Monday, October 29, 2012

What mystery

What mystery
exists for me now
in ordinary life?

I have lived enough
to know no madman
in a blue box
will really come for me.

There will be
no fame or greatness.

My trajectory, predictable,
happily free from chaotic people
and their drama.

Safe, peaceful.
These are the words I use.

And sometimes, I say
dull, bored, endless.

And become inconsolable.
But remember I am loved,
and begin to climb out.

The leaves turn gold and fall
and my ache gets better.
The nights bring breathless cold
and I can breathe again.

In the street, I see it.
A miracle shows me wonder:
A perfect oak leaf, faded brown,
spine and veins shot deep,
rich with red.

And I hear…the sound of a jet?
Wind in the eaves?
The sounds of the blue box.

Above, the sky, a lighter blue
– a bubble but not a bubble –
containing all wonder I have known.

And I know I would tell him,
not without my husband.

And I realize
the wonders of the Universe
sit on my doorstep,
sleep in my bed,
crunch in the leaves beneath my feet.

(c) sfb 10.29.12

Friday, October 26, 2012

Purple hearts Blue



Drunkard's Pinwheel

blankety-blank Lone Star
Pineapple Log Cabin

partial seam

Dutchman's Puzzle

Log Cabin
Friendship Star

12 Triangles

Sawtooth Star

Eight-Point Star

Purple Hearts Blue

Blocks for my quilt.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

what a difference...

...a day can make. Not out of my grump, but feeling far less despairing. I made something beautiful yesterday. And my husband was so kind.

"Pineapple" paper-pieced quilt block

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

You push through

I know people with worse depression than mine, people with worse problems (by far) than I have. Despite that perspective, in the moment, it's hard to see the sun rising. 

There are times a thought rolls through my head: "This is the part where I kill myself." But I'm not suicidal. What does it mean? It's like recognition meets realization meets mantra.

I've come, after years, to believe those words note the passage, mark when little parts of me die. Small hopes, expectations, feelings of worth. Resignation of a thing I can't fight. Here is where it's broken. That is the bit that hurts. This is the part where I kill myself. Acknowledgement of the death at my own hands, while feeling it was done to me.

The safe place became small yesterday, but it was still there. Thank goodness, it's always still there. And I do not doubt it's there. And I do not doubt its permanence.