Under the camillia

My mother had many of her copies of Louisa May Alcott’s books, including the odd moral fairy tales. One is Under the Lilacs. I loved slipping into that world that was quite different from my own, in so many small details.

Thursday I was coughing and had no voice. I cancelled clinic and lay on the couch. In the warmest part of the day I lay bundled in the sun, under the camillia.

Happy cat

This is for photrablogger’s Mundane Monday Challenge #46. Boa Cat eschews all commercial cat scratch posts and blankets and containers, but she likes to lie by me in the early morning when I write. I took a box and put one of my fleece jackets in it. Purrrfect. She curls up there in the morning and I can move the box easily. She likes it best on the table in the middle of everything so that she can watch when I leave for work.

Next I will decorate the box… I need some beautiful paper for Boa.

Burning

Rumi’s chickpea poem: http://www.superluminal.com/cookbook/essay_chickpea.html

I took the stealthie on the first ferry from Seattle to Bainbridge yesterday morning. A quiet ferry with very few sleepy people…..

 

The dust stirs
This is not Konya
I am safe

Water falls from the sky on the dust
This is not Turkey
I am safe

The sun warms the dust
I am not of Islaam
I am safe

A seed stirs in the dust
I am not of Christian either: raised atheist
I am safe

A plant grows
I am not a man: a woman
I am safe

Peas ripen
I do not read the Koran
I am safe

Peas are harvested
I have no mystic tradition nor teachers
I am safe

Peas are dried
He does not ask a question
I am safe

Peas are soaked
He is not religious
I am safe

Peas are placed on slow heat
He chooses sex not love
I am safe

Peas come to a slow boil
He refuses love and leaves
I am safe

The ladle of the Beloved smashes down
None of it matters
I am not safe

 

 

nurturance

I love you I will miss you I am going
I am going to the Beloved I am going quietly
I am saying goodbye and bless you and thank you
for letting me love you but now

I want to be loved too and I am going
somewhere there are people who will love me
nurture me care about me and I can nurture them back
I have spent so much time loving people who don’t

love me or perhaps they love me but in a small way
in a limited way in a very closed off way
and now I am breaking the boundaries again but not
with the people who want these boundaries

I am looking for people who want to love and be loved
like the sky like space like the deepest ocean rift
who are not afraid of passion and arguing and loving
who are not afraid to be afraid to be joyous to be sad

I am looking for people who are not afraid to be afraid

 

I took the photo in a friend’s woods yesterday.

Also published on everything2.com today.

Fear stands

For RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Prompt #79, the words are crystal and hope….

fear stands strong don’t look
crystal water reveals rocks
open eyes give you hope

 

I took the photograph in 2012, when my sister was referred to hospice for breast cancer. I took three trips to see her before she died. She was still very engaged with everyone on the second trip. But when she was not talking to anyone, her face was different. She was looking at eternity. She knew that I could see her doing it, because we knew each other so well. She did not want to talk about it to me until my last visit with her in this life. I felt so blessed and honored when she did talk to me, and I hope that she feels loved.

 

Armour Suit IV: Walk like a toddler

At each massage, one every two weeks, I have locked my hips back up in the Armour suit. This is really annoying.

My massage person says he wants to be able to lie face down like a baby: head, arms and legs all lifted and playing. That is core strength. Babies can do that… why can’t we? He says that when he does play therapy with kids, by a certain age they lose that. He picks them up and flies them around lying on his arms: by age 4 or 5, they fold up. They have lost touch with that core.

I think about that.

During a massage a few months ago he pokes my lower belly. “Tilt your hips using your abdominal muscles.” Feels weird, but I do. “You aren’t engaging your core.” I find it really annoying to have to relearn how to walk.

Engaging my core. Little children who have just learned to walk do lead with their bellies. And they can still lie on the floor on their bellies, all limbs up.

I am trying to picture an adult who walks with their belly. Who? The Buddha’s belly comes to mind. But I can’t see him walking. Who? Toshiro Mifune: the old samurai movies. He and the others walk like small children: from their core, from their bellies.

I try it for two weeks. I flatten the arch of my lower back by using my abdominal muscles, not my gluteus maximus. I walk with my feet apart a bit, my belly leading. I am trying not to walk with my toes gripping the ground. I walk with toes up. He says I have walked with my toes gripping the ground for years, and that is the only place that I have early arthritis.

It feels a bit silly to walk like a samurai. When I do it right, I can feel that engaged core and my legs and hips feel looser. It is not elegant, not a catwalk uptight shake your ass walk. It is more of a loose free walk, like a toddler, like a buddha. I don’t care. I have to concentrate to keep my abdominal muscles flattening the arch of my back, and so I walk slower.

After two weeks I am back: it’s worked. Partially. My hips are LESS locked. The metatarsal phalangeal joints, the big toes, are less sore then they’ve been for years. And I can feel that abdominal core.

Skiing I try to do the same thing. Engage the abdomen and keep it engaged, and ski with my toes up. I ski slowly and with great swooping turns, letting the skis do the work. Rentals. They give me 158s the first day, I talk them into 165s the second day and then I am on 172s. Finally feels stable. I am getting used to that core feeling. I quit when I get too tired, going in before my kids.

Walk like a toddler, walk like a samurai, walk with core engaged.

First published on everything2.com January 7, 2016. I needed the right picture: this is my sister and me about a month before she died of breast cancer. I miss her so.