Grief and Advice to Myself by Louise Erdrich

I have read and own every book written by Louise Erdrich.   My good friend, Angie C., turned me on to her with a copy of "Love Medicine" many years ago and I fell instantly in love with her writing and mesmerizing storytelling.  Her novels stay with you long after you finish reading them and the poems in the volume pictured above are all amazing.  Ms. Erdrich has an old soul and a heart overflowing with hard-earned wisdom and a deep love of language. 

I share two of her poems below.  I've posted "Advice to Myself" here before, but it bears repeating.  It's a perfect poem for the new year.  It's cold down here in the bayous and swamps and I am a total wussy about the cold.  I know my friends up North (as in Canada) are laughing their asses off at me, but we just do not get this kind of cold down here....in the teens with wind chill factors in the single digits.  (Global warming, my ass!!)  My only hope is that it'll kill off our mosquito population for once.  (One can always dream.....LOL!)  I wish you all love, a warm fire and a good book to read. 

Love & Blessings,

 ~Marion~

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Grief

By Louise Erdrich

Sometimes you have to take your own hand

as though you were a lost child

and bring yourself stumbling

home over twisted ice.

Whiteness drifts over your house.

A page of warm light

falls steady from the open door.

Here is your bed, folded open.

Lie down, lie down, let the blue snow cover you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Advice to Myself

By Louise Erdrich

Leave the dishes.
Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator
and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.
Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.
Throw the cracked bowl out and don't patch the cup.
Don't patch anything. Don't mend. Buy safety pins.
Don't even sew on a button.
Let the wind have its way, then the earth
that invades as dust and then the dead
foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.
Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.
Don't keep all the pieces of the puzzles
or the doll's tiny shoes in pairs, don't worry
who uses whose toothbrush or if anything
matches, at all.
Except one word to another. Or a thought.
Pursue the authentic-decide first
what is authentic,
then go after it with all your heart.
Your heart, that place
you don't even think of cleaning out.
That closet stuffed with savage mementos.
Don't sort the paper clips from screws from saved baby teeth
or worry if we're all eating cereal for dinner
again. Don't answer the telephone, ever,
or weep over anything at all that breaks.
Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons
in the refrigerator. Accept new forms of life
and talk to the dead
who drift in though the screened windows, who collect
patiently on the tops of food jars and books.
Recycle the mail, don't read it, don't read anything
except what destroys
the insulation between yourself and your experience
or what pulls down or what strikes at or what shatters
this ruse you call necessity.


~From: "Original Fire: New and Selected Poems", page 149

Dust by Dorianne Laux

I took these two photos today.  The top photo is part of my kitchen window shrine.  In front of the picture of Jesus is the skeleton of a fish that we found washed up on the beach in Galveston, Texas, many years ago.  There were many of these bones, crucifix-shaped, just lying on the dirty sand.  We picked them up reverently as they were quite fragile, and packed them into our suitcase.  This is the only one left.  The bloom is from one of my Orchids Ray gave me for Christrmas. One of the cats broke it off.

The other photo is the dying flame of my green healing meditation candle that I burned yesterday, flickering in front of one of my small collages.  The candle burns down, but where does it go?  There is no wax anywhere.  Only the tiny piece of a wick remains of the tall, thin candle.  It's a mystery.

I share with you a poem I love by Dorianne Laux from her amazing book, "What We Carry".  Enjoy. 

Love & Blessings,

~*~Marion~*~

**************************

Dust
By Dorianne Laux

Someone spoke to me last night,
told me the truth. Just a few words,
but I recognized it.
I knew I should make myself get up,
write it down, but it was late,
and I was exhausted from working
all day in the garden, moving rocks.
Now, I remember only the flavor--
not like food, sweet or sharp.
More like a fine powder, like dust.
And I wasn't elated or frightened,
but simply rapt, aware.
That's how it is sometimes--
God comes to your window,
all bright light and black wings,
and you're just too tired to open it.


**************************************

"The most tangible of all visible mysteries - fire."  ~Leigh Hunt

I Was Mean to You Today by Pat Schneider

I Was Mean to You Today
by Pat Schneider

Things were difficult
and I was impatient.
You were trying to explain
why I must reorganize the files
on my computer, why
they all have to have project numbers,
why I can't put them
where they've always been,
what the tax consultant said,
what you need for your report
to the Board of Directors,
and it boiled down to my files
have to be re-filed, and they
have to have titles with no more
than twelve letters to leave room
for project numbers,
and I said, Well, dammit.
And you said, Don't talk like that.

You sounded pained
and I was mean to you.
I was bored and tired
and mad, and you were
trying hard. Later,
I went out in the rain.
I went to the mall
and bought us both really
expensive pillows. Down
pillows with 100 per cent
cotton covers, 400 thread count.
I have lusted after them for years,
ever since Mama told me
that she asked Grandma,
who was 86 and dying,
"If you could have anything
in the world, what would it be?"
and Grandma answered,
"A down pillow" and Mama
didn't have enough money.
I bought two down pillows for us all,
to say I'm sorry.


"I Was Mean to You Today" by Pat Schneider, from The Patience of Ordinary Things. © Amherst Writers & Artists Press, 2003.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Grandpuppy, Bentley

We had Christmas with my oldest daughter, April, and her family yesterday. (We ate black-eyed peas, cabbage, cornbread and brisket. We always eat the peas and cabbage for luck and prosperity---an old Southern tradition that goes back to the Civil War and beyond). April is making me this fabulous quilt. She was almost finished, bless her heart. She did a lot of embroidery and hand work so it took her longer than she thought it would. It's got flowers, a dragonfly, a cat and even a spider web (I like garden spiders) on it. What a fabulous gift of love. The backing is a soft, furry, pink fabric. I can't wait to curl up under it!

This is Bentley, Taylor's new Chocolate Lab puppy (my grandpuppy). Taylor's old dog, Clover, got hit by a car last month and he was very sad. April and Brian found this puppy in a newspaper ad and got him the weekend before Christmas. He was a bargain ($25) because the owners didn't have papers on him. Cody (our Golden Retriever) stayed with them while we were out of town and April said he was jealous of Bentley.




His squeaky chew-toy is a chicken. He likes to sleep with his head on Brian's old boots. April said he's afraid of their chickens and turkeys, thank goodness! She said he's also afraid of the mule, the pig and the goose (they're a tribe of three....long, funny story for later).




Every dog needs a boy to harass him, right? I told Taylor he was used to having cats to play with, not heavy puppies! Bentley wasn't complaining, though.

He is so cute! If only they'd stay little puppies longer. Look at those eyes. I never really cared much for dogs until we got Cody about 7 years ago. That dog is so sweet....he's really a compassionate man in a fur coat. If ever I cry (which is often, and no, I don't need a reason) and he's in the room, he comes up to me and lays his head in my lap. I told Ray the dog would be a great grief counselor.

"One reason a dog can be such a comfort when you're feeling blue is that he doesn't try to find out why." ~Author Unknown

"Happiness is a warm puppy." ~Charles Schulz

Love & Blessings,

~*~Marion~*~

"And Now Let Us Welcome the New Year Full of Things That Have Never Been." ~Rilke

Oh, vain Narcissus, you are so eager to be the first flower to bloom that you open in the midst of Winter! I took this photo today of my pretty Narcissus, wet with raindrops.

It's a rainy, overcast New Year's Eve here in Louisiana. No seeing that full blue moon tonight. That's the stump where my tree used to be. I have bulbs planted all around it...mostly Iris's.



I took a walk around my squishy back yard this morning and saw that even my Blueberry bushes are starting to bud. Winter, what winter??? I put out bird seed and stale bread for all of our birds. The Cardinals are magnificent, like blotches of red paint against a sky of gray canvas.



My Chocolate Mint coming up around my Blueberry bushes. It smells divine.


A tangle of Morning Glory seeds on my patio fence just waiting to drop and sprout.


Ray found this old washtub a few years ago in the woods and I planted it full of Strawberries in 2008. They're fast spreading, in spite of the cold.


My one big accomplishment of 2009 was painting this one little wall pink in my laundry room. It took me all of two weeks to paint it, but I did it! Happy New Year, friends!!


~*~Marion~*~



I leave you with one of my favorite Mary Oliver poems to contemplate:


The Journey
by Mary Oliver


One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice ---
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!" each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do ---
determined to save
the only life you could save.


(From: "Dream Work")

The Door by Miroslav Holub

"There are things known, and there are things unknown,

And in between are the Doors."- Jim Morrison

^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

'Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me.' ~Jesus, Revelations 3:20

+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

"Be an opener of doors for such as come after thee, and do not try to make the universe a blind alley." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

The Door
By Miroslav Holub

Go and open the door.
Maybe outside there's
a tree, or a wood,
a garden,
or a magic city.

Go and open the door.
Maybe a dog's rummaging.
Maybe you'll see a face,
or an eye,
or the picture
of a picture.

Go and open the door.
If there's a fog
it will clear.

Go and open the door.
Even if there's only
the darkness ticking,
even if there's only
the hollow wind,
even if
nothing
is there,
go and open the door.

At least
there'll be
a draught.

~translated from the Czech by Ian Milner
From: "Staying Alive, Real Poems for Unreal Times" edited by Neil Astley


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I love doors. They're perfect metaphors for art, life, poetry, death, rebirth. I was thinking about the new year coming up and came across the poem above and it spoke to me about new beginnings, a fresh start and hope so I post it here. The past is a door closing and the future is a door not yet opened, but the present is an open door, inviting us in to enjoy the moment and live life to the fullest.

"Spend the day with yourself
Let nothing distract you.
A poem emerges so young and so old
You can't know how long it has lived in you." ~Sophie De Mello Breyner, "Day"

I usually go crazy at the end of the year tossing out junk, old clothes, old ways, but this year I'm feeling moments of great peace---even amidst my physical pain---and nothing has been tossed out. I whittled down my 'stuff' all through the year and by God, I refuse to throw out my skinny jeans. I wish many things for myself this coming year....mainly to live this prayer I found in a book entitled "Saints":

"Saint Mary Magdelene,
teach us to forgive ourselves
and then to forgive others."

Like many women, I have been way to hard on myself. This past year was rough for me, what with so much time to think. I kept playing and replaying my failures as a mother. After my children were grown, they told me things that happened to them as children that I never knew about . . . We all have those horrible regrets and what if's that plague us late at night when we can't sleep. Well, I forgive myself for those things that happened that I had no control over. I'm going to let them go, along with the emotional pain and scars. I found a letter in my purse after we left Chattanooga from my daughter and she said, "Mama, I finally understand how hard it is to be a mother---juggling work, children and husband and I want you to know that I know you and dad did the best you could and that y'all gave us a good childhood even though we were poor and times were often hard..." It was two pages long and after reading it, I felt a heavy load lift from my soul. It was like she had seen into my heart. I'm so thankful for her kindess and compassion in sharing her thoughts with me.

So here's to doors: opening new ones and closing old ones.

Wishing You Love, Blessings & Peace,

~*~Marion~*~

Candle Hat by Billy Collins and Goya's Ghosts

Stellan Skarsgård in the movie, "Goya's Ghosts" playing painter Francisco Goya.

Ray and I love art, artists and movies/books about artists, so when I tripped over this poem by Billy Collins, I just had to post it because it paints such a vivid, fun word picture of Goya's unique self-portrait. I discovered the Goya movie while surfing around the 'Net and just ordered it for Ray for Christmas because my sweet sister sent us an Amazon gift certificate for Christmas. It looks like a fabulous movie and has great customer reviews at Amazon.

Ray's favorite artist is Vincent Van Gogh and mine are (tied) Amadeo Modigliani, Hieronymus Bosch and Francisco Goya. I also love Edgar Degas's dancer paintings. Oh, and the amazing Frida Kahlo and Georgia O'Keefe are also blissfully divine! Well, I really love hundreds of artists, but those are my current top favorites.

I wish you all Love, Blessings & Peace---And please continue to pray for our beautiful Renee......

Who is your favorite artist(s)?

CANDLE HAT
By Billy Collins, "Sailing Alone Around the Room", page 30


In most self-portraits it is the face that dominates:
Cezanne is a pair of eyes swimming in brushstrokes,
Van Gogh stares out of a halo of swirling darkness,
Rembrant looks relieved as if he were taking a breather
from painting The Blinding of Sampson.

But in this one Goya stands well back from the mirror
and is seen posed in the clutter of his studio
addressing a canvas tilted back on a tall easel.

He appears to be smiling out at us as if he knew
we would be amused by the extraordinary hat on his head
which is fitted around the brim with candle holders,
a device that allowed him to work into the night.

You can only wonder what it would be like
to be wearing such a chandelier on your head
as if you were a walking dining room or concert hall.

But once you see this hat there is no need to read
any biography of Goya or to memorize his dates.

To understand Goya you only have to imagine him
lighting the candles one by one, then placing
the hat on his head, ready for a night of work.

Imagine him surprising his wife with his new invention,
the laughing like a birthday cake when she saw the glow.
Imagine him flickering through the rooms of his house
with all the shadows flying across the walls.

Imagine a lost traveler knocking on his door
one dark night in the hill country of Spain.
"Come in, " he would say, "I was just painting myself,"
as he stood in the doorway holding up the wand of a brush,
illuminated in the blaze of his famous candle hat.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


"Let me ask you something, what is not art?" ~Author Unknown



"Art is spirituality in drag." ~Jennifer Yane



"Painting is silent poetry." ~Plutarch, Moralia: How to Study Poetry



"Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen." ~Leonardo da Vinci



"Art is the stored honey of the human soul, gathered on wings of misery and travail." ~Theodore Dreiser, Life, Art, and America, 1917



"The artist's world is limitless. It can be found anywhere, far from where he lives or a few feet away. It is always on his doorstep." ~Paul Strand

Dharma by Billy Collins

Catfish and Cody, both alpha males...can you tell?

DHARMA

By Billy Collins

The way the dog trots out the front door

every morning

without a hat or an umbrella,

without any money

or the keys to her doghouse

never fails to fill the saucer of my heart

with milky admiration.

Who provides a finer example

of a life without encumbrance—

Thoreau in his curtainless hut

with a single plate, a single spoon?

Gandhi with his staff and his holy diapers?

Off she goes into the material world

with nothing but her brown coat

and her modest blue collar,

following only her wet nose,

the twin portals of her steady breathing,

followed only by the plume of her tail.

If only she did not shove the cat aside

every morning and eat all his food

what a model of self-containment she

would be,

what a paragon of earthly detachment.

If only she were not so eager

for a rub behind the ears,

so acrobatic in her welcomes,

if only I were not her god.

****************************************************

"Any member introducing a dog into the Society's premises shall be liable to a fine of one pound. Any animal leading a blind person shall be deemed to be a cat." ~Oxford Union Society, London, Rule 46

"A cat, after being scolded, goes about its business. A dog slinks off into a corner and pretends to be doing a serious self-reappraisal." ~Robert Brault

A Blessing By Denise Levertov

A Blessing

By Denise Levertov

'Your river is in full flood,' she said,

'Work on---use these weeks well!'

She was leaving, with springy step, a woman

herself renewed, her life risen

up from the root of despair she'd

bent low to touch,

risen empowered. Her work now

could embrace more; she imagined anew

the man's totem tree and its taproot,

the woman's chosen lichen, patiently

composting rock, another's

needful swamp, the tribal migrations---

swaying skeins rotating their leaders,

pace unflagging---and the need

of each threatened thing

to be. She had met

with the council

of all beings.

'You give me

my life,' she said to the just-written poems,

long-legged foals surprised to be standing.

The poet waving farewell

is not so sure of the river.

Is it indeed

strong-flowing, generous? Was there largesse

for alluvial, black, seed-hungry fields?

Or had a flash-flood

swept down these tokens

to be plucked ashore, rescued

only to watch the waters recede

from stones of an arid variety?

But the traveler's words

are leaven. They work in the poet.

The river swiftly

goes on braiding its heavy tresses,

brown and flashing,

as far as the eye can see.

From: "Breathing the Water" by Denise Levertov, pages 6 - 7

"Children and lunatics cut the Gordian knot which the poet spends his life patiently trying to untie." ~Jean Cocteau

"Poets are like magicians, searching for magical phrases to pull rabbits out of people's souls." ~Glade Byron Addams

Guadalupe Day, December 12

Guadalupe day, December 12, is Mexico’s most important religious holiday. On this day people from all over Mexico travel to the chapel Tepayac Hill in Mexico City, where the mother of Jesus is said to have appeared before an Indian peasant named Juan Diego back in 1531.


Mary told Juan to go to the bishop and ask that a church be built on the hill so she could be close to her people. The bishop, needing proof of this vision, asked Juan to have a miracle performed by Mary. Juan returned to Tepayac Hill and found roses growing where there had only been cacti. Juan wrapped the roses in his cape along with a picture of Mary to show the bishop. He was convinced and the chapel was built.


The Virgin of Guadalupe is considered the Patroness of Mexico and the Continental Americas; she is also venerated by Native Americans, on the account of the devotion calling for the conversion of the Americas. Replicas of the tilma can be found in thousands of churches throughout the world, including Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris and the Basilica of Saint Peter in Rome, and numerous parishes bear her name.

In 1999, Pope John Paul II, in his homily from the Solemn Mass at the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe, during his third visit to the sanctuary, declared the date of December the 12th as a Liturgical Holy Day for the whole continent.

During the same visit Pope John Paul II entrusted the cause of life to her loving protection, and placed under her motherly care the innocent lives of children, especially those who are in danger of not being born.

*I woke up in the middle of the night and recalled this poem from my book: "Life Prayers from Around the World" and knew it needed to be here on this special day... so I've added it to my post. Enjoy! Blessings-------

Before Jesus Was His Mother

By Alla Bozarth

Before Jesus

was his mother.

Before supper

in the upper room,

breakfast in the barn.

Before the Passover Feast,

a feeding trough.

And here, the altar of Earth,

fair linens of hay and seed.

Before his cry,

her cry.

Before his sweat of blood,

her bleeding and tears.

Before his offering,

hers.

Before the breaking of bread and death,

the breaking of her body in birth.

Before the offering of the cup,

the offering of her breast.

Before his blood,

her blood.

And by her body and blood alone,

his body and blood and whole human being.

The wise ones knelt

to hear the woman's word in wonder.

Holding up her sacred child,

her God in the form of a babe,

she said: "Receive and let your hearts be healed

and your lives he filled with love,

for This is my body,

This is my blood."

~Alla Bozarth