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Nov. 6th, 2003 12:42 amSleepy Jade. It's been grey and dreary here, and while the trees and sky *look* like November, the air is still a little too warm, but the forecats seem to say that will be changing soon. I just finished a scarf for Sir (*not* my idea!) out of some Icelandic wool I have - neat stuff. It's unspun, so it's very delicate, but the tension created by knitting creates a very strong, light, and *warm* fabric. Hopefully I'll have time to make a shawl from it before winter is over, I think it could stand up to all but the most bitter weather.
I'm feeling better about the other things I was writing about last night, too...I think I had just caught myself at a bad time, when the 'messy nonfiction' of life seemed like a personal failure of my own, rather than simply interactions being what they are. I really, really, *really* need to get over my longing for neatly tied up resolutions, though. I get wrapped up in that, and just set myself up for disappointment.
Talking with Sir helped a bit too, about how the universe is a clearing house of sorts, where all debts are paid. The coin may not be what we expected, or paid by who we think owe, but we are paid. It actually reminded me of a conversation with my father, the last time I was in Philadelphia. We were talking about my current life situation, and how shocked am I that I've come so high from so low. He said "I think it's because people get what they deserve. You were owed." I looked at him, rather shocked, as he usually never speaks of the bad old days, both familial, and my personal falls willingly - I think they hurt him to think on. I'd *like* to think he's right, even though it feels like sublime arrogance. However, I also think that I'm aware enough to know that it's my actions now that will maintain me (or not) in my current state of contentment-with-momentary-fluctuations.
I feel like I haven't written on service, or my enactment of it much at all lately. Partly I think that's because I'm writing a weekly column for a friends subscription site, which is being an utter blast - I have this very 19th century 'gentle reader' tone, and it's great fun to write. So a lot of my thoughts on serving get saved up - it can be hard to come up with a fresh idea every week. Besides, most of it can be gleaned from my archives here, it's just more developed, and for an audience specifically interested in the *how* of being a servant. More than that, though is the idea that talking about service, and how it's enacted in my life is kind of like talking about rocks. They're there. They've always been there, and always will be. They just *are*. I'm a servant, and what I do is who I am, and is so expressed....simply, I guess. Like breathing. I serve, I breathe. Same thing. See? There's both not a lot of *there* there, but yet there's a whole existence, a whole being. Me.
I'm feeling better about the other things I was writing about last night, too...I think I had just caught myself at a bad time, when the 'messy nonfiction' of life seemed like a personal failure of my own, rather than simply interactions being what they are. I really, really, *really* need to get over my longing for neatly tied up resolutions, though. I get wrapped up in that, and just set myself up for disappointment.
Talking with Sir helped a bit too, about how the universe is a clearing house of sorts, where all debts are paid. The coin may not be what we expected, or paid by who we think owe, but we are paid. It actually reminded me of a conversation with my father, the last time I was in Philadelphia. We were talking about my current life situation, and how shocked am I that I've come so high from so low. He said "I think it's because people get what they deserve. You were owed." I looked at him, rather shocked, as he usually never speaks of the bad old days, both familial, and my personal falls willingly - I think they hurt him to think on. I'd *like* to think he's right, even though it feels like sublime arrogance. However, I also think that I'm aware enough to know that it's my actions now that will maintain me (or not) in my current state of contentment-with-momentary-fluctuations.
I feel like I haven't written on service, or my enactment of it much at all lately. Partly I think that's because I'm writing a weekly column for a friends subscription site, which is being an utter blast - I have this very 19th century 'gentle reader' tone, and it's great fun to write. So a lot of my thoughts on serving get saved up - it can be hard to come up with a fresh idea every week. Besides, most of it can be gleaned from my archives here, it's just more developed, and for an audience specifically interested in the *how* of being a servant. More than that, though is the idea that talking about service, and how it's enacted in my life is kind of like talking about rocks. They're there. They've always been there, and always will be. They just *are*. I'm a servant, and what I do is who I am, and is so expressed....simply, I guess. Like breathing. I serve, I breathe. Same thing. See? There's both not a lot of *there* there, but yet there's a whole existence, a whole being. Me.
