Found, Day 21

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Found, Day 20

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Found, Day 19

Does it matter

how it got there?

Sometimes things bound by the earth

break free

and perch on wires.

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Found, Day 18

Today was an all-girl day. Quiet was maybe hard to come by, but there was sun and warmth and the smell of spring in our hair and books galore, along with as many stolen moments to read as we could find.

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Found, Day 17

Light, playing (take 2):

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Found, Day 16

Not always, but sometimes

you find you have the power

(unearned, but ohthankyou)

to work out the snarls,

to smooth-out,

to gather together

and lift up more than just hair

and that is a small thing

but also a very big thing,
sending her out into the world that way.

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Found, Day 15

This today was gold: a TED Radio Hour broadcast on Making Mistakes. It's an older show, from almost 2 years ago, but it was new to me, and worth sharing.

"Every mistake is an opportunity in jazz." (Jazz composer Stefon Harris) I love his musical illustration of this. 

There's so much in here. I don't want to write about it right now, I want to internalize it all, let it simmer, pray that it will seep back out in ways I can't predict.

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Found, Day 14

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Found, Day 13

Shiny things, sparkly things. Coins. Long golden hairs. Gum wrappers. A purple paintbrush tucked under a bag of apples. Socks. Socks in every imaginable and unimaginable place. Years of socks—the strays, the mate-less, the crumpled athletics, the handknits, the fluffy chenilles I can’t remember which belongs to who. Socks that are slowly getting larger, measuring time in ways I can hardly face, in ways I can’t forget.

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Found, Day 12

From a book I loved in my childhood and still love now:

Now I could use the sword Gull, he thought. But since all I have is my sheath-knife, I’ll have to make do with that. I can’t let the snake eat the old woman. And he rushed forward, waving his knife.

from “The Maiden in the Castle of Rosy Clouds,” by Harald Östenson,

Great Swedish Fairy Tales, illustrated by John Bauer

At the last moment the sword he needs but does not know how to get materializes in his hands, and the young man saves the old woman. Each of the things he needs, in fact, he finds only in the middle of an act of faith.

*     *     *

So imagine Heroic, setting out on a journey because of everything that should not be that is. And the journey is much harder and much longer than she (or maybe he) imagined. And he (or maybe she) keeps getting distracted—by old crones bearing strange gifts, by animals in need, by side adventures that make no sense. And doing the right thing does not seem to get her or him anywhere closer to setting things right. And he (or she) gains allies but not answers. And in the end, of course, all those things that kept Heroic’s path anything-but-straight were exactly what was necessary to face the giant/the dragon/the troll.

*     *     *

And what if, instead of looking at how untidy a life is, how it refuses to match up to whatever you think it’s supposed to match up to, you looked for real at the cracks and tears, the flaws and interruptions and stumblings, and made it your job to read those things, to listen deeply, and tell the story they tell you? 

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