Category: faith

Cymatics

Aural imagery

I saw a sound. It rattled the bones of the last days of a time. That time of frayed signposts. Or times. The time was current. The time moved past futures. The time was possible, and all of us at stake. Now I watch for it everywhere, in hope of hearing. It is everywhere, but my eyes are not so good, having been too thoroughly trained by all that would erase her appearance.

Soundings

and wave

What is the opposite of the way we floated in that space, where it held us in that singing silence, drifting to and from? I don’t want to say it. Only that when we approached near enough, we gave names to one another. It was a way to hold and pass between us, all that reflection and depth. Later came a noise to shatter that silence, and we stopped passing names. I may forget my own, soon. Or the one that held me floating, more than mine. I make this feeble note, unsure if I can sound it anymore. It is the scrap of a decimated raft. I hold it, something between here and that endless down.

Not Within

But without

It appears that it has become fashionable to do what some practicioners call “focus on gratitude.” Which is, of course, a universal good. And yet, so often there is something knee-jerk about the reaction, a compulsion that makes the effect smell like Febreze™ sprayed into a filthy room.  Or, at the risk of mixing metaphors, putting a bad paint job on a wreck. Maybe this is because of the well-meaning speaker’s insistence: I have––, I have––, I have–. In the face of any loss or disappointment, this can certainly help. But it is something else entirely to admit to having nothing. And then, from the position of that hopeless wasteland of wrecked person, to meet some other peace.

Okay, day

Onward

Not every boon blooms from discovery of that magic elixir, except where coffee is concerned. Most are patched together from dryer lint and mended hems and insufficient bites of apple in the car and the dizzy-sick of last night’s back-to-school sleeplessness as the next sun sets. It was a good day, Mom, says Babygirl, well past the afternoon tears. I am a mess, she says. I hose her off laughing in the dark and leave the rest of the mess in the car, set the alarm, hoping to sleep soon. In a few hours I am up again, straight to the coffee pot, with food to the cat in the morning dark, saying Okay. Okay, day. Okay.

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