It is said that the chances of existence... of everything lining up as it has in terms of what we call "life"... is so exquisitely slim, that, well...it boggles the mind really- just like the concept of infinity.
I've never subscribed to one religion. In a moment of loss, I look to the seedlings and my children for reminders of how to act rightly in this world. I took the path of trusting the unknown, or rather, it took me.
This year so far has been a torrential stream of learning, patience, joy, some tears and exhaustion and frustration as well. Also great fulfillment, as art will certainly give that to a person. Free expression. Worry, doubt. And perseverance (a favorite word of mine.) Trust, also.
There is nothing stronger than wiping a tear and digging back in to whatever it was that caused the doubt in the first place. Because whatever it was that troubled, was likely worth the trouble and will be again and again until perfection comes. Or even a "near-perfection" will do. A time and place where one can stand back and say. Yes. This is something I feel really good about. Let's move along.
I've never been more willing to make mistakes, let my ego be dismantled, cry a tear or two or mutter a bad word and get back down to it.
It's hard for me to let things go..whether an argument with a friend or dirty dishes in the sink. In the midst of my new endeavors, I find myself tired of feeling the playroom should stay organized and asking (sternly) the kids to please pick up their clothes, toys, messes. I'm actually practicing letting things be more messy, beds to stay unmade for a day or even two. Clothes to pile up. Really, wouldn't the kids be better off jump roping outside?
I love the inscription to this book I am currently reading (this one) in which the author, a sea urchin diver, thanks his piano teacher of all people...
Because...in a world of mismatching socks, biscuits that didn't turn out the way you hoped they would (but are still quite good), seedlings, kids messes and scraps of material all over the place ...there is the sound of a child learning to play piano. The ear picks up far fewer mistakes on the keys than it seems there should be for a child of her age.
And so I sit. With a cup of coffee between my hands, in the still of the morning, listening to those notes
as they fly off the keys
and make their way into the world