a student of death

when i was 22 my neighbor Sue lay dying of cancer. she said, "Amanda you have the mark, it is a blessing, but also a burden,"

a couple of months later, my grandmother died. my grandfather died the following year. matt's dad died next. we played music for him and washed him and sat around the kitchen table telling stories. grandma pettis died 2 years ago. since then, countless deaths. helping the passage. holding a hand. breathing, breathing. not breathing. i still did not fully understand what sue meant. but i'm getting closer. all the while, a student of death. all the while, a student of death.


Is life the incurable disease?

The infant is born howling
and we laugh,
the dead man smiles
and we cry,
resisting the passage,
always resisting the passage,
that turns life
into eternity.

Blake sang alleluluias
on his deathbed.
My own grandmother,
hardly a poet at all,
smiled
as we'd never seen her smile
Before.
Perhaps the dress of flesh
is no more than a familiar garment
that grows looser as one diets
on death
and perhaps we discard it
or give it to the poor in spirit,
who have not learned yet
what blessing it is
to go naked.

Erica Jong

missing my long-haired baby boy...

exactly one year ago today...















but it's good to know that some things never change.
like our mornings together in the sun drinking "papaccinos."

oh, i'm sorry

i haven't told many people about this because one of the first people i told stated sadly, "oh, i'm sorry," while others simply pretended they didn't hear what i said or ignored the comment all together. but i'm leaving on a 3 day retreat tomorrow. "Living with Dying."

don't be sorry. rejoice. for i get to spend 3 full days immersed in quiet mediation, spiritual renewal and awakening. and most of all-- silence.

you better believe i am brining my down comforter to the Monastery though.

no guts, no glory

as i watched avery scoop the gooey insides of our pumpkin onto the newspaper on the kitchen floor, i got to thinking about -- well -- guts.


and i got to thinking about motherhood. such a profound and intense experience, that you can only really believe it once you've lived it. before avery, i used to think that mothers were "soft." that mothers were giving up their lives for their children's lives. that women had to sacrifice themselves for their family. that women who decided to "procreate" had no guts.

then, i had a baby.

the saying goes, "no guts, no glory" and that pretty much sums up motherhood. it's dirty, and painful, and gooey, and hard, and scary. it's scary to love another individual that much. but it's also joyful, and life-enriching, and delicious, and silly, and simple. but mostly it's so, so very--gutsy.


lately i've been surrounded by so many "gutsy" women that i find it hard to believe that mothers still do not run the world.

how else can you explain the trust that something the size of a pumpkin has to come out of you...Guts!

how else can you explain the love of a mother praying in the waiting room for her son to come out of surgery...Guts!

how else can you explain a mother waiting anxiously to adopt her daughter from a war-torn country...Guts!

how else can you explain the patience of a mother as her blind daughter meticulously feels every pumpkin in the heap to find the perfect one...Guts!

i know these women.
and trust me they have more guts than a 300 pound pumpkin!!!

abundance

sometimes it's hard to remember that this is the season of abundance. the opposite of what the native americans call the "hungry months" of winter. it's hard to remember to give thanks for the harvest when you notice how shadows have grown long and the light is changing.

for me, it's hard to reconcile autumn. a time of abundance, but also emptiness. my cupboards and my belly may be full but autumn is always a painful reminder that it is my soul that needs to be fed.

four to six weeks

when the garden calls you must stop what you're doing and make pickles. the cukes were ready on friday. which meant all weekend plans had to be abandoned. i set to work saturday morning with the dew and the goldfinches. my mind was free to wander onto prettier things. i picked and picked. my head getting more and more clear with each snap of the stem. i haven't posted much lately about things i'm doing like gardening and growing up a fine young boy. i guess i'm just craving the realness of it. the dirty work of gardening and parenting and helping people die. i could tell you that i am so glad to drive that gravel road each day. it shakes my thoughts loose. i could tell you my baby nursed for the last time a month ago and i burned all my nursing bras. i could tell you that i am trying to cut back on wine and coffee, or that my biggest project this summer are the roads avery and i built in the "back 40". i could tell you that the people i build relationships with keep dying, or that i am still searching for the sacred. i could say a whole lot. but as paige has said more times than i can count, "i don't know where to begin. things are changing, i'm changing." and i am. and you are, we all are. we're all changing...





and the messages from the garden come as they always do. as a reminder to me to pay attention. as i neared the end of the row, i found a "mother cuke" with a small "baby cuke" attached to it at the stem. i was pleased that avery was occupied by the raspberries but i went to show him anyway. he instantly broke the baby away from the mama. and there it is. my babe and i are entering a new phase. and who knows where we'll be in four to six weeks when those pickles are ready.

what were you doing?

i guess it's anne's fault i'm reminiscing today. what was i doing 1 year ago today? i have no idea. nothing memorable. not like getting ready for my wedding or anything. but i DO remember what i was doing 3 years ago today....ahhhhhhhh thailand.

remember anne? we swam out to the beach Leonardo DiCaprio made famous. it's a scary movie we just happened to watch during a thunderstorm on phi phi island and realized we had stayed at the same hotel in the movie. and it was just as scary as it looked. rats climbing in the rafters, standing toilets. disgusting beds. ahhhhhhhhh thailand.

i can't believe this day actually existed for me. look at the water. and that tan (i'm the one NEXT to anne).

what were you doing June 25th?