Autobiography in Five Short Chapters

by Kelsi in


 

Chapter One
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost... I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

Chapter Two
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But, it isn’t my fault.
It still takes me a long time to get out.

Chapter Three
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in…It’s a habit…but,
my eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

Chapter Four
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

Chapter Five
I walk down another street.


Portia Nelson

 

The Art of Disappearing

by Kelsi in


 

When they say Don’t I know you?
say no.

When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.

If they say We should get together
say why?

It’s not that you don’t love them anymore.
You’re trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees. The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished.

When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven’t seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don’t start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.

Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.

– Naomi Shihab Nye

 

Here We Are

by Kelsi in , , ,


 

Hello there. It has been a while.

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Like many others, I have spent the last several months contemplating all the things, and thinking about the shape of my life. My home and family life, my work. Asking the question, is this how I want my life to look? And if not, how can I reimagine it so it does? I love this Daily Stoic from a few month’s back on how much of what we do and say is not essential.

There has never been a better time to go through your life and ask yourself about all the things you do and say and think, “Is this necessary?” “Is this essential?” “Why am I doing this?” “What would happen if I changed?”
— Ryan Holiday

It’s been a wonderful exercise and it is amazing how asking those questions regularly really brings our priorities into high relief. I’ve also found the central Stoic tenet that the only thing we have control over in our lives is the way we respond to be deeply grounding and liberating, and I would argue, vital in times like these.

In addition to all this reflection, I have been using this time to get as creatively inspired and recharged as possible. I spent most of the summer working in the backyard with my husband. Pouring over all of my Piet Oudolf books and trying to follow his example. It has been a true labor of love transforming the slope between our house and the studio, which for the last decade has been overrun by weeds and blackberries…

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I’m so proud of how it turned out and can’t wait to see how it looks next year when it fills in and looks more Oudolf Field-like

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Now that the yard project is done I’m largely filling my time reading, including Ryan Holiday’s newest

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Even more enjoyable than reading for myself right now is reading aloud to my son. We just finished the The Golden Compass, the first book of Philip Pullman’s triology His Dark Materials. I don’t know who is more excited each night to read together, him or me. He is a stellar reader on his own, but there is something kind of magical about being read to (and something magical in being the reader as well).

To go with all this reading, I am so grateful for my Caddis Readers which make a huge difference. They are also blue-light blockers which is something to consider since many of us are sitting in front of computer screens more than ever these days…

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I’m learning how to draw using this fantastic workbook

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I’ve also noticed that I’ve been gravitating toward things that I find deeply moving and poignant. Things that remind me how beautiful it is to be alive, and be human. I’ve been listening to a lot of Max Richter. I’d really like to watch the film on his 8.5 hour work Sleep…

We finally watched Jojo Rabbit. It has been a long time since I was so touched my a movie. If you watch on HBO, make sure to watch the short “making of“ clip following the film and listen to director Taika Waititi talk about creating the film through the eyes of a ten year old boy…

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The Rainer Maria Rilke line at the end of the film from his poem Go to the Limits of Your Longing was spot on.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.

We also recently re-watched Arrival which is my favorite film. The trailer in no way indicates just how beautiful and thought provoking it is.

I will part with the delightful Frog and Toad (thank you R for sending this to me months ago!)…

Frog and Toad Tentatively Go Outside After Months in Self-Quarantine

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Gratitude

by Kelsi in , ,


 

With profound gratitude on this day, Happy Thanksgiving.

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Messenger

by Mary Oliver
 
My work is loving the world. 
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird — 
equal seekers of sweetness. 
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums. 
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
 
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn? 
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me 
keep my mind on what matters, 
which is my work,
 
which is mostly standing still and learning to be 
astonished. 
The phoebe, the delphinium. 
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture. 
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,
 
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart 
and these body-clothes, 
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy 
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam, 
telling them all, over and over, how it is 
that we live forever.

 

The Poetry of Ordinary Time

by Kelsi in , , ,


 

THE GATE - Marie Howe

I had no idea that the gate I would step through
to finally enter this world
would be the space my brother’s body made. He was
a little taller than me: a young man
but grown, himself by then,
done at twenty-eight, having folded every sheet,
rinsed every glass he would ever rinse under the cold
and running water.
This is what you have been waiting for, he used to say to me.
And I’d say, What?
And he’d say, This—holding up my cheese and mustard sandwich.
And I’d say, What?
And he’d say, This, sort of looking around.

 

Take a moment to hear Marie Howe read it below. It is beautiful.

Listen to the her full On Being conversation here.

 

Keeping Quiet

by Kelsi in


 

"KEEPING QUIET" BY PABLO NERUDA

Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.

For once on the face of the earth,
let's not speak in any language;
let's stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

Fisherman in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.

If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.

Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.

—from Extravagaria (translated by Alastair Reid, pp. 27-29, 1974)