the scribe that came to dinner

Stay at the center of the circle and let all things take their course.

–Lao Tzu

What is to give light must endure burning.

— Viktor Frankl

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My guiding principle this year has been to cultivate joy by going in the direction that uses my energy in the most positive  and productive light.

Life has a way of unfolding in an interesting series of twists and turns, but since acquiring this principle it has erupted quite suddenly in an unexpected flourish.  But let’s be clear on one point: Cultivating joy is an arduous process  –  one that can make you cry, bleed, and beg for mercy.  Such is the blissful life.  There is always the union of opposites. Nothing in creation is in vain.

The first week I moved in to Peace.Love.Home., I fell victim to a brutal rose bush attack. I was only trying to nurture the dying plant back to good health with a little pruning. The vicious thing chewed me up and spit me out of its hideous maw.

Two months later, the wounds have healed over, but the thorns remain embedded lumpily in my skin. The rose bush consumed me and I consumed it.  It makes me feel all superhero-like actually.  Think “Spiderman,” except I’m “Rosewoman,”  my superpower being….smelling good and looking pretty? Ok, not so much, unless you like the smell of dirt, sunshine, lady sweat, and tears. And the appearance of a middle-aged woman with the hairdo of “a 5 year old who’s been playing outside all day,” which is how the Indentured Servant described it when I came in for water the other day.  And then there’s the matter of the rash(es) all over my hands, arms, and legs.  At last peek in the mirror it was spreading up my neck and the right side of my face.  Possibly poison oak? sumac? ivy? or some sexy combination of the three. The rashes mix and mingle with the mosquito bites to give my skin a mottled, diseased appearance. And let’s not forget the sunburn, which is a single strip of red situated across my lower back where my shirt tail didn’t quite reach the waistband of my pants as I was bent over the bed pulling weeds for hours.

Nature is a beautiful, but cruel mistress.

If you don’t believe me, ask the writing spiders in the backyard…

the mate that crosses this lady is likely to lose his head