The 8th day of the Week

The Mamas and the Papas sang about Monday; I sing about Sunday. Sunday is the “why” day.

Why do we have a need to understand our place? Why do I feel so out of place? Why do I seek a purpose as if there actually was one? Why are we humans so emotionally attached to things we cannot see, and do not know, but insist on trying to understand?

How does one know the difference between a gift of seeing and schizophrenia? Why is that line so blurry? Is it because the unknown and things we have no experience with frighten us? Why can’t we just accept what is? Why do I feel  a need to analyze and rationalize?

Native American ways seem like secrets to me. Are their rites and beliefs kept secret on purpose? When I’ve gone to pow wows I want to dance and cry at the same time; I find such beauty in their songs, but to my ears the “words” are just sounds with no sense, rhyme, or reason, as if I’m not permitted to really hear, but my heart wants to know what is being said. 

Dan Fletcher Cartoon box

The Lakota have ritual where they pierce their skin with the strongest bones of the buffalo and tie it to a tree and try to pull themselves from the piercings either in their chest or back. I find this repulsive, and frightful; are these feelings because I’m afraid of pain, physical and psychic? 

There are other tribes in the world who do the same thing (India' Garudam Thookkam) or similar (bungee vine jumpers); I feel equally repulsed and cringe at just the thought. But the purpose of these practice is to get your spirit to leave your body, to “see” beyond, to “talk to God”. I react with a “Duh, of course you are going to pass out and hallucinate, but why do we have to go through pain or torture to get there?” Many sexual practices are for the same purpose.

 

People who identify with “witchcraft” are the most schizophrenic to me; so much is just fantasy, it all looks so “put on”. On  the other hand a discussion of heaven and hell from a witch’s perspective seems to best explain this whole post, this need to question: “There can be hell realms, but I don’t think that they are places that we go to.  They are places that we drive ourselves into through our hunger . Hell realms are very easy to fall into and very difficult to climb out of.” It is that hunger and that presence in and climbing out that seems significant; that seems truly to define insanity.  Is it the question or is it the answer that makes us crazy? If it’s crazy to think and believe some of the ways people do, how is it they find another person at all who completely identifies? Crazy loves company, too? I think there is a big part of this reasoning that has to do with self-judgment. Artists go through this on a regular basis.

Here are some beads that I've made in the last couple weeks. I don't like most of them. I guess that is me being in the realm of hell. Will making more beads allow me to "climb out"? Yet again, it is the witch with words I appreciate: “You can define your life by your willingness to take risks. We are in many ways limited only by our courage.” I suppose she means the lack thereof? What does an unlimited life look like? Perhaps it is never asking "why", never satisfying the hunger to "know", understanding the desire but not succumbing, being aware of the risk that the answer lies there....Epiphany: The bible talks about Satan in the tree of knowledge! And then I fall back into the pit of "why" to the ladder of "how"; how does one live "responsibly" at the same time they live an unlimited life? I have a child who means more to me than an unlimited life; perhaps that is the REAL definition of life. Define your life by your willingness to live for another. Doesn't that sound like "religion"?

Life is Precious

Precious.

Courtesy of Rosalind Wiseman, Creating Cultures of Dignity

Sunday is precious. It is a lonely day. It is a day for tears. When I was growing up, yet old enough to wish for things, people, a family, that I didn't have, Sunday was a day of sadness and tears and fantasy. I had a family (for whom I am grateful, and love), but they weren't the Brady Bunch, Father Knows Best, or The Waltons, and I wasn't Shirley Temple. I wasn't Shirley Temple.

Today is Sunday. Today is still for tears, but not for me. Today I weep for joy that I have today. Today I weep for Precious, C. Precious Jones. What is that movie supposed to be about? I see so many things in Precious and in her life, but I will never really see. When asked to list my strengths on applications and such writings, I've learned that I am tenacious, perseverant. I admire that I've been able, that I've been optimistic, that I've turned all the "nos" into "yes'". Today, I know nothing about it at all, and I will never again be "proud" of my tenacity and perseverance; because there are people in this world, even in today's "enlightened" society, that REALLY know what it's like to be Precious.

Today is Sunday. Today I am 49-years-and-one-day old. I spent my birthday not alone, but with people who matter, and people who made me matter. I could be disappointed in the lack of faces that are friends, but I am not because I am blessed.

I am blessed to have been loved by more than 100 friends and family on Facebook, each of them I know, have a memory of, and an association with. They are all REAL friends, not just collected clicks.

I am blessed to have met new people, who didn't know me before and who made me count in their life; they are precious. I am blessed to have people tell me not just that I am loved by them, but why I am loved. I literally heard the words, "I'm so lucky to have you in my life."

Two years ago I gave that same person a gift of words on her birthday; now I know, with her return of that gift, how important our words are, and how important we do not know we are in the lives we encounter. We just might be the last hope for the people we meet; treat everyone with heart and sincerity. Everyone is Precious, and everyone is precious. EVERY ONE!

It is so much easier to separate the bad from the good than it is to see the good in the bad, than it is to believe that everyone is good. When I see such evil deeds in this world, how can I say those horrible deeds were committed by anything but trash?

It is so hard not to choose a side. But when you hear the story of the abuser, and hear that they too are victims, it is a little bit easier to reconcile that good people do bad things, not because they are bad, but because they too are Precious; Precious Jones, Precious Jones' Mother, Precious Jones' Grandmother, and yes, probably Precious Jones' Father too.

The challenge in life is to find balance in the "imbalance". The challenge is not just to see the good inherent in the people and acts that are bad, but to know what to do with that knowledge, those observations. The challenge is to observe your reaction, your thoughts and the feelings, physical and emotional, when you let these circumstance, and the people in them, real or cinematic, into your being.

Can you go beyond yelling at Precious to "Kill that bitch", and listen to the story of the bitch? Can you listen to the story of the bitch, and reserve, better yet reject, judgement? Should you allow yourself to do nothing, should you demand someone to do something about this injustice and victimization? And if you do something, are you committed to continuing until you get to the seed that started it all, and will you be able to deal with the horrific discovery, the despair and hopelessness that you feel when you realize there IS NO END? Or do we simply move forward and choose to whom we give our heart, compassion and forgiveness?

None of the above. It takes one thing. Sight. A victim must see the truth, on their own, and make a decision, without falter or doubt, what is to be their strength; to make a decision that they are Precious.

I made myself a necklace for my birthday last year. I think I'll do it every year; I made another, with matching earrings, this week. I created drops from antiqued copper chain, hand hammered rings of copper, my lampwork beads, and red metallic wire wraps for dangles of banded agate, coral, Czech faceted purple coral glass beads, and Swarovski crystals.