all said to me, "When autumn comes again, at seeding time, will you not give us of the seeds of these flowers that we may have them in our gardens?" - Kahlil Gibran

Picture copyright 2019, Mediocria Firma. 

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

Sing

They say the nightingale pierces his bosom with a thorn when he sings his love song.
So do we all. How else should we sing?
- Kahlil Gibran

Picture copyright 2015, 2018, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

San Valentín

Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.

- Pablo Neruda, Cien Sonetos de Amor

Bluebird

Bluebird by Charles Bukowski

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do
you?

Picture copyright 2017, 2018, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Friday Eve

“Whosoever is delighted in solitude, is either a wild beast or a god.” ― Aristotle

-----

House empty, lights off --

Everyone is out tonight

'Cept me, and the dogs

A lonely relief --

Nobody needs things from me,

No one to talk to.
-----

“Solitude has soft, silky hands, but with strong fingers it grasps the heart and makes it ache with sorrow.” ― Kahlil Gibran, The Broken Wings