3/01/2004 - 3/31/2004

Tuesday, March 09, 2004
Today I held a piece a paper with a list on it. The list contained five items. One of those items was a three in one - laundry, groceries, cleaning. At 10 am, I had returned from my 7:30 am meeting at work and now at 1:30 pm Brad had just left for work. Oh, and today is my day off.Jessica and Ashley were leaving for Everett. List in one hand. The effervescence of youth tugging on the other. My left hand hurt from shutting the car door on it last Thursday night. Hmmm, it held the list. Definitely drop the list. The hand needed the rest; into the car I went. Car ride in the sunshine. I know why dogs smile in the backseat. A day spent listening to good tuneage, giggling, Frapps, and not looking at my watch. I want every day to feel this free and every day to hold me with joy.
Posted by: CJ / 12:05 AM
Thursday, March 04, 2004
John English had a dream. Rest would not find him. With a shaman's eye, John knew he had to write it down, to share his dream. The Shift: An Awakening is his dream http://www.dtpublications.com/. I met him at an author's event. I enjoyed my conversation with him and noted the energy surrounding him. I am familiar with this quiet peace, quiet strength, from Jesuit priests and Buddhist monks I have known. John quietly possess it also.I read his book out of curiosity. Many truths appear in dreams. I would be arrogant to think I could not learn from his. John is not an author by trade, nor inclination. Yet, he does well for a first novel. The message comes across. We all need reminders, markers, on our pathways. John's book was a babbling brook beside my path. I drew renewed commitment and inspiration from it. I have changed from it, which is the true mark of growth and learning.The images left behind from meeting him have had more impact than my talk with him. Spiritual people have that habit. Nothing remarkable happens while talking, but the aftermath will not leave you alone. I liken the experience to a new song you hear but do not pay attention to. Later, the melody plays in your head bringing you energy and joy.If you get a chance to read his book, read without judgment. Let the words, thoughts, and images swirl and ferment before commenting. John has committed to starting a blog to share his experiences as a shaman. I am a loner by nature and do not wish much contact with people, but I cherish sharing the journey, the struggles, the epiphanies of people's lives. Blogs allow me to be touched, to be taught, while preserving my private life, my aloneness. I patiently wait.
Posted by: CJ / 4:10 PM
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
A baby chick pecks at the cardboard beneath her feet. The sound is distinctive. The pitch, the tone; the memory indelible. One Easter, in childhood, my mother brought baby chicks home and made their nest out of a cardboard box. Strips of flannel hanging down to comfort them, a lamp from above to warm them. They lived in our home until they outgrew their cardboard boxes. The ones that survived neighborhood dogs and passing cars were taken to my grandparents ranch. I remember their constant pecking, and peeping. I hear the sound every time I draw. The sound of graphite pencil touching the page. The same pitch, the same tone; only longer in length. All other sounds disappear, fade into distant, only the scratching of graphite against paper remains. Rough paper allows the pencil to follow an uneven path. The effect is brought into the final drawing. I like the feel of the uneven grain upon my fingers. I hold the pencil loosely, it rolls in uneven rhythm across the page. Shadows and unexpected edges appear adding depth.The scent of old hay permeates the air as the paper is touched. I am careful to rest my hand against the dowel as only the pencil may touch the drawing.I slowly put graphite to paper in a cross hatch pattern. The rhythm slows my heartbeat, my breathing. The world fades from consciousness. This drawing is slow in birthing. A gargoyle resting on a post. Many strokes have created a personality. He seems more real than the sculpture I held in my hand. The gray paper adds to the appearance of stone. The color supporting the darker tones of the graphite. He waits patiently for me to complete his being.Drawing: an hour is gone. Drawing: the wrist aches from holding the pencil. Drawing: I feel so alive even though the world has disappeared from my senses.
Posted by: CJ / 10:42 PM