rituals

i keep wondering which way to go. a different direction is completely necessary but what happens when i find yourself lost in a new neighborhood? how do i get out? how do i find my way home?

aha! you don't get out! you make a new home! or fit differently in the one you come back to, in a warm and pleasant way.

there is a canadian tribe of indians who place the shoulder bone of a caribou over a hot fire to find out where next they should hunt. when the bone cracks, they take it off the fire and use it for a map. they may not know exactly where they will end up but their belief in the ritual brings the caribou there. if they went back to the same place where they had success the first time, eventually the herd would be gone.

in this case belief replaces convention, belief is bigger than hope, belief in something important is a means to survival and a way of life.

believing is a good ritual.

sometimes nothing is good enough

i dreamt last night of trying very hard to get someplace and never arriving. there were too many things in my way that i had to step over, so many problems that snuck up on me - like lost keys and soda that was much too warm, children toppling over store displays, and a sprained ankle.

all i wanted was to have a glass of wine on the porch, some porch, some porch that was home and there were people there who loved me. for some reason i didn't love them back but they made me feel welcome, and i finally got that glass of wine, but it was pink.

a moment or two after i awoke this morning the thunder started, then the rain, and i smiled so hard as i turned into the pillow, fluffed it, sat up, and prepared for a perfect sunday in the rain. plenty to do but nothing will get done today, because today nothing is a good enough thing to be a part of.

i watched "the three faces of eve" and i loved all of her faces. especially when they all came together. all the parts of her that didn't make sense lay quietly down to the strong part and she lived happily ever after with a hansome guy and a curly headed child. and they had ice cream cones just before the credits rolled.

in real life the real eve did not experience such a happy ending, her search for one face went on for another 18 years and i am not sure she ever found peace and wholeness and that is sad.

i wonder how many faces i have and i know that they know each other but they don't always get along. and i wonder when one of those faces will be stronger than the others, and show us all what for!

someday she will. but not today, because on this rainy sunday we are celebrating

nothing.

please sign here

we met each other head on but gently at the top of lane 3. the neighborhood grocer is one i try to avoid, but sometimes you are depsperate and just totally need a package of whole wheat tortillas and a people magazine.

we both turned into the check out lane at the same time. it seemed to startle her, but i was in no hurry, and so told her

'"no, you go ahead".

she was surprised at this kindness, almost suspicious, as i had two items and she had more than that, but when i smiled and said - please you first, she smiled back and started placing her items on the belt.

a bag of tortilla chips, a bottle of welches grape juice, some fresh celery, and a few other things. an odd assortment of flavors that don't go together but sometimes you get a ferocious craving for things you want because you have not tasted that particular thing for a very long time.

perhaps the was the case and perhaps not.

she looked familiar, so familiar.

i noticed her outfit and everything about her, there was something that asked me to look at her and so i did. a half-cowl turtleneck, long denim circle skirt with tiny zipper accents, and brown boots. her hair was full and soft red and tossled; blue eyes, silver earrings.

her total was $21.13 and when he told her that her eyes widened and she panicked for a moment - "do i sign or not?" she hovered over the card scanner and twiddled the electronic pen as if she had never done such a thing but wanted you to know she knew all about this machine. she seemed to want to do everything right.

i know her, i am sure i know her

or at least i know about her. we all do.

is it really her? thinking back to photos of a weary face deep with wrinkles, white hair and sad eyes...but who wouldn't look like that? who wouldn't look like that?!

she took her groceries outside to her van, her light brown van, and i wondered if it was pleasant or mournful to be in that van. She climbed into that brown van with her brown paper bag, and then she drove away.

i had read so much about her these past few years and weeks, easy to form an opinion when one side of the story is printed in black and white while you enjoy coffee and pajamas and freedom.

seems to me we all do our time, in one way or another.

surely she has done hers.

and on this saturday afternoon, here she was alive in front of me, vulnerable, awake, and frightened.

not a story in a newspaper.

a lovely breathing woman, just buying some stuff

and wondering how cash cards work.