Vincent Tries to Change His Mind, and I Follow Obediently.

Graceful groves of willow in full leaf—

Sheaves of golden grass erasing grief—

Still I would give it up, he said, for one painting sold before noon.  One painting sold and I could buy bread and cheese and find a doctor for this damned earache.  I’d release the sunflowers and the stars for just that bread please, and cheese.  And soup.

 

He lay in bed and thought of it while the sunflowers nodded their heads in agreement.  They pitched in some spare coin and the stars ordered carryout for everyone. 

The soup was delicious.  

                    Rhonda Palmer

A light shall shine in the darkness...

Fear not,

neither be dismayed,

for your light 

shall penetrate 

the densest darkness.  

'Abdu'l-Baha

So nice they named it twice

(a true story...)

We were wearing our cutest clothes that night on the Great White Way.  Two sisters on the town, feeling good, feeling free.  Oooooh, New York City……

I had gotten us tickets to the Lion King   Sister and I were happy and there and ready to party with Simba and the gang.  I walked up to the ticket guy, presented my e-ticket and then listened with disbelief as he (kindly) informed me that my ticket was for the previous month.  Something about a minor miscalculation with the calendar while ordering, perhaps, he said.

The young man behind the bullet-proof glass at the will-call window listened (kindly) but was already shaking his head “no” as I asked if there were any tickets available for purchase that night.  Stories about out of town sisters and once-in-a-lifetime opportunities did not move him.  He and I were startled by a scream and flurry of activity in the lobby and I turned in time to see three white haired women topple down the escalator in slow motion.  Sister was also watching it happen and immediately leaped (leapt?) over the velvet cord toward the escalator.  I said to the young man at the will-call window behind the bullet-proof glass, “Watch my purse,” and then I also leaped (leapt?) over the velvet cord by my side and ran to the escalator which had been stopped by that observant ticket-taker.  Sister and I, both nurses, proceeded into emergency mode; directing traffic, triaging wounds, trying to comfort the three elderly, shaken women who were also in their cutest clothes on the Great White Way.  Now they were on their way to an emergency room.  As soon as the EMTs arrived, Sister and I stood up and re-adjusted our now slightly rumpled but still cute clothes, and I walked back for my purse.  As I approached the will-call window and pulled my brain out of adrenaline world—as I reached for my purse—as I remembered that our evening had been ruined by an errant mouse-click—the young man behind the bullet-proof glass slowly pushed two tickets out of the slot next to my purse.  And he said, “Thank you.”  

Oooooh, New York City……

What is essential

from The Little Prince by Antoine de St-Exupery

And he went back to meet the fox.
"Goodbye," he said.
"Goodbye," said the fox.  "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret.  It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important"
"It is the time I have wasted for my rose--" said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.
"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox, "but you must not forget it.  You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.  You are responsible for your rose..."
"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember. 

Vincent on art

"There is an art of the future 

and it is going to be so lovely 

and so young 

that even if we give up our youth for it, 

we must gain in serenity by it."

Vincent Van Gogh, writing to Theo, his brother from Arles, France, May, 1888

I know where my towel is--a mother's legacy

When my mother died last year she left a legacy of story-telling, various obsessive thought patterns, some secrets, a love of theatre and music, clouds of anxiety, an easy laughter and about a hundred plush towels.  The family has been working through the secrets.  We call each other on the phone to tell stories about ourselves or events we can embellish for the laugh factor.  Some of us sing more than others but we’ve all got a hum going at times.  The towels ended up at my house and I’ve been thinking about the general lack of towelishness in the world and the metaphor of towels.  Zen and the art of drying off after a shower.

When I received the stacks of towels left by a loving mother, I listened to what she could never tell me because she was so careful not to create anxiety in her listeners.  Do your best to stay clean, she was saying.  Wash your hands.  Wipe up your messes.  Wipe up any messes I made in my children.  Make the world cleaner.  

Here, use these towels I left you.  

My man, Rumi.

The Music

For sixty years I have been forgetful

every minute, but not for a second

has this flowing toward me stopped or slowed.

I deserve nothing.  Today I recognize

that I am the guest the mystics talk about.

I play this living music for my host.

Everything today is for the host.

Rumi