Thursday, April 29, 2010

Knowing and Feeling Are a Million Miles Apart


I have to go to town today. I have to. I have to buy things there. I have to.
Unless I can figure out how to weave gifts and groceries from sunlight and leaves, fluffs of dog hair
And shreds of old hippie skirts.

I remember I used to buy myself a present on my children's birthdays.
A favorite gift to myself would be one of those hippie skirts.
I remember one, it was shot with blue and silver and had tiny bells on the drawstring in the waist
It was perfect to wear to dance in through a birth-day anniversary
Reminding myself of the joy of the re-birth of my own after I had birthed my babies
Made into someone new with each new life
Because I was now the mother of that perfect child
Born from my blood and my body.
Dance. Dance. Dance.
I used to dance.
I held those babies to my breast and I fed them with perfect food and I danced with them
In my arms
The one with shining hair of copper
The one with shining hair of brown
The one with shining hair of dark blond
The one with shining hair of gold
Each one with flashing eyes and grinning mouths as we danced
Mother-and-baby
I was new every time.

Listen- no religion I ever heard of ever moved a mountain one centimeter
But every woman in labor moves a mountain from that existence to this one.
A journey unfathomable which is why we have religion, I suppose
To give words and explanation for that we will never understand.
My babies were my religion.
I had no need for any other.
And we danced in our rituals, we danced in our rites
We danced in our light
We did.

I have to go to town today to buy gifts and groceries because I cannot weave anything from anything.
All I seem to be able to do is to put things in the earth and let them sprout.
I have surrounded myself with flowers
Some blooming, some not.
Yet.
I wish I could hand everyone a skirt made of the petals of the roses, of the dark yellow pansies,
Of the unbloomed phlox and the lemony giant petals of the magnolia,
Of the now-passed lurid azalas

I could sew tiny bells to the hems of those skirts
I could sew shining beads to the petals of the flowers
I could insert fist-sized pockets to hold my heart in
Just here
I would say
Put it on
Dance.


And I wouldn't have to go to town.
No. I could make tea of the mint springing up in the kitchen garden
Make soup of the greens growing in the real garden
Make salad of the bright reds and yellows of the rainbow chard
Make bread of the meal of the bones of the ground of the
place here where I live
The ground that I would dance on if I still danced
Instead of plodding, always plodding
Each step a thousand-pound weight and
And I feel as if my pockets are filled with lead,
Not with hearts
Although I know that is not true.

21 comments:

  1. Beautiful Post Mrs. Moon! I love the idea of tiny bells on the drawstrings of skirts and in the hems of skirts. I also love the idea of buying something for MYSELF on the birthdays of my children.

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  2. Poxy feelings always ruin it. Knowing should win. Really. You are so right.

    I love the idea of buying yourself a present on your children's birthdays. I may have to adopt that one, too. It's very clever.

    I hope your trip to town happens and makes you feel more sane. It sometimes does that for me. Just doing stuff until the feeling of normality comes back.

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  3. Wouldn't it be beautiful to have all the lovely ladies in your life dance with you? All swirling, twirling, singing, celebrating!

    Your gift of a skirt fashioned from your garden, each unique and making music from those small bells...you never need feel alone...you are a nurturer, a giver, a mother, a wife, a friend...and I am so lucky to have found your blog...

    Now I hope that day in town you hear a bell, smell a sweet scent, receive a sincere hug, and laugh a bit....hugs to you!

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  4. "Make bread of the meal of the bones of the ground of the
    place here where I live"

    I love that line.

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  5. I love this idea of buying a present on the birthdays of our children -- my Oliver is having one soon, so I'm going to start that tradition!

    I'm sorry that your pockets are filled with lead -- but I'm glad you know that's an illusion.

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  6. Good morning!
    One time at a Sufi retreat we were meditating and chanting: "Est ah fer allah" which means, "Oh! Wipe the rust from my heart"

    It was a seated song, very lovely, but my own heart was very heavy and I stopped singing and just listened to the voices around me, and then pictured my own physical heart as a clear glass measuring cup with a handle, and pulled a bit of light from the heart of each of my friends in the room with me and drew them toward my body and let them fill up the measuring cup, until it overflowed.

    Tears were running down my face, I felt the beauty and the love of all of my friends, and was washed in the voices and the sweetness of the feeling.

    Your post today brought me back to that gift of love, and I thank you, Ms. Moon.

    Bless your heart this fine day!

    Hugs,
    Mary

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  7. Am I allowed to simply say I love you?

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  8. I wish I could hand everyone a skirt made of the petals of the roses, of the dark yellow pansies...

    You just did. You do.
    Thank you.

    Beautiful writing. I hope it lifts the lead.

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  9. I can see you dance in front of my eyes... Your words paint the scene. You are a wise one...

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  10. So many beautiful images, Ms. Moon. Plod on, small steps when that's all you can do, for now, and bide time until you feel like dancing again. Maybe to a slightly different tune, maybe wear the skirt with the bells again. When that garden is in bloom, the one you made while you were plodding along, light some candles, play some music and dance a nice slow dance with Mr. Moon. Drink a glass of wine under a winking moon and dance in your heart, celebrating all that you have created. Maybe a bonfire to burn away some burdens.
    You may not feel like it, but your writing -your words dance across the page. One womans plod is another's art.

    You need somebody to go to town with. My sister and I can do anything together that seems impossible alone. Modern commerce is overwhelming. I'm wanting to order from pea pod, just bring me what I need. But Lowes has flowers and vegetables on sale, and I must have more, more, more, so my garden can dance. So off I plod.

    love you.

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  11. Beautiful words. I wish your load would lift away, caught on tiny balloons and floated silently off without you even noticing.

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  12. It's good to dance in that skirt with the bells on the drawstring. My wife actually has one of those skirts and she makes a sound of bells as she walks. It is made of a gauzy material that shows her nice legs. Makes me warm just to think of it.

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  13. such beautiful words...i read them gratefully.

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  14. And now? Now it's really Mother's Day. Everyday. Beautiful.

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  15. I hope the party tomorrow makes your heart lighter, Ms. Moon. Hang in there, the light will come again.

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  16. Rebecca- Do it!

    Mwa- It helped and then it didn't help. Sort of a mixed experience.

    Ellen- Sometimes I DO feel all those ladies.
    And you, too.

    DTG- I love it when you love my lines.

    Ellen- Yes. Buy yourself an Oliver present! Do it! And I FEEL those hearts tonight. I do.

    Mary- That must have been such a beautiful experience. I'm so glad you told me about it.

    Kori- Any time, dear. Any time.

    Bethany- It all helps.

    Photocat- Thank-you for saying that.

    Mel- For me, sometimes it is better to go alone if I really need to get anything done. I hope you got some beautiful plants.

    Jo- I can feel them lifting.

    Syd- I love the idea of your wife having one of those skirts.

    Maggie May- I am so glad.

    Stephanie- Thank-you.

    Lisa- I think it always is.

    E. - I know it will. I can feel it.

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  17. so bittersweet, life.

    I will carry the images of this with me. beautiful.
    we do carry things, too many sometimes.

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  18. I love the way the lines of this poem dance down the page and through the joys and sorrows of life. Lovely writing, Mary Moon. Put on a skirt for the party and play music that makes you want to dance. Kisses...N2

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  19. You are a fucking doll. I loved this, and I'm with Hank on the best line. YES!

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  20. Love, love this! I love all your posts, but absolutely adore this.

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