Tiny Stories, Tiny Tales

Times to Try the Soul

This summer has been a grind. Due to unpleasant family upheaval, I have been looking  more deeply into what I believe, what I’m interested in and how I’m going to make things happen.

One thing I’ve felt a growing interest in is learning how to design knitting patterns. My friend, Ashley, is a fearless designer, creating darling patterns in her pattern book and then whipping them out on the needles. It’s magical watching her do it. It’s a sort of magic I’d like to try my hand at as well. I feel pretty tentative about the whole thing but I must give it a try instead of wishfully thinking I was doing it. What I’d like to start out with is a bad-ass lace shawl pattern. Shawls are my thing. I love to knit them and I love to wear them. I’ve been working on Ysolda Teague’s Orchid Thief for a little while now and it’s a beauty. Something like that would be nice to start with but maybe I should work my way up!

Another goal is to finally finish a story, edit it to where I’m finally satisfied (lower standards if needed. Such a wrestle for this perfectionist) and send the thing out. Send it out before next year. Deep breath. I think I can do this…

One of the things I struggle with is to find the motivation. There’s a deep tired place in me that makes me too exhausted and hence afraid to go forth. It’s like my bones melt and I just want to lie down and close my eyes. Anybody else out there struggle with inward fatigue about sallying forth into the wonderful world of doing? Becoming gluten-free has helped with this feeling a great deal but the inward canker of deep tiredness still lingers. I’d love to hear anyone else’s experience with this. I struggle valiantly on but it would lovely to hear others.

Comments (6):

  1. Pamela

    August 7, 2011 at 6:08 pm

    The key may be the first line of your post – this summer has been a grind.
    Of course I can’t know what you’re going thru, I can only talk about my own experiences. I think it’s almost impossible to find motivation when you’re going thru or have just been thru upheaval and massive life changes. I’ve learned, during similar situations, to listen to my body and to take care of that deep, tired place by giving it the rest it needs when it demands it. By nurturing that need, by seeing it not as a deep canker but as a natural response to what’s happened in my life and an inner re-stitching of the fabric of my being, I find that it mends itself more quickly than if I fight against it or try to tell myself to snap out of it or try to motivate myself out of it and into something for which I’m not ready. I don’t know if this helps at all, Catherine, but it’s what worked for me.. honoring that tiredness, giving myself what I need and when I was ready to move on and do things that energized me again, I found that I didn’t need any outside stimulus..the motivation was there, automatically. Wishing you much support on your journey.

  2. Dan Slanger

    August 7, 2011 at 7:49 pm

    Catherine,

    I think I feel the weight of indolence more than any other vice.

    Maybe pick a person to update everyday with what you did re your needlework—both pin and pen—and what you plan to do the next day. Or you might put the update in a public place like this blog or Facebook. There are websites built on this premise but I’ve never reviewed them closely. I suppose the ideal update buddy would also have a daily met goal they could update you with.

    And just do it. A bit of it. Everyday. Same time.

    Best,

    Dan

  3. Liza

    August 7, 2011 at 9:47 pm

    Cat, I’d really like to be designing more than I have been, too. Of course I’m in the midst of finishing up my thesis so I have to keep most of my focus in that direction. But, I’ve been finding that I’m peevish when not designing or at least creating something with fiber. If you ever need someone to share goals/achievements/hold accountable I’d be happy to set up some sort of system with you. Let me know if you’re interested.

  4. Catherine

    August 7, 2011 at 11:50 pm

    Pamela,

    Thank you so much for your kind and thoughtful reply. There is much wisdom in what you say. It’s very hard to be patient while going through change that can completely reassess the direction we want to go in life. While it’s scary, it’s revitalizing as well. I have bursts of motivation but the tiredness seethes back in at times. Taking a deep breath and being okay where one currently is…well, it takes grace. Thank you.

  5. Catherine

    August 7, 2011 at 11:53 pm

    Dan,

    Great idea. I have a few friends that I meet up with and discuss yarn and pen with but it’s very loose and on a week or bi-weekly way. Tightening up on that could be an important key. I believe I’ll give it a try. Thanks! I was glad to hear from you. I hope you’re doing well and finding your way.

  6. Catherine

    August 8, 2011 at 12:00 am

    Liza,

    I’d be very much interested! The first key is for me to design something and see if I like doing it. I imagined grand things for a yarn spinning career but realized after taking a great spinning class that while I like spinning, it’s incredibly monotonous and my mind needs variation to stay happy. I’m thinking design would work well in that way. I’d love to chat with you on how you started designing and how you go about it. There’s a book I can pick up on knitting design at the library and I get it about grabbing a book of lace patterns but I’d love to hear how you go about doing it. Thank you much for your interest about creating a buddy system together. It really touched me.

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The Willows Converse Among Themselves

I look across the river and catch sight of the willows, lost in their own world. They have no regard for me. They are speaking to each other in whispers so I hear nothing clearly but I see their long golden-yellow chains wavering over the water. It reflects their light.

There are presences in this world that are not human but sometimes, a human being comes across one of these presences and this is when poetry happens—when we interact with the strange divinity that moves through the world.

I caught sight of the willows and so complete were they within themselves, so beautiful to behold, that my mind stopped dead in its tracks and my heart eased. In the presence of an Other, human commotion becomes impossibly silly and pointless. The past and future converge into the present and there is only now.

I exhale the stress I’ve held this morning as I watch them. The willows, their long hair hanging over their faces, disregard me totally and completely and talk in their slow tree way, something to do with the air, water, and earth. I cannot hear much but what I do hear makes me recall there were other beings on this earth other than myself, older than myself. They exist in this time, in many times, living, dying, always reappearing. The willows hang their hair over the water as they have done for centuries, listening to the currents and moving with the breezes and eddies of the wind.

With a gratefully diminished self, I thank the universe for the ancient poetry that is the willow tree and move forward, reborn, into the bright day.

 

茶の煙柳と共にそよぐ也

the tea smoke

and the willow

together trembling

Issa

(Trans. David G. Lanoue)

Beautiful Dirty Summer

The thick green groves of cup-plants (silphium perfoliatumare) stand eight feet tall and are in their late summer glory. I look up at their bright yellow ray flowers and shield my eyes, the bright flowers sway so high and run so close to the sun. When I squint, the flowers darken into forms without color like the outline of the sun beating through closed eyelids.

I take a step nearer and peer into the leaves. Tiny pools of still water collect where the thick cup leaves meet the stems. It has not rained in the last few weeks and I’m surprised there is any water here at all. For leaves that are not broken or rotted, thimblefuls of water weigh without movement, rimmed with the detritus of summer: a fly’s wing, a wad of spider web, bits of dead grass and portions of pollen.

These tiny pools are water for goldfinches, tiny birds that flash by like rays of light. It hasn’t rained for weeks and this is left, tiny pools of water full of dirty summer. I consider drinking it. With one quick gulp, I’d drink the essence of a passing summer, imbibe what August means, and taste the bitter part of the growing season. This is living but rotting part that underlines all our lives but that no one likes to see, much less taste.

I shift my weight from foot to foot. The sun beats heavily down. The yellow flowers tumble in overhead breezes and the goldfinches live nearby, finding water where they can as the dry weeks pass. My hands drop to my sides and I pass back through the grass, ready for the shade. Perhaps when it rains and all the cup plants are full, I’ll take my drink along with the many others.