Thursday, March 1, 2012

Uncertain, We Are...

The 'Roobeedoo Blog' of two or three days ago, included the photo of a Lady and a hand-knit wool wrap recently completed.  In the picture, she is enfolded securely against the cold surrounded by vast, hibernating farmlands.

The vista would be desolate were it not for the expectation of the bright colors of new life, sure to burst through the earth with the near-by arrival of spring. If I could stand in her spot I would release my churning mind to the far reaches of the visible heavens to be diluted in the atmosphere of an unending sky.

Through the window by my desk I look down on city traffic and people rushing to catch passing trolley cars. However, when the wind is right, I taste salt in the air and imagine the bone chilling cold of the Atlantic Ocean two miles to the East. I envision the stretch of sand where I stand from time to time at the gate of life's essence, wanting to know the significance of this single, minute, particle of a soul.

Patients and care givers alike, endure an intense uncertainty. The latter bear an added layer, more profound, traumatic and unnerving, I think, for the looming prospect of moving forward alone.

"No matter where my life takes me in the future this will be my farm shawl," said the Lady, acknowledging commitments made and kept, and the constancy of her own construction.

The warmth of the wool honors its place in the moment and carries forward the luminous dust of indelible dreams.


  1. For me, the prospect of moving forward alone didn't seem overwhelming until it became a reality. Now, it seems, the larger reality is the choice to remain alone and what vestiges of the past, if any, I choose to cling to. I am leaving my farm, stepping onto a bridge that isn't there. I appreciate your empathy for caregivers. That is a funny word I think. Are not we all caregivers? All warriors? Living in unity, building, helping each other through whatever it is we need to get through? Thanks for sharing today. This is a beautiful and though provoking post.

    1. Hmmm... A beautiful reply.

      Thank you Elizabeth.

  2. Oh crumbs! Elizabeth pointed me in this direction.
    I didn't expect to find myself here.
    So strange to think that my knitting touched someone so far away.
    Be well!