Friday, October 06, 2006
What is it about working so late that I can hardly put two thoughts together that feels so damn good? It's like cramming for finals in college or late night sex that finds more passion than I thought possible at the end of a long day. I am left spent and momentarily satisfied, knowing that I'm alive and that morning will greet me with more.
The quilt is (finally!) starting to look like jazz. Whew. I was worried. But, at this point, I should trust the process and know that it will all come together. It's HARD to make cloth look like music but it's getting there. Movement, color, mood, nuance, meaning, unexpected lines. I am pleased and can easily say that this is the hardest work I have done. It makes sense, given the subject. So many times, I get frustrated and then allow my situation to pale in comparison to the frustration of the people to whom I pay tribute. It keeps me humble and grateful.
I went to bed last night, in fact, with the feverent mantra of: "Thank you, thank you, thank you for my life."
Even as I said those words, I thought of how, while I enjoy the metephorical images of gods and goddesses, I am probably, at my core, a believer of love and energy, nothing or no one anthropomorphic. So when I hear myself saying, with all the gratitude in my heart: "thank you," I wonder who "you" is? And the answer I come up with is life itself. And why thank life for life? In the wee hours before sleep last night, this is the answer that hugged me as much as my fluffy velvet covered down comforter: gratitude fuels love, gives energy and enhances life.
The quilt is (finally!) starting to look like jazz. Whew. I was worried. But, at this point, I should trust the process and know that it will all come together. It's HARD to make cloth look like music but it's getting there. Movement, color, mood, nuance, meaning, unexpected lines. I am pleased and can easily say that this is the hardest work I have done. It makes sense, given the subject. So many times, I get frustrated and then allow my situation to pale in comparison to the frustration of the people to whom I pay tribute. It keeps me humble and grateful.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you for my life."
I went to bed last night, in fact, with the feverent mantra of: "Thank you, thank you, thank you for my life."
Even as I said those words, I thought of how, while I enjoy the metephorical images of gods and goddesses, I am probably, at my core, a believer of love and energy, nothing or no one anthropomorphic. So when I hear myself saying, with all the gratitude in my heart: "thank you," I wonder who "you" is? And the answer I come up with is life itself. And why thank life for life? In the wee hours before sleep last night, this is the answer that hugged me as much as my fluffy velvet covered down comforter: gratitude fuels love, gives energy and enhances life.
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