December 10, 2018. Today marks 2 weeks since a hurried scurry in my driveway left me flat against the concrete wondering briefly what all have I broken? And who saw me fall? Good news on all fronts – nothing broken and no distressed neighbors hovering. I got myself up slowly, marveling that everything still worked, and began puzzling why I tripped on something always right there, why on the day before I go to my aunt’s 94th birthday, why, why, why?
Richard Wehrman’s poem “Traveling” helps make sense of a seemingly senseless stumble. I’ve added bloom and swirl to a photo of my purple-puffed chin.
P.S. I am back to normal skin tones. More attentive in the driveway. Pondering still.
December 5, 2018. Once upon a time, when younger and more flexible, I would lay out a labyrinth on the mountain up above Cloudcroft NM each summer. In a national forest, one “leaves nothing and takes only pictures” – hence no permanent stone-lined labyrinth. My challenge included: repeatable installs, rain proof, cattle proof, materials must fit in the back of an already-crammed car.
Each summer, I would spend a spiritually connected day creating the labyrinth before the group arrived, and a frenzied couple of hours at close of the gathering – pulling up anchored straps and packing materials snugly back into their container.
Near the labyrinth center, I placed a bowl of polished gemstone fragments – and encouraged walkers to stir the collective energy as they passed.
This collage puts a smaller capture of the bowl near center over a larger capture of stones within the bowl