boing!

Sitting outside this morning with tea, thoughts and blue sky, my mind wandered back to what I wrote here yesterday. Suddenly it hit me: what was wrong with my endless categorizing and trying to make sense of what books I ultimately keep to fit how I see myself now and in the future.

I heard myself saying, Who I want to be and that was the problem. Wanting is limited by what I know and I need to make room for possibility -- the unknown. So there's my motivation and impetus to continue: if I'm tightly defined by exactly what and how much is on my book shelves, there's no room for growth and change. Emptiness holds promise and possibility.

what really counts?

Finished reading Alice Hoffman's "The Ice Queen" this week. The main character observes about her co-worker -- a librarian, "What people read revealed so much about them that she considered our card catalog a treasure house of privileged secrets; each card contained the map of an individual's soul."

At last count I've managed to divest myself of around 130 books so far in the Great Purge of 2005. If you recall, however, that was the first pass; the second cuts deeper and as expected it's been so much harder. And then I read Sam Allis's column (The Observer) in last Sunday's Boston Globe. "Letting go" detailed his seemingly spontaneous housecleaning of his own library. I wondered just what motivated and, more importantly, what sustained his momentum to finish the job.

"What made me commit this literary bloodletting? Acid reflux? A spasm of humility? Why the sudden and intemperate purging of possessions that have, over the years, become part of my landscape, indeed my identity?

Because it's time. I no longer want to be defined by my books. (Just how I want to define myself remains unclear.)"


He, like Hoffman's librarian, sees the "great mysteries" of people's lives reflected in the books they read or keep. Yet one day he was able to act decisively on his own collection. I'm great at starting things but less enamored of the plodding long haul with no end in sight, so Allis's example came at just the right time. He's emboldened...no, challenged me to see this through and ask yet again, (How) do my books define me?

I'm still holding onto many of the "I wish" variety or "I'd like to" sort. At the same time, I suspect that my mother's death has played some part in my impulse to begin clearing out. At the very least the suddenness of that loss has been a wake-up call: we're not guaranteed more time. What on earth (interesting choice of words) do I think I'm going to do with the remaining stacks? Even with all of the time in the world I won't read or use them all. That's a fact. Time to "get real" as my mom used to say.

Maybe three categories this round: Instead of topics/subjects, I'll choose with an eye to who I used to be, who I am now, and who I want to be. I've parted with so many of the used to be's, but still more need to go the way of the decades-old prom dress. As Hoffman says, there are stories I carry inside me that don't require physical reminders. Who I am now is a grey area because I'm sensing that my story might be taking a different direction. Who I want to be requires fewer props.

Re-reading this gives me pause. Endless thinking and analyzing is a "prop" and can paralyze me, forgetting Sam Allis's example. The just do it approach has been working for me in other areas lately and life's too short to be bogged down by things that really don't matter. Okay, so every remaining book is fair game because in the words of my late great mother, "What's the worst that can happen?!"

slip of the lip

Happened across a posting that I made a few weeks ago -- taps -- and noticed something that I'd completely overlooked then. I'd misquoted Earl Grollman, whom I quoted again the other day. I'd noted that "one touch of sorry makes the whole world kin." That should have been "sorrow". But even though he didn't say it, there's a kernel of truth in my version as well.

truth-telling

I dropped in on a drop-in group today. I could tell that it was the right thing for me to do when I became anxious this morning, knowing that I was approaching an emotional precipice -- preparing take a peek over the edge.

My destination was a bereavement support group and others like it quietly exist most everywhere because they are needed. They welcome anyone who is mourning the loss of someone they cared for, whether family or friend. It wasn't easy to step in the door, but once there I could sense a familiarity among all of us around the table. Every loss is different, but in the words of Earl Grollman, "One touch of sorrow makes the whole world kin."

Still, the last time I'd done this was eleven years ago after my father died. That time it had taken me hitting the wall several months after the fact to realize that his loss had left me with a deep sadness and had also triggered long-buried feelings related to a traumatic loss some years earlier. Hospice bereavement services were there when I needed them that time and a friend reminded me of this group after my mom's death...just in case.

So today for ninety minutes I was with people who get it, despite our different circumstances or elapsed time since the deaths of our loved ones. This isn't an indictment of anyone who isn't grieving, but there's an acceptance and (often unspoken) understanding among those who come to these rooms. When I left the meeting and got on the road again, my chest gently ached -- a tender reminder that I'd opened myself to the experience and aftermath of my mother's death once more. Not a bad thing to do.

Daily routines and obligations keep us moving along and don't offer a reprieve to check in with how it's going, what's coming up because of some bittersweet marker date, or to be able to listen to and be there for someone else who might need the same. With day and evening groups nearby, I know that I'll be able to find solace and comfort when I need it, even if I say nothing. Not only hospice-connected, there are grief counselors and other groups and programs available. Like AAA, you don't think about it until you need it. What a gift.

By the way, my word for today was Truth.

words

"Let the beauty we love be what we do." Rumi

The great book purge continues and yesterday I came across similar sentiments expressed by two poets/writers who probably never met.

"...in a time lacking in truth and certainty and filled with anguish and despair, no woman should be shamefaced in attempting to give back to the world, through her work, a portion of its lost heart."

Louise Bogan, 1897-1970
The Writer on Her Work, edited by Janet Sternburg

"In times of extreme peril, confusion and insecurity there seems to be something that we can draw on; and one face of this capacity is the belief in the power and sanity to be found in the creative work. That whatever the poem, the painting, the song appears to be saying in any literal sense, it is part of a language, a communication between ourselves and the world, and without which we as a species have not even the sense and dignity of a grasshopper."

John Haines, 1924 --
Writing in a Nuclear Age, edited by Jim Schley

I have no idea where or when I picked up either of these books...perhaps at a library book sale (the last time I donated many and brought home fewer). Both collections were published in the 1980's. Skimming them in preparation for making my decision -- stay or go -- I was stunned to see the dovetailing of these two writers. Whatever the impetus and whenever they were penned, their messages spoke to me.

When I looked up Louise Bogan's dates I discovered that today is her birthday. Hmm...
Are these synchronicities gentle wake-up calls? The decision: "The Writer on Her Work" stays. "Writing in a Nuclear Age" goes.


"Spring Giddiness" (Rumi)

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don't open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.

Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.

Don't go back to sleep...

slow leak

Was finishing the Sunday Globe this morning and saw a notice about the author of a children's book: "Cranky Pants". I laughed out loud -- what a great title, and I could relate.

Last week someone was considerate enough to call with information in response to an e-mail I'd sent. My impatient reaction to discussing business tipped me off to the fact that I needed to take some time off. In an instant, I'd become "cranky pants". My friend/colleague understood and took no offense at my less-than-enthusiastic reaction, but I could tell that I needed a breather.

It would appear that the weeks of activity surrounding my mother's death -- and trying to integrate what physically and emotionally remains -- have taken their toll. I know this intellectually, but suddenly there I was limping to the side of the road as though I had a flat. It had been deceiving to be able to pick up work with little trouble, but there came a tipping point that only my body and spirit knew when, I guess, enough was enough.

So I'm off the clock this week and while I don't expect to "get over" anything in this time, it's recuperative and relaxing...with no deadlines or commitments.

I love movies and have managed to catch up with one I'd taped on PBS recently, "Whale Rider". Such a wonderful story that I watched it twice. And yesterday I watched "The Contender" (Joan Allen, Jeff Bridges). It turns out that both were stories inspired by or dedicated to daughters.

The first came from an outing that the story's author had with his young daughter, who'd questioned why it was always boys who got to do big things (I'm working from memory here.). Amazingly, that's still the case in many places. So Witi Ihimaeraa wrote a story about a Maori girl who defies tradition regarding leadership in her New Zealand village. The film (based upon the book) is worth checking out just to see Pai's (Keisha Castle-Hughes) touchingly brave speech at a school event.

And "The Contender" has a woman being nominated to become Vice President following the death of the previous office holder. It's a political thriller and the spirit of Pai is alive and well in Joan Allen's adult character. It was inspiring and challenging to watch the "gentlelady from Ohio," as she was repeatedly addressed by her adversaries. Grueling tests of her integrity and honor -- and others' -- played out at the highest levels of government and lowest levels of politics. See for yourself how it turns out.

At the end of "Contender," the screen blackened and "For Our Daughters" (again working from memory) appeared. Only then did I make the conscious connection with "Whale Rider". Generations of tradition and history -- and women's lineage -- led to both of these characters' choice points...their defining moments. And while most of us don't see our lives up on the screen, I think that many women would be able to relate to what unfolds in these powerful films.

So once more, art (in one form or another) is filling what was empty. Good to know that my slow leak isn't irreparable, but it was a nudge -- and a reminder -- to pull into a rest area for awhile. Good news: I'm less cranky, too.