Dear M.

This letter is not momentous,  just a little finger reaching out to touch your shoulder over there in "crazy" land.  But for that matter everywhere now seems to be crazy land.  This weekend Monsieur read an article saying that a study of people's "sense of well being" shows that we all, world-wide, feel more uneasy than we did even a few years ago.  A few points on the scale was considered a huge difference to other years, apparently.  

I myself can attest to feelings of desperation that come from no real problems.  I was obsessed a few days ago about carpenter ants who seem to be dropping bits of sawdust onto my kitchen terrace every morning.  Of course I pictured, the house falling down around our bed one Sunday morning just as we are looked forward to K's special omelet or our first cup of coffee. Luckily the spraying we did yesterday seems to have discouraged them.

Also, I have been completely crazy about tearing down a flowering vine that grew to mythic proportions (more like a plant depicted in Jurassic Park)when I was away.    I have only so much energy for this garden and I have begun to feel a certain slavery to it.  So I have been sawing and gnawing at this cascading vine for about 3 weeks now and still haven't been able to completely tame it.  

And then there is the call to Social Security I have been trying to make since I got home.  Of course, they are not answering their phone, why should they?  It is enough to put up a lame website and disable the FAQ part of the site, to make themselves feel accountable.  There seems to be a secret pact that any monies that one wants to collect from Social Security belong to the people who work there and that if you were to draw money out ( that you put in) then each bureaucrat would suffer personally.

But all of these micro concerns are probably due to the fact that I have upped my portion of caffeine since I got back.....jealous no doubt that my siblings do not seem susceptible to going sparky when they drink more than one cup in the mornings.

Now I am down again to one cup in the morning and decaf for the rest of the day....or better yet, water....which for some reason has never been my beverage of choice.

I also came home to find that I have isolated myself over here and am hard pressed to just call someone up for a coffee or a meal out.  I think I did this to myself, but having had such great communications with my family and friends in America, I feel sometimes that it is a mistake.   

The people I had tried to contact seemed to be busy with their lives which I, in my immediate state of paranoia, have taken personally even though one could say that it was I who abandoned them.  

However even that has changed now that my art class has started again.  Monday I re-connected with  old pals and even found two new people who really want to talk to me, so I am starting to feel better now. 

How was your trip to Mexico?  Did you get more than a tourist would get from this trip? Was it a tour, or did you plan it yourself? What did you get that was personal only to you?  Did you have the urge to crow about it and if so, crow away.   I'm listening. 

 I think we all need to be away and apart to get back to who we are....especially if our own tribe at home defines us in a way we don't always recognize. I think I read something like this recently as a quote from Ann Morrow Lindbergh .....from her "gifts from the sea" book.

  I think I should pick that little gem up again.  I find that books I read when I was young have a different spin on them now that I am further along.  

Being further along, I am not sure I have improved in my way of thinking.  I am perhaps more serious and realistic about humans, but the way I look at things has changed somewhat. 

   I no longer dwell so much on "magical" thinking as a great denial technique. But "agnostic" is a word that leaves me cold. It means innocently enough "not knowing" but it takes on a colder tinge for me when people tell me they are agnostic.  The word has an arrogance about it.  Instead of saying I believe in nothing until it can be proved, I like to say that I believe in everything until you can prove it's not so. 

  I have been looking over a poem I found recently by Gerard Manley Hopkins.  I think the first stanza is basically saying that we are defined by what we do. Stones and bells ring when something strikes them: dragonflies and kingfishers glint as they go about their business. 

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame

Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1844- 1889

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies

draw flame; 
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells 
Stones ring;like each tucked string tells,each hung bell’s 
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out 

broad its name; 
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:         
Deals out that being indoors each one 

dwells; 
Selves—goes itself; myself it speaks and spells, 
Crying Whát I do is me: for that I came. 
 
I say more: the just man justices; 
Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings

graces;         
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is— 
Chríst— for Christ plays in ten thousand

places, 
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not

his 
To the Father through the features of 

men's faces.

In other words, I think Hopkins is saying, do what you came to do, be who you are or "To thine own self be true."  



 Of course, we have all heard this.  Being true to one's inner self has been a cliche for a long time, maybe since Shakespeare (or whomever it was) said it.  But how do you know if you are really being you?  







Well, this poet from the 1800's tries to explain it.  It's about taking action, about sending your own true essence into existence.  Like thoughts are "things" and doing proves it. 














I have come to believe that being yourself in all that you do, well, that's when you know you're keeping it real and that's kind of what it takes to get forward. 



So just to tell myself one more time,  as soon as I finish this coffee and get dressed, I am walking out to buy cat food and to observe my essence today and see what it is that I manifest.   



And M, let me know what that is for you, would you?   Write me....even a snail mail if you want. 



Oh, and if there are some strange change of fonts, sizes and spacing in this post, ignore it.  It's google doing what it does. 



Love, mary