Life Full

Three soulful creatures make my life sing through the tough, tender, confusing, infuriating, billowing, humming, shining, screeching, affirming, birthing, loving roil that is now

(and then)… I love their unique ways of expressing vitality…

j. ruth kelly, 2013, all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2013, all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2013, all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2013, all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2013, all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2013, all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2013, all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2013, all rights reserved

Love Thy Neighbor…

Even if they trap cats for the pound to take and “euthanize” if unclaimed…

Even if they have made sure two of your cats get trapped…

this one would chase cars...
this one would chase cars…

Even if you go with your daughter the first time and she bawls in the middle of a holding room with cages labeled “M” and “T” and “W” and “TH” and so forth since they murder these cats after 72 hours, the cages full of cats looking confused and scared…

Even if thy said neighbors go to church every Sunday AND trap cats

AND have access to one of the best commandments ever…

Love. Thy. Neighbor. (as thyself)

I suppose they don’t love themselves too darn much. Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy… wait. Love thyself first, ok? Give us ALL a break.

Pardon my King James dumbness. I was raised on it and I can’t manage to quote scripture without thees and thous and thys and oh my…

2013 has begun with some wonderful holiday memories carrying me into the challenge of loving my neighbor. I have to say, I’m not feelin’ the love. Not one “thy” has therefore ousted my angst. But underneath that angst is this awareness of their right to their um, desire, to um, facilitate the killing of cats.

I’ve felt angry enough to qualify as murderously enraged. I guess this makes me no better than my neighbors.

I’ve had fantasies of creating a catapult for hurling the cat litter (for my one terminally stupid housebound adorable black cat) scoopings across the street and into their yard, onto their roof, slamming against their windows, landing on their cars.

I’ve conjured scenarios of sending anonymous postcards with the words “Bite Me” on the front and a black frazzled looking cat glaring at them with the one message on the back: “Meow.”

I’ve imagined painting cat paw prints down their driveway.

And so many other scenarios silly. The one that I may actually act on is one of buying them a huge gift bag full of cat repellent and old pots and pans (with instructions on how to bang together to scare cats out of their yard) as well as a whistle (for the purpose of scaring cats away). I’ll probably include a book on the symbolism of cats. What else? How cats represent the feminine and how those who hate cats. Ok, maybe not that one.  Any ideas on what else to put in the bag? Let me know in comments!

Did I mention I’m not feeling the love?

Bite me.

brilliant but still a sucker for baited cat traps...
brilliant but still a sucker for baited cat traps…

(I don’t know why the image above is sideways. It didn’t show as such in my picture manager, but a lopsided perspective is fitting.)

 

Peace…

Melting moments now where always humming overflowing glow, an ever-filling at-homeness and this seeping something soaking nourishment eternal fills up and up a heart burning, a mind mulling over and over the whys and wherefores of yesterday, melts melts melts the strife away and leaves the earth of my soul awash with acceptance, with love’s more urgent play in the aftermath of whirlwinds whisking vision into place.

Here’s to holiday from hellish happenings and confusion, freedom from distortions of truth and betrayals of trust. Here’s to a wresting from the jaws of anxiety and perpetual pushing to arrive as we are always just ourselves, nowhere to go but now. May we know the rest of awareness of the preciousness of our being human, the sacred wonder in our rituals of connection and a settling into rich reflection on things we deem hallowed.

May we all embody peace, peace, peace…even as we fight for things worth fighting for… Happy Holidays Y’all!

j ruth kelly, 2012
j ruth kelly, 2012

Back To Trees…

Take me back to trees
back to times in sun’s embrace
suspended, waiting…

j ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved
j ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved

Apocalyptic Meaning…

December 12, 2 minutes away from 12/12/12 at 12:12pm and the phrase “apocalyptic meaning” flows through my somewhat overloaded brain.

The word, “apocalypse” typically conjures images of end-of-the-world disasters. But the rudimentary meaning of the word is cloaked in images both Biblical and cinematic, far-removed from the root which is simply “uncovering” or “disclosure.”

Uncovering meaning…this is a phrase I can embrace completely, once stripped of the typical storefront meaning. Let’s uncover meaning in the coming days and uncover with our own uniqueness, our own creativity and imaginative flair the preciousness our lives have been and will always be. Find the hidden, for this is part of the whole “apocalyptic” experience.

Twelfth-century mystic, writer, and abbess, Hildegard von Bingen speaks well of this flair, the gutsy risk-taking required to hone our own vision, to uncover our own meaning without using others’ interpretations of the world as the basis of that same meaning: “We cannot live in a world that is interpreted for us by others. An interpreted world is not a home. Part of the terror is to take back our own listening. To use our own voice. To see our own light.”

The past few days have required a level of standing and listening I’ve not had in months. All in one stretch. Stand. Listen. Watch my children perform. Clap. Stand, sway, sing, smile, hug, stand. Stand. Stand.

My two sons in a symphony of meaning, unique and distinct but united with those around them…

j ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved
j ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved
j ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved
j ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved

These are precious lives, unfolding in a challenging era with an awareness of the corruption of the world they reside, an awareness that threatens to encroach on their own creativity, their own ability to use their own voices, their own sight. My youngest came into this world 3 days after the carnage of 9/11. What an imprint.

My oldest has watched her mom go from embracing one religion to letting go, releasing her abruptly from the ties she had relied on. What a scramble.

j ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved
j ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved

And we stood together singing in the audience at a concert that was standing room only, just a few feet away from some soulful voices on stage in Chapel Hill. My daughter had an opportunity to sing on the stage but didn’t know the particular song. One of the musicians noticed. She passed on the opportunity. But he didn’t pass on making sure to approach her later.

“Believe in yourself.”

She hears this from her mom so much that it loses meaning sometimes.

But. Words from a relative stranger, who made sure not to be too much of a stranger, giving generously, extending his heart. It expanded her own.

Believe in yourself, uncover, disclose yourself to the world without fear, find the meaning hidden in the daily rote world of get up and go, do, be, sleep, rise, do it all over again. Take “apocalyptic” moments as defined by others’ interpretations and make them your own. Uncover the meaning. Allow these days to disclose your uniqueness in the way you unfold responsively as love, in love and for love.

Everything else can go take a flying leap.

(Here’s a tribute to some heartful encouragement-in-action, Ed Romanoff: http://edromanoff.com/ )

And a great way to end this post since Rachael Yamagata was the reason we were up standing late into the evening…

Drops of December…

Drops of December don’t always feel bright or cheery or anything short of challenging. Of course, there’s always the “drop” and “down” aspect of that word, that gee, trajectory? Wait. Wrong direction! Or maybe not. In any case, snow falls down in drops of frozen wonder. I wonder if this means my downward spirals are a cosmic display of something lil kid gods squeal with glee over as they sit at their windows from on high, happy to miss creation school or lightning bolt assembly day… “Oh look! It’s snowing!” (I’m a snowflake, ok? Stick with me.) What do we know, really…? Maybe we’re all drops of something for some unfathomable force out there to curse at or delight in or build something with. Or.

Ok, nevermind. Maybe this is how I feel today. (Maybe?) Like a whimsical flotsam for the gods. But not. There’s a sense of being this delight of shining something. (Even when I’m “down.”) Why? Because at every turn, with all the challenges and daunting obstructions, there’s this inevitable ground zero reality I can only call love. I may run into yet one more dilemma with one of my kids but we land on our feet, and we’re closer for it. There may be one more delay, one more setback but it doesn’t hinder our capacity to open up to love, to kindness, or even to the wonder of restful repose.

So, drops of December … here’s to a pile-up of delight. Or a redburst of berry pleasure or…

j. ruth kelly, 2012
j. ruth kelly, 2012

Swaying Still…

j. ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved

ripple through, over
me-all fully floating now
torn from towers’ sway

say me along to
brew roaring liquid peace-flow
from night to day, new

watch me fall apart
seeds, crumbling into song full
‘neath the hum of earth

from dirt to sky to
river low and back to dirt,
dancing life anew.

Sacred Absurdities …

There are evenings that fade into the wee hours and bring out the sillies…absurdities supreme and all the best madness making sanity sing. (yes, I meant that)

This was one of those…with my daughter (and two sons who aren’t pictured here). I’ll have to post more when it’s time for more mindless crazy fun. :0)

j. ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved

(this is how you laugh the loss away)

j. ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved

(and this is how you forget all the stress of the day)

j. ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved

(and this is how you remember why we’re here)

j. ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2012 all rights reserved

(and this is what it’s like to feel…alive.)