A NECESSARY LABOR

Since departure from the Annex,

I have come to this:

The modeling of clay…

and form discovered;

The long wait through the holidays

and prolonged grieving over losses;

The tentative and awkward coloring of form

with untried glazes.

Shame and grief have been replaced

by celebration of the feminine form…

and patience as the only road to truth

I have looked closely

at my youth and aging

as collaborative.

I have caught glimpses of

my own delight in detail.

Artistic process at its best

reflects the life:

Hard work and perseverance

simply aren’t enough.

I cannot shut out what my heart is suffering…

my mind is sorting through.

Nor can I shut out

the distractions caused by my attachments,

for these are born of love and vulnerability

which making art requires.

Ambivalence accepted

can reveal essential elements:

Though I may struggle against

my need for restful emptiness of purpose,

I know my own soul’s reverence for timing

must be reckoned with.

As I cry out for wholeness and completion

It is being realized.

SEEING WISELY

            Three days ago, I had the first cataract removed from my sixty-eight-year-old eyes. I am halfway through the process…midway between a shadowed world and a clear bright vista. Already it feels like a miracle: My right eye opens on a world washed clean, a landscape promising increased potential. Yes, I can see, even as the eye is tender, almost tentative in its looking. The pupil is not yet adjusted since surgery; in the mirror I see a tiny dot of a pupil swimming in a sea-green iris. It doesn’t yet do its job of adjusting to light and dark. A curtain seems to obscure the clarity along one side. Even so, I see as I have not done in years. I may be tempted to act as though the process is complete, while the other eye still waits its turn.

Alone in my house, I am following the doctor’s instructions: no bending over or lifting of heavy things, three drops of medicine in the operated eye three times a day, no water in the eye, sleep with a shield protecting the still-mending eye, no driving until the anesthesia wears off, and start preparing the left eye with drops three days before the second surgery. Aside from the doctor’s cautionary voice, my own instinct tells me to take care, to respect this miraculous process. It is no small thing.

My sister and cousin have invited me to go tomorrow for breakfast and to see the orchid exhibit at the mall. As much as I might want to see and photograph the orchids, I know that malls are noisy places lit by unnatural lighting. And I know that I would subdue my own needs in the face of the others’ pleasure. My need for quiet at this time is great, as is my need for moderation in all things. I need to trust the same intuition that led me to take the little dogs to doggy camp. I knew I would not be able to keep up with their lovely energy, their expectations or demands. Obeying the subtle flow of my inner direction would be impossible. Whereas, the old cat curling beside me now inhabits the land of feline surrender. His soft warm fur breathes out contentment. Wanting nothing, he stays where he is. I, too, have surrendered; I will stay where I am.