An afternoon of knitting with a friend, littered with purls and butterflies, as full of chuckles as a rivulet finding its way through a clutter of rocks
I am doing a hat meditation for a friend. Meditation wants accoutrements — candles, incense, a rosary or singing bowl. It wants location, a quiet place set apart from interruption. Meditation wants a point of focus — a word, a verse, a formula, some sort of mental coat hook on which to neatly hang one’s busy thoughts out of the way, to make room for meditation to occur. The accoutrements for a hat meditation are knitting needles, a ball of yarn, a bowl to put the yarn in, a cable needle. The quiet place is a comfortable chair and ottoman curtained off by soft music. The point of focus is the knitting pattern. And in the quiet meditation of knits and purls and cable crosses, memories of thirty years of our friendship drift quietly through the still waters like particolored koi slipping slowly through the dappled shadows underneath the lily pads, and now and again they undulate through open water where the sunlight sparkle on their scales. In the meditation of the hat, happy thoughts and blessings become tangled in the yarn, and slip into the weaving of the knits and purls and cable crosses of this hat that will go with a friend on a new journey to a new place, a new life.
And the zen of it is this: Intention effects outcome.
One does what one can.
July 16, 2011
Icons disappear. I try to reboot. The Blue Screen of Death! Crash! A siren wail of grief and disbelief. Oh, my precious files! (Not total disaster. It’s not the computer I do my work on.) But, oh, oh, my precious files!
July 17, 2011
We’ve been friends forever. Our conversation is a cryptic code decipherable only with the code book of our shared history. She wants to borrow the Thursday Next book I’ve told her about. Casually, she mentions she’s quit listening to the religious radio station that’s all she’s listened to for years now, and started listening to the classical radio station again. Apropos of nothing she says she’s thinking about getting rid of her dining room table to make room for her easel or her drawing table. My heart is doing the happy dance. Rays of sunlight are finally breaking through the low, dark clouds.