The other day in meeting, someone quoted a t-shirt -- "God loves everybody -- no exceptions." Which is a really good concept to keep in mind...lest we fall prey to the seductive belief that "God hates all the same people we do" (to paraphrase Anne Lamott). The person speaking went a few steps further, saying that not only is God in everyone, no exceptions, but that all parts of each of us is God. Not that we are God, but that all of us is God. (I'm not sure this is making sense, but I'll keep going.)
So today I was sitting on my bench (not technically mine, but I like it a lot) and considering this idea -- that all of me is God -- when the thought popped into my head -- "wow, even the fat parts?"
And then I started laughing out loud -- by myself, on my bench -- well, because I thought it was funny. And then, I heard/thought:
"Yes, even the fat parts."
And then I laughed and also got choked up, and I felt good.
Monday, October 08, 2007
Sunday, October 07, 2007
my first pinch pot
pinch pot: roll clay in ball. stick in thumb. pinch sides between thumb and fingers. make pot.
That's the basic idea, anyway. And the assignment this week for my clay class: make seven pinch pots. Show up in the art studio every day. Show up. SHOW UP!
Those are my italics, my bold, my all-caps. Just, you know, working on some issues around the whole showing up thing...
So I'm sitting on the porch behind the art studio, gorgeous day, with my ball of clay. And I know you are going to be completely shocked by this, but the first pinch pot I made wasn't very good.*
Anyway, I got all icky and judgmental about it.
It was good though -- to be able to observe how icky and judgmental I felt. I mean, I've never made a pinch pot before, not that I remember. So legally, technically, it is unreasonable to expect that I'll make a fabulous pinch pot. There have been people making pinch pots for decades -- or even, say, for a week or so -- who might wonder why I think my pinch pot should be so fabulous after only making, um, one.
Anyway, it was good to watch those feelings come up, good to say, "oh, hello, you" and then good to go an lay in a hammock with a small ball of clay and stick pieces of it on my thumb and pinch a few more pots. It was helpful, because when I sit down to do something it's reasonable to expect I'm pretty good at (say, writing), those same feelings come up. Nice to know how unspecific these ugly thoughts are -- how context is almost nothing to the scared kiddo who wants to make art and yet doesn't want to make art, unless she can be certain ahead of time that it will be um, perfect.
Maybe not perfect, but at least pretty good. At least not horribly embarrassing.
And before, when I said I'm "pretty good at (say, writing)," I hope you don't think, I was, you know, bragging.
______
*I actually am not qualified to say what is and is not a good pinch pot. I may be a pinch pot prodigy. I'll let you know.
That's the basic idea, anyway. And the assignment this week for my clay class: make seven pinch pots. Show up in the art studio every day. Show up. SHOW UP!
Those are my italics, my bold, my all-caps. Just, you know, working on some issues around the whole showing up thing...
So I'm sitting on the porch behind the art studio, gorgeous day, with my ball of clay. And I know you are going to be completely shocked by this, but the first pinch pot I made wasn't very good.*
Anyway, I got all icky and judgmental about it.
It was good though -- to be able to observe how icky and judgmental I felt. I mean, I've never made a pinch pot before, not that I remember. So legally, technically, it is unreasonable to expect that I'll make a fabulous pinch pot. There have been people making pinch pots for decades -- or even, say, for a week or so -- who might wonder why I think my pinch pot should be so fabulous after only making, um, one.
Anyway, it was good to watch those feelings come up, good to say, "oh, hello, you" and then good to go an lay in a hammock with a small ball of clay and stick pieces of it on my thumb and pinch a few more pots. It was helpful, because when I sit down to do something it's reasonable to expect I'm pretty good at (say, writing), those same feelings come up. Nice to know how unspecific these ugly thoughts are -- how context is almost nothing to the scared kiddo who wants to make art and yet doesn't want to make art, unless she can be certain ahead of time that it will be um, perfect.
Maybe not perfect, but at least pretty good. At least not horribly embarrassing.
And before, when I said I'm "pretty good at (say, writing)," I hope you don't think, I was, you know, bragging.
______
*I actually am not qualified to say what is and is not a good pinch pot. I may be a pinch pot prodigy. I'll let you know.
more thoughts on work
I like the dishwashing job at Pendle Hill -- there is a good rhythm to it, if you're working with the right person, and you don't have to be too perfect. One person stacks the plates and cups on racks, rinses them with a spray-thingy, and then sends the racks through the washing/sanitizing machine. The second person stands on the other side of the machine and unloads the racks of plates and bowls, and puts away the cups, silverware, etc. The second person also provides quality control -- there are certain seeds and grains, for example, that are fairly persistent in clinging to cereal bowls. (When you work dishes, you start seeing certain sticky foodstuffs -- like oatmeal, for example -- in a whole new way.)
On this particular day, I was working with the right person -- L., who I have experienced in the past as a very helpful and nonjudgmental individual. I was unloading the dishes, and was having trouble fitting all the bowls into the proper sorting area -- there were t00 many to fit. So I just placed some bowls on top of the bread plates, and continued onward.
When I went to roll the dish cart into its place at the head of the buffet line, I realized that there was another slot for bowls. So I moved the bowls to the right place.
Writing this down, it is such a non-story. But I had this huge moment, because I was so glad that L. had just let me figure out where the bowls should go. Now, he might just not have noticed that I had the bowls in the wrong place. He might have noticed, and decided it wasn't a big deal if the bowls were in the wrong place. He might have noticed, and figured that I'd figure it out.
What I noticed is just how relieved I felt that I'd been allowed to find out where the rest of the bowls went. It felt great. There you go, that's where they fit. Look at that. Great. I'll do it!
It's not like if he had said, Dawn, there's more room for bowls on the other side, there, I would have minded. And again, this seems like such a non-story that I feel like I might start over explaining. So I'll stop. Tell me if it makes sense to you.
On this particular day, I was working with the right person -- L., who I have experienced in the past as a very helpful and nonjudgmental individual. I was unloading the dishes, and was having trouble fitting all the bowls into the proper sorting area -- there were t00 many to fit. So I just placed some bowls on top of the bread plates, and continued onward.
When I went to roll the dish cart into its place at the head of the buffet line, I realized that there was another slot for bowls. So I moved the bowls to the right place.
Writing this down, it is such a non-story. But I had this huge moment, because I was so glad that L. had just let me figure out where the bowls should go. Now, he might just not have noticed that I had the bowls in the wrong place. He might have noticed, and decided it wasn't a big deal if the bowls were in the wrong place. He might have noticed, and figured that I'd figure it out.
What I noticed is just how relieved I felt that I'd been allowed to find out where the rest of the bowls went. It felt great. There you go, that's where they fit. Look at that. Great. I'll do it!
It's not like if he had said, Dawn, there's more room for bowls on the other side, there, I would have minded. And again, this seems like such a non-story that I feel like I might start over explaining. So I'll stop. Tell me if it makes sense to you.
good morning mary sunshine
Gentle Readers: If you don't know me very well, what you need to know to understand this entry is that I am not so much "a morning person." If you know me at all, you know that my first name, "Dawn," is nothing more than a cruel joke. But maybe not for long!
One of my jobs at Pendle Hill is to take a few shifts running "the Bubble," which is basically the front desk of the kitchen/hospitality area. Two days a week, I work the morning shift, which requires that I show up one-hour before breakfast (6:30 a.m. on weekdays, 7 a.m. on weekends).
This morning was my orientation shift, and I got there early -- I was the first one in the kitchen (gooooo me!). Part of being "the Bubble" (I'm not sure if I am the Bubble, or if I'm working the Bubble) is helping to setup for breakfast. And ringing the morning bell.
So at 7:30 a.m., I walked into the food-storage closet and pulled down the wooden handle that attaches to a thick rope, that attaches to the bell.
I rang the bell about a dozen times; the ringing can be heard across campus. The bell signals that it's time to wake up, at least if you want to eat breakfast. The bell also rings 10 minutes before mealtimes, and I think, before worship.
Let me say that again. I was the one who rang the Pendle Hill wake-up bell.
Though I was in the midst of running around, brewing coffee and washing fruit, I did take a moment to breathe in this amazing fact: not only have I shown up every morning this week for breakfast and morning meeting, not only have I risen to the bell, but I am the bell.
p.s. People who are "keeping silence" can be really cranky when they want their caffiene. Like, I saw you gesture the first time...I can't make it brew any faster...
One of my jobs at Pendle Hill is to take a few shifts running "the Bubble," which is basically the front desk of the kitchen/hospitality area. Two days a week, I work the morning shift, which requires that I show up one-hour before breakfast (6:30 a.m. on weekdays, 7 a.m. on weekends).
This morning was my orientation shift, and I got there early -- I was the first one in the kitchen (gooooo me!). Part of being "the Bubble" (I'm not sure if I am the Bubble, or if I'm working the Bubble) is helping to setup for breakfast. And ringing the morning bell.
So at 7:30 a.m., I walked into the food-storage closet and pulled down the wooden handle that attaches to a thick rope, that attaches to the bell.
I rang the bell about a dozen times; the ringing can be heard across campus. The bell signals that it's time to wake up, at least if you want to eat breakfast. The bell also rings 10 minutes before mealtimes, and I think, before worship.
Let me say that again. I was the one who rang the Pendle Hill wake-up bell.
Though I was in the midst of running around, brewing coffee and washing fruit, I did take a moment to breathe in this amazing fact: not only have I shown up every morning this week for breakfast and morning meeting, not only have I risen to the bell, but I am the bell.
p.s. People who are "keeping silence" can be really cranky when they want their caffiene. Like, I saw you gesture the first time...I can't make it brew any faster...
Thursday, October 04, 2007
work
Working with a team weeding the asparagus patch yesterday (an asparagus patch! how amazing!) I once again became aware of how important it is to me that the people around me think I'm doing a good job. Not just a good job, but that I am trying my hardest and not acting lazy.
The shame, or more correctly, the fear of shame and judgment, made the first bit of the weeding quite unpleasant, even though the actual weeding was fun, because the grasses were huge and easy to tear out of the ground, and the company was good. I was able to observe my misery, and to notice that I wasn't judging anyone else's performance (being far to busy judging myself). And I thought, well, if I did come out of my self-involved weedy haze long enough to observe how anyone was working, or not working, would I really be inclined to judge? Probably not.
So I did, then, try to just weed and be in the moment with the weeding. And though it was hot and humid, it was a satisfying experience -- both the doing of the work, and seeing a whole piece of ground cleared.
To do a good job is not a bad goal to have, but I think I have to let it go for now. I don't see how it helps my experience here, quite frankly. Perhaps I will try to trust that my best effort in a given moment is enough, and that enough best efforts will sum up a decent life.
I have to acknowledge that I don't know what the edge of good enough feels like. I do know that a fear of not being good enough no longer serves me.
The shame, or more correctly, the fear of shame and judgment, made the first bit of the weeding quite unpleasant, even though the actual weeding was fun, because the grasses were huge and easy to tear out of the ground, and the company was good. I was able to observe my misery, and to notice that I wasn't judging anyone else's performance (being far to busy judging myself). And I thought, well, if I did come out of my self-involved weedy haze long enough to observe how anyone was working, or not working, would I really be inclined to judge? Probably not.
So I did, then, try to just weed and be in the moment with the weeding. And though it was hot and humid, it was a satisfying experience -- both the doing of the work, and seeing a whole piece of ground cleared.
To do a good job is not a bad goal to have, but I think I have to let it go for now. I don't see how it helps my experience here, quite frankly. Perhaps I will try to trust that my best effort in a given moment is enough, and that enough best efforts will sum up a decent life.
I have to acknowledge that I don't know what the edge of good enough feels like. I do know that a fear of not being good enough no longer serves me.
wherever you go...
I did not sign on to my time at Pendle Hill expecting ease. I expected moments of grace, which have certainly appearred. I expected to be challenged; I desire change, a letting go of old, less than helpful patterns. In seeking to be more present, closer to God, I expected some -- lots -- of internal resistance.
In a sad, worn-out way, the behaviors I seek to shed offered their own comfort. And the very real leaving behind of my community of friends and family is its own kind of pain.
It helps to see that being here is an intense, breaking down experience for many of the other resident students. I am not the only one crying, or the only one who is finding it necessary to take long naps. The itching of the poison ivy rash that covers much of my body adds a small element of hysteria to my emotional make-up.
I'm afraid of sounding ungrateful, but I also want to honor the complexity of my experience here at Pendle Hill.
In a sad, worn-out way, the behaviors I seek to shed offered their own comfort. And the very real leaving behind of my community of friends and family is its own kind of pain.
It helps to see that being here is an intense, breaking down experience for many of the other resident students. I am not the only one crying, or the only one who is finding it necessary to take long naps. The itching of the poison ivy rash that covers much of my body adds a small element of hysteria to my emotional make-up.
I'm afraid of sounding ungrateful, but I also want to honor the complexity of my experience here at Pendle Hill.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
here's how goes it...
at least with the blog, for the time being. I don't have internet access, as yet, so below are a few posts from the last five days or so at Pendle Hill...
I had only a few minutes to post things, so keep in mind, these are the pieces of the whole, not the whole, even more than usual.
love y'all,
d
I had only a few minutes to post things, so keep in mind, these are the pieces of the whole, not the whole, even more than usual.
love y'all,
d
The Poison Ivy Index: October 3
THE POISON IVY INDEX:
On a scale of one to ten, please rate your current discomfort: 6
Please list the areas of your body that demonstrate the effects of poison ivy:
* behind right ear
* under chin
* on neck, right side
* my left arm (healing)
* the undersides of my right and left arms
* right breast
* belly
* left thigh
* top of left knee
* behind right knee
* behind left knee
* right ankle
Plan of action: Started taking oral steroid today. Warned community to be alert for intense outbursts of rage. Continuing with cream, Benadryl spray, and magic Lavender water (thanks, Mary).
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Going Off to Quakerland
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Quakerland. That’s what my friend C. calls Pendle Hill – Quakerland. "Hope you’re having fun in Quakerland – going to meeting, weaving baskets, protesting the war – whatever they do up there…"
The decision to go to Pendle Hill, the temporary shut-down of a life in Durham (quit job, rent house, say goodbye for now to friends and family, leave my dog with my parents, clean house, mow lawn, and then PACK) happened in less than a month. The body isn’t meant to move that fast, honestly, as evinced by the wicked case of poison ivy that’s taken over my body.
THE POISON IVY INDEX:
On a scale of one to ten, please rate your current discomfort: 9
Please list the areas of your body that the effects of poison ivy:
* behind right ear
* on neck, right side
* the most hideous patch (where it all began): my left arm
* the undersides of my right and left arms
* right breast
* belly
* just above lady parts
* left thigh
* behind right knee
* right ankle
Plan of action: Antihistime (2) and Steroid Cream (prescription, running low). On Monday, call Dr. to prescribe an oral steroid, because this isn’t getting any better.
I have to pause here and thank EVERYBODY who made it possible for me to turn my life upside down so efficiently. First, my Mom and Dad – without Mom, I’d still be packing, and without Dad, I’d still be hidden in the grasses that sprouted chest high in the back yard (I’m exaggerating slightly). And I MUST thank April for all of her help leaving CDS and seven years of stuff, and for organizing a great going away party and an amazing going away gift (more on that later).
The thanks could go on, and will go on, but I’ve got something else to say now.
A seven hour drive took two days. Part of it was car trouble – I had to pull into a Toyota dealership that blessedly appeared along I-95 near Richmond because my hot engine light twinkled on and off, on and off for about 30 seconds. It took about four hours, though it was ok with me…I organized the papers I’ve been shoving in my bag for the last month, the “this is important but I can’t deal with it right now” bag…and then I dealt with financial matters online (wireless internet at the car dealership, very cool).
By thr time the red temperature light flickered again, I was near Woodbridge, by the Potomac Mills outlet. The traffic was slowing to a stand still. Mom and I had finished loading my car around midnight – and for the second night in a row I got about 5 hours of sleep. I’d been up since 5:30 a.m., on the road since 6:15 a.m., and I barely felt human. I certainly didn’t feel capable of dealing with the feelings that were going on inside of me. I didn’t feel capable of meeting a whole new group of people, of performing me, though as my therapist Nyra said, I didn’t have to perform – I just had to show up.
So I stopped, and got a hotel room at the Holiday Inn Express, which I completely endorse as a wonderful hotel. I spent a frustrating time trying to find Internet access because I suspected that it would be cheaper to reserve the room online, and I was right – I paid $117, and the lady at the desk quoted a guy who wandered in $149. But the effort knocked me out…at one point, I had a vision that I would take a nap, and then head to the mall for a bit of retail therapy, and maybe catch a mindless movie.
Instead I slept from 5 p.m. to midnight, and then from 12:30 a.m. to 8 a.m. I blissfully swallowed two Benadryl and slathered myself with steroid cream.
The next morning, I was still scared, but I was human again.
It seems wild that I was surprised by the fear. I’m stepping into a fairly structured environment – from 7:30 a.m. breakfast to 9:15 p.m. closing meeting. I’m coming to a place with the clear objective of being present – a requirement of being present several times a day. I sat on a bench this evening, being quiet, looking for W. who had my packet and my name tag. I was suddenly and severely gripped by a deep need to find the closest Target.
I’m not kidding about this urge at all. I could feel a hovering sensation – feelings, feelings everywhere, threatening to knock me dead. It was terror, but in that moment I both felt the terror and also, felt it break. I was still afraid, but I felt, then, that my fear made sense. I mean, come-on…I’ve left my comfort zone, as imperfect as it was, big time. I’ve left my essential coping strategies behind. This is intense stuff for me.
As I was leaving Durham, I’ve been saying to everyone – I’m grateful, terrified, and excited about going to Pendle Hill – but I don’t know that I had time to really experience the terror of leaving my community and heading somewhere almost completely new. I did make the decision to spend the night outside of Washington D.C. for a number of very practical reasons – not wanting to sit in traffic, not wanting my car to overheat while I was sitting in traffic, the fact that I was physically drained by a lack of sleep and the awful itching and burning of the poison ivy.
But I also think I needed a holding area between one life and the next. The sanctuary of a hotel room and a good nights sleep.
As a result, I missed the first day of orientation, and some good getting to know each other exercises. But before dinner, I was welcomed with a great hug by the Dean, and I do have nine months to get to know these folks – my 13 companions on this journey.
It’s 10:46 p.m. and I’m going to sleep. Breakfast on Sunday at 8 a.m., then meeting after.
I’m obsessing about what to wear, though I think I brought too many clothes and not necessarily the right ones. I was weighed at the doctors office the day I left, and I weighed more than I have in a while. I’m trying not to think about it, but weight is such a reliable way to feel bad about myself, it’s hard to resist.
I might go into Philly with another resident student for meeting (after the PH meeting). Or I might skip it and walk into Media, the closest town. Or maybe I’ll nap, or finish organizing my stuff (clothes are put away – as long as I don’t actually disturb the drawers and closet in any way – like by wearing the clothes – everything fits. At least for now. Still have my office to set up, but that can wait.
I’m writing with my computer on a pillow, sitting on my twin bed, with my own comforter and pillows. My queen size duvet looks pretty on the bed, with the sides almost reaching floor. I'm on the second floor, so I feel good about leaving my windows wide open.
It's funny how Southern I feel here. More on that later...
d
Quakerland. That’s what my friend C. calls Pendle Hill – Quakerland. "Hope you’re having fun in Quakerland – going to meeting, weaving baskets, protesting the war – whatever they do up there…"
The decision to go to Pendle Hill, the temporary shut-down of a life in Durham (quit job, rent house, say goodbye for now to friends and family, leave my dog with my parents, clean house, mow lawn, and then PACK) happened in less than a month. The body isn’t meant to move that fast, honestly, as evinced by the wicked case of poison ivy that’s taken over my body.
THE POISON IVY INDEX:
On a scale of one to ten, please rate your current discomfort: 9
Please list the areas of your body that the effects of poison ivy:
* behind right ear
* on neck, right side
* the most hideous patch (where it all began): my left arm
* the undersides of my right and left arms
* right breast
* belly
* just above lady parts
* left thigh
* behind right knee
* right ankle
Plan of action: Antihistime (2) and Steroid Cream (prescription, running low). On Monday, call Dr. to prescribe an oral steroid, because this isn’t getting any better.
I have to pause here and thank EVERYBODY who made it possible for me to turn my life upside down so efficiently. First, my Mom and Dad – without Mom, I’d still be packing, and without Dad, I’d still be hidden in the grasses that sprouted chest high in the back yard (I’m exaggerating slightly). And I MUST thank April for all of her help leaving CDS and seven years of stuff, and for organizing a great going away party and an amazing going away gift (more on that later).
The thanks could go on, and will go on, but I’ve got something else to say now.
A seven hour drive took two days. Part of it was car trouble – I had to pull into a Toyota dealership that blessedly appeared along I-95 near Richmond because my hot engine light twinkled on and off, on and off for about 30 seconds. It took about four hours, though it was ok with me…I organized the papers I’ve been shoving in my bag for the last month, the “this is important but I can’t deal with it right now” bag…and then I dealt with financial matters online (wireless internet at the car dealership, very cool).
By thr time the red temperature light flickered again, I was near Woodbridge, by the Potomac Mills outlet. The traffic was slowing to a stand still. Mom and I had finished loading my car around midnight – and for the second night in a row I got about 5 hours of sleep. I’d been up since 5:30 a.m., on the road since 6:15 a.m., and I barely felt human. I certainly didn’t feel capable of dealing with the feelings that were going on inside of me. I didn’t feel capable of meeting a whole new group of people, of performing me, though as my therapist Nyra said, I didn’t have to perform – I just had to show up.
So I stopped, and got a hotel room at the Holiday Inn Express, which I completely endorse as a wonderful hotel. I spent a frustrating time trying to find Internet access because I suspected that it would be cheaper to reserve the room online, and I was right – I paid $117, and the lady at the desk quoted a guy who wandered in $149. But the effort knocked me out…at one point, I had a vision that I would take a nap, and then head to the mall for a bit of retail therapy, and maybe catch a mindless movie.
Instead I slept from 5 p.m. to midnight, and then from 12:30 a.m. to 8 a.m. I blissfully swallowed two Benadryl and slathered myself with steroid cream.
The next morning, I was still scared, but I was human again.
It seems wild that I was surprised by the fear. I’m stepping into a fairly structured environment – from 7:30 a.m. breakfast to 9:15 p.m. closing meeting. I’m coming to a place with the clear objective of being present – a requirement of being present several times a day. I sat on a bench this evening, being quiet, looking for W. who had my packet and my name tag. I was suddenly and severely gripped by a deep need to find the closest Target.
I’m not kidding about this urge at all. I could feel a hovering sensation – feelings, feelings everywhere, threatening to knock me dead. It was terror, but in that moment I both felt the terror and also, felt it break. I was still afraid, but I felt, then, that my fear made sense. I mean, come-on…I’ve left my comfort zone, as imperfect as it was, big time. I’ve left my essential coping strategies behind. This is intense stuff for me.
As I was leaving Durham, I’ve been saying to everyone – I’m grateful, terrified, and excited about going to Pendle Hill – but I don’t know that I had time to really experience the terror of leaving my community and heading somewhere almost completely new. I did make the decision to spend the night outside of Washington D.C. for a number of very practical reasons – not wanting to sit in traffic, not wanting my car to overheat while I was sitting in traffic, the fact that I was physically drained by a lack of sleep and the awful itching and burning of the poison ivy.
But I also think I needed a holding area between one life and the next. The sanctuary of a hotel room and a good nights sleep.
As a result, I missed the first day of orientation, and some good getting to know each other exercises. But before dinner, I was welcomed with a great hug by the Dean, and I do have nine months to get to know these folks – my 13 companions on this journey.
It’s 10:46 p.m. and I’m going to sleep. Breakfast on Sunday at 8 a.m., then meeting after.
I’m obsessing about what to wear, though I think I brought too many clothes and not necessarily the right ones. I was weighed at the doctors office the day I left, and I weighed more than I have in a while. I’m trying not to think about it, but weight is such a reliable way to feel bad about myself, it’s hard to resist.
I might go into Philly with another resident student for meeting (after the PH meeting). Or I might skip it and walk into Media, the closest town. Or maybe I’ll nap, or finish organizing my stuff (clothes are put away – as long as I don’t actually disturb the drawers and closet in any way – like by wearing the clothes – everything fits. At least for now. Still have my office to set up, but that can wait.
I’m writing with my computer on a pillow, sitting on my twin bed, with my own comforter and pillows. My queen size duvet looks pretty on the bed, with the sides almost reaching floor. I'm on the second floor, so I feel good about leaving my windows wide open.
It's funny how Southern I feel here. More on that later...
d
Thursday, September 20, 2007
i have left chronos time...
and I am flying along in kyros time. Chronos, chronological, where life transitions take months and change is sensibly incremental -- gone.Nope, I'm in kyros, where minutes and hours and days are shown to be the arbitrary human-made structures that they are...
that to say, the hovering presence that was too much to even write about in a previous blog post...well, it's happened.
Over a period of weeks (literally, weeks!), I was invited to apply for and received funding to participate in the resident program at Pendle Hill, "a Quaker center for spiritual growth, study, and service" outside of Philadelphia, PA. I leave Durham on September 28 and will be living at Pendle Hill until June.
I've quit my job and rented out my house. My parents are keeping my dog (this is hard, though not for Kacey -- she'll be happily spoiled and loved).
After all of these years of saying, I want more time for my own creative work, I want to be more present in my life...we'll, folks, I'm taking the leap.
more soon.
d
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