Tender

Tender

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

(cross-post) Poking the Sky

This is a post from my blog at the Timeless site, where I'm desconstructing my "40cubed" project.



Poking the Sky

I'm inspired to write by a recent text-based discussion with an online friend (who knows my heart) that was initially about impatience, "deserving," and what it means to be truly operating at peak. She raised the term "divine slave," and I unexpectedly reeled with the phrase hitting my forehead, thump. So I immediately put that away, because there was clearly no time for that level of introspection! (But I did let a little, niggly bit of that meaning slide into my background processes. I will let myself roll those words around a little. )

As a starting place, I responded by describing my 40cubed  project as a way of poking the sky. Like saying to the universe, how about now? Wanna use me now? I'm bored here on the bench. I wanna run. I wanna play. I'm getting stiff. I'm losing my skills. Use me! Put me in the game. Whatever that means. So on one level it was about putting up my hand, even if timidly, even if not very high, but putting it up because if someone is ready to help me find my use, I'm ready to step it up.

At the same time, I'm not, really. I'm mothering small children. I'm struggling with anxiety and existential angst. I like to think I'm slowly building my health back, but I wear easily, cry easily, lose my temper and lose my patience more often than I want. I get embarrassed and it cripples me. I'm barely more than a child myself, grasping and lost, trying to lead others who don't even know they're awake yet. Is it arrogant to think what I have to offer is of value? Is it shameful to think anything but that?

So those are the questions I put myself to task for exploration in this project. I decided to raise my hand even though even though even though even though, and while I didn't jump up and down, the hand moved and something shifted in my universe. I let go of a big chunk of that nasty, crusty black Need To Be Seen As Perfect by opening up my unedited, unfinished work for participation. As it cracked off, it scraped some of my Desire To Please the Person I'm Talking To and a little of my I'm So Sorry to be So Insignificant and Still Bothering You. It also knocked a big hole in my What Will They Think, which has been itching and scratching at me far too long. I feel more hopeful.

I'm poking the sky, like a tease, like a test. And now, I'm about to jump to see what winds pick me up. I sure hope those are wings I feel back there, and not just weights.

8 comments:

  1. ooh, I got that same family, the triumvirate cousins of the Need To Be Seen As Perfect, the Desire To Please the Person I'm Talking To and I'm So Sorry To Be So Insignificant And Still Bothering You. Oooh, boy, yeah I got the whole gang too.

    Glad to be poking the sky alongside of your poking... maybe we can make the hole in the clouds a little larger, to be poking together.

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  2. Ohhhhh - I love this. The words, the images, the plan, the courage to let down your guard. I can't wait to see what happens when the sky responds.

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  3. Karen, there's strength in numbers http://tinysong.com/GAYm

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  4. Alana (I hope I remember that right?),
    for you to speak of my courage humbles me. I'm not sure I'm ready for the sky to actually notice my poking...I guess we'll see what happens!

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  5. What Alana said, can't wait to see!!!!

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  6. Well, of course they are wings. But as I said last week, birds also have feet for a reason: balance.
    You keep poking. That's the only way to go.

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  7. smiling here. Feels like I could have written this myself only a few years ago, because my children are all grown now.

    You've made me ponder my reason for blogging - I've been jumping up and down saying 'Pick me! Pick me!' for ever, it seems. Funny thing is - the universe did, only not in ways I had 'envisioned' or intended'. It's a litte more a little along the lines of being starfish tosser...

    SO happy to connect with you.

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  8. Yes, we do get picked in spite of ourselves, don't we?

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