Sabbath Returns

In the background the washing machine running on rinse cycle, kitchen straightened from breakfast, the dog settled for a nap. Several Sundays have passed mainly because of travel. So here I am, after cooking  scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast for my husband, after taking the dog to the field for an hour, after beginning the weekly laundry, after lighting the incense, meditating and pulling a card from the Tarot deck… today The Lovers. This morning the temperature dropped and Fall is present. I could see the dog’s breath. The creek temperature is 77 degrees. The dew, heavy. It’s my day to cook dinner. It’s been three months since I’ve lived in the house full time not commuting for work. For years everything has felt temporary, in motion. The only thing of substance that I have built is a succession of words, sometimes poems, sometimes longer prose pieces. And even now this life, this location is temporary because of a call that could come to move. Several weeks ago we stayed with my brother and his wife in an apartment they built over  a new garage. Impressive what in their years together what they have built: homes, financial security, a level of choosing. We all have choices , right? An unsettledness sets in. Yes, everything is a choice. But sometimes the choices mean we loose what we have built. Or we choose to build something intangible, like poems. It’s hard to pay down a mortgage with poems, even a book of poems. Sometimes after many years of writing and teaching someone may win a large prize. That happens. With grace. Then perhaps a mortgage can be paid down or off.  I suppose I fear judgement for the choices I have made and continue to make. Taking time off work to be with my literary community, taking time to write, taking time to travel to see my family, utilizing what resources I have to create art. Buying time to write. Buying traveling time. Buying time to work where I’m at deficit earning. I live in a beautiful home that is part of my husband’s salary. I have a study, several desks. A few precious items; jewelry, wooden bowls, pottery, an assortment of attractive bags for caring belongings, pretty linen clothes, good shoes. And relationships with loved ones, those are my prizes. Last week a copied three well know poems by E. Dickinson in chalk on the sidewalk in front of my office. After finishing, I walked up the stairs to begin seeing clients and said aloud, YES.  ” Hope is the thing with feathers.” ” Tell the truth but tell it slant.” I dwell in possibility.” By evening after my last client, I retraced each poem, now warn from people walking over the words. A world come and gone. Another lesson in building.