The Gift Of Tears

detail of installation, 1990, porcelain, 5″ x 3″
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I wonder why I don’t cry more often
With these challenges on my plate.
A good ‘tear-washing’ feels so darn good
In the end.
I don’t seem to weep in pain
Or weakness.
Sometimes abject humility
Or frustration and anger can get me going.
But seldom fear.
I find this odd.
I had an occasion years ago
On a visit to my favorite
‘Gotta find God fast’ spot I know:
CHRIST IN THE DESERT MONASTERY.
I go there for the experience of beauty and peace.
Those monks surely knew how to pick some killer real estate, I tell you..
Anyway, they have a small gift shop there
Attended by one of the monks.
He seemed primed to be a witness.
I said: (in a courageous and transparent moment during a conversation we were having on music):
“I cry at the oddest moments.
My tears often surprise me
With their suddenness and velocity,
Their inopportune arrival most times.
I can’t hold them back.
They embarrass me.”
He replied: “Have you ever heard of THE GIFT OF TEARS
In the Bible?
Yes, it is a real thing- the heart becomes so filled with beauty or joy or love or appreciation or connection or revelation
That it can not hold it all
And must spill over.
Those are your tears.”
And so..
My embarrassment lifted
And my tears have seldom felt like the enemy
From that day forward.
Disability Perks

hand-painted wool flannel, 1987
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#1. ENFORCED SITTING
In my new and astoundingly satisfying home I have a chair.
A white egg chair to be exact.
It has always been my safe haven in a storm; safe as the downy underwing of a swan.
Post-relocation discombobulation recedes far into the shadows as I wake and ease into it’s fold.
I sit there as dawn dresses herself and I enjoy her costuming while entirely forgetting about my untended hair and other ablutions.
I sit there.
And I sit there some more.
I do things like look.
I look at the masterfully crafted rock wall.
I look at the satisfying placement of needles on the juniper tree outside my big picture window.
My dog is snoring at my side and she is impossibly yielded into sleep with a slight press into my thigh.
I want to get up and address my coffee hankering.
But I can’t.
I’m too tired and content.
And so I feel the want of it
And let it go
In favor of more sitting.
And my breath drops into my belly
With a sigh
For the wisdom that arrives so unexpectedly with weariness.
.
.
.
#2. THAT VERY WISDOM
Disability is the doctorate course
In authentic reordering of values.
What used to be accolades and cash and luxurious filling in of each and every empty place
In the heart and home and mind
Has shifted to the love of the ordinary,
Gratitude for having the means to provide for my true needs,
And moving toward emptiness for the pure pleasure of it.
That was a big sentence
But it wanted to be written that way.
The perks of disability seem to begin
When we fall in love with vulnerability;
It’s porous and yielding quality
With the benefit of the age-defying qualities
Of true humility.
Get shattered- hurt bad…
Get humble- start living.
Not That Interested In The Fruit

Untitled, 2002, 30″x 7″ x 11″, ceramic
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Summer ends.
We age.
Physical bodies grow tired and weak.
SomeTHING is spent.
We had a currency.
And now there is less of it.
We had the heat and plump greenness of full and long days..
Of white linen blouses.
And suddenly (to us),
We are folding that material and sensual pleasure.
With a bit of grief,
We lay her in the box
Marked “SUMMER CLOTHES”
And close the closet door.
My body is like that.
All the elements are there:
The endless waiting for summer, the luxury of carefree languishing and trusted outcome of pure and sensual pleasure in a body.
I had a physical experience
Of a tuned and shimmering instrument.
Not too very long ago, really.
That currency I spent.
Like a summer in white.
I have grief, surely.
I do.
It’s just that the harvest
I enjoyed
In that girl’s teeming collection of cells
And muscle and dreams
Is no more interesting to me
Than this woman’s
Humility
And reverence
And capacity
To Love.
My basket used to be brimming
With impossibly ripe fruit.
Now,
The basket
Is quite empty.
And yet…
This particular harvest
Is so much sweeter.
Because
NOthing
Has become
THE thing.
Rolling In Coyote

detail of ceramic sculpture
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My dog, Olivia has moments
Of shunning domestication, altogether.
We’ll be on our morning outing;
My wheelchair bedecked with orange safety flag, orange scarf tied behind and me wrapped in an elegant
And orange
Paisley shawl
In order to avoid death-on-the-dirt-road.
You see, where I live is fairly rural.
Wild enough to host a few brave, non-human critters.
(I did see an elk with a macho- looking rack one year..)
In the cover of night
Coyotes stalk their prey
And yip frenetically
As they chew someone’s beloved cat..
I know… It isn’t fair.
But it IS..
When Olivia comes across
An olafactory motherlode
Some satisfied coyote has left behind
In the dirt,
She rolls…
She rolls in utter ecstasy and slight bewilderment.
There is a haunting recognition afoot
Of a genetic link
Between the two.
She WANTS that wildness!
Witnessing this always makes me laugh.
It also has me wonder where I left my own.
Wildness, that is.
Where is that girl?
I have been too busy doing the work
Of keeping myself upright;
Mentally, physically and spiritually,
And I’ve all but forgotten the wild girl.
I miss her.
I have become far too domesticated.
And left that lifeline to ‘other’ unattended too long.
My very physical life as an artist making stuff
Helped me connect to that place.
Now my right hand lies curled awkwardly in my lap.
‘On hold’ as I think of it
Because I can’t bear the thought
My strong and capable limb
Got the ultimate pink slip.
And so.. I see Olivia roll
And my chuckling has a tinge of regret
Amidst the overt pleasure of seeing her so happy.
I roll on in my power chair;
(Is this to be the extent of my own rolling??)
With wantonness
In my chest.
And I just let it be there
Instead of leaving it
By the side of the road.
The Elevator Is Stuck

UNTITLED, 1999, 20″ – 25″ x 3″ (varies), ceramic, steel
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I was brought up in the suburbs of Detroit.
I never learned how to be a neighbor
Because I didn’t have to.
We lived in ‘auto-executive-manicured-lawn-land’
And I took cues from my parents as they slid
Conveniently behind trees
At the sight of another human
In order not to connect.
I realized that I now know exactly how to gather my TRIBE.
I know what a tribe is
And I know who is in mine.
The startling recognition of tribal members
Can come in an instant
Or after years of tending a relationship.
These are people
I would still be curious about;
Spiritually, emotionally or mentally fed by
Even after spending a week with them
Stuck in a tiny elevator.
These are people I remain ever interested in.
Could never know all there is to know.
Believe me, my tribe is quite small.
How does one gather a tribe?
For me.. I notice how my body feels when in the company of a person; defended? safe? electric? familiar? open? wary?
Then, over time, I gauge the distance between their heart and mine;
How far have we moved together?
Are they friends with their own shadow so I can trust them with mine?
Can they see the largest part of me and remind me of her when I forget?
If I tell them my truth about something, can I count on the intent to give a thoughtful reply or will I get a ‘reaction’ we may never recover from?
Do they know their own worth and share it generously with me and others?
Is an intimate sense of the sacred in all Life of value to them?
Can I cry and laugh with abandon in their company without reservation?
Is there a distinct feeling of luxury in their company? Gratitude?
Very, very occasionally someone will appear
Who I recognize instantly
As a part of my clan.
A meeting such as this
Has the feeling of ‘everything of significance known’
And all that’s left to do is enjoy the theater of the thing.
My tribe includes humans, yes.
But also a dog and a particular tree I adore which is very alive to me.
(Did I just lose you?)
I’ll offer no apology.
If the elevator should become stuck
I’ll have no regrets, what so ever…
Myopia

“ABIQUIU”, detail, ceramic, earth
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My resolve has always been
To become the best I can be.
For me, that has meant
Things like meeting hidden traumas
Of various forms,
And mining the shadows
For energetic obstacles
Intent on preventing me from thriving.
It is a dirty job.
Messy job.
But, in my case it has been the only way
This beautiful patina
I now am seeing on me
Had any chance of making it’s appearance
And remaining uncovered.
I would not be surprised
If I knew
The actual number of people in my life
Who had taken a few steps back from me
For fear
My relentless quest and it’s intensity at times
Would upstage any chance at
An easy and comfortable exchange.
Believe me, I don’t blame the reticence.
It likely was a fine, fine choice indeed.
And so.. my path in healing my body and soul
Has been in partnership
With a good deal of solitude.
And I really get sick of myself, sometimes!
So- When I do,
A good dose of a grander perspective
Is in order.
Today, I went here.
I mean, REALLY….
Can you look at that and not remember
Your lovely
And purposeful
Part of the plan
Which is a supportive role
And not the lead?
I Am A Boat

“FINE LINE” detail, 1999, m/m
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I am a boat.
Not a Chinese junque. – (my blood is too foreign though I do wish it wasn’t).
Well.. perhaps a gleaming and slippery, “Have a martini”, 40′ ode to speed? – (I’d lose the key..).
Maybe that great outboard motorboat we used up at the lake to go bass fishing as the dawn steam rose and we, wee ones still with sleep in our eyes? – (Oh, I did love the control!)
What about a catamaran? Sliding and cutting so deftly through..intent on getting ‘there’ FAST!.. The constant thrill of capsizing the thing?- (Nope).
I could be a giant cargo ship with all the ballast I’d ever need in rough seas.. (No beauty in all that safety and way too much metal. I’m not that fond of metal, anyway).
A folded paper boat adrift on an even pond? – (Not enough substance or staying power).
I will be a canoe.
My own ship carved of a tree so I will remember dry land should I turn toward forgetting.
It will hold one.
Two or three if I so choose.
My family and friends will have helped me carve the thing.
We will have sung songs and toasted it’s doneness before they hand me two paddles and I pause to bow (to them and it) before I step in alone.
I will push off the beach and settle my frame into the curve of the tended wood.
I will not look back.
I am not sad. I will cut the glassy sheen of the lake
And lean into my direction.
I pull the water to me
And let it empty behind.
Pull.
Empty.
Pull.
Empty.
The rhythm lifts me.
And the work is not.
I am free.
Destination is uninteresting.
I just stay with the impossible beauty.
In raw weather
I huddle in the rain and wind
Sometimes, just yielding to the whim of the lake
Because it is bigger than me.
In the morning with wet and straggly hair
I peek outside my parka.
The way seems clear
Though I do not know where I am.
A loon sets me straight
And my paddle meets the waters.
I sing.
Lying Down
Dear all.. I have lost the image upload capacity on my computer for the moment …
XX…
_____________________________________________________________
It has been hot here.
Like everywhere else.
I keep moving through my life
With my edges continually toasted
Just going from car to home.
MS hates heat and weakens me.
They used to diagnose MS by putting the person in a hot bath
And watching to see if they’d be adversely affected by heat.
A couple days ago I lost my balance and fell backward
Hitting my sweet head HARD on the tile floor.
A big flash of white light
And much blood.
I lay there and collected myself
As my dog scrunched her brow
Like a Sharpei.
I didn’t pass out.
But I couldn’t get up.
After about 10 minutes I tried scooting my way to my phone in the next room.
I had an out loud conversation with myself
To test my level of consciousness
And keep myself company, really.
“You can do this, Cath… only a few more feet.”
I knew I had to call 911
And I also knew my dog would try to eat the EMT people
As she protected me.
I called Olivia’s second mom and blessedly, she arrived to help
Before the hunky EMT men got there.
For someone who has never been to the hospital before
(Like me)
The whole gurney-thing
And flashing lights
And concerned, gawking neighbors
Was a bit much.
But I surrendered.
Actually, my injury was very minimal
And I left the hospital a few hours later with 4 staples in my head.
In retrospect,
I see that I have been under a good bit of stress
As I face the changing landscape of my financial state;
Trying to find a new home that suits me,
Becoming TOTALLY transparent with my family
As places previously kept hidden
Come to light by necessity.
And, on top of all that:
THE HEAT.
All of it made for a slightly out-of-body experience.
Things I’ve learned:
1. Get MEDIC-ALERT system in place so I feel safer (that thing you wear around your neck as a panic button) My sister researched this for me and actually CALLED the company and told them to expand their marketing niche to include others besides the ancient examples they currently use as models!
2. I am so loved and supported.
3. My dog needs a vacation from trying to protect me from every darn challenging thing..
4. I am resilient.
5. Look into getting a swamp cooler and STOP ANY KIND OF WASP-LIKE TOUGHING-IT-OUT KIND OF MARTYR EXISTENCE.
6. Pay homage to the gods of insurance who we turn our heads from but grab hold of when in need. (and ask them to please get their shit together).
7. The progressive loss of physical capability does not diminish who I am at the core of me.
8. Asking / needing help feels weird to me still but if I let it, it feels somehow like communion; an unexpected church.
9. The value I once put on extreme independence is shifting into something else which I don’t have a name for yet.
10. In order for me to have the capacity as I do now, to begin receiving support in a grace-full manner, it was entirely necessary for the cataclysmic ‘emptying out’ I have been involved in for the past years.
NO SPACE- NO ROOM
Radical Security

detail of “LIFT”, ceramic, earth
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The fire has now burned 138,000 acres.
The smoke has blessedly stayed to the west of Santa Fe
But the raw unease of ash on my car in the morning
And a frightening stillness
In this unusual air
Makes us all keep one eye on the skies.
The heat is fierce.
It weakens my eager body
And I leave my ‘to do’ list
Undone.
Again.
I lie prone.
With Olivia draped on my chest.
In that small moment
I get bored with the frustration of TRYING TO DO stuff
And sink into listening
To my dog’s even breath.
I have too many changes going on in my life
And it would be so damn easy to wear my ‘worry cloak’ around at all times;
Signaling to all: THIS ONE NEEDS HELP! SHE IS SINKING! MERCY ON THIS GIRL!
But really,
I am so fine.
And why is that? you might ask.
Well, I am quite sure it is because I have done the work it takes
To unearth a truly authentic Self.
She has some gravity to her.
Some roots have grown long and strong
And my ‘beingness’ is not dependent on my circumstances
Anymore.
Of course, I am not immune at all.
But I am more curious
Than downtrodden.
And in the midst of the smoke and fire
I feel my dog’s sweet trust
Lying here on my heart
And I am rich.
The Generosity of Rain

“ATMOSPHERE”, 1995,30″ x 30″, m/m
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The smoke laying heavily on my town
From wildfires just to the West and East
Has been laden with the toxicity of the retardant the firefighters use
As well as whatever remains undisclosed
By Los Alamos Lab.
It got to the throat constricting point for me
And so I took my dog, clean underwear and my new teeth-whitening toothpaste
And we drove up to Taos for the night
In hopes of better air.
It was slightly less smoky there and there was some movement to the atmosphere which helped a lot.
The two of us hung out on a mesa and ate lunch and watched cows
As we waited to check in.
The hotel I found was pet friendly and accessible offering a great deal for the room.
Olivia and I rolled over to the room, the wheelchair laden with stuff.
I opened the door and met an acrid smell.
I tried to roll the chair into the room only to see that there was a large threshold preventing entry.
I got out of the chair and had to pull the 250 lb. thing over the bump into the room.
Olivia would not enter.
Would not.
Finally, she chanced it and I asked her to stay while I got more stuff from the car.
I had barely opened the door and she bolted out into a large and lovely, grassy courtyard
Pooping willy-nilly everywhere as the staff prepared for an outdoor wedding.
The two of us finally had a chance to settle in after all the drama.
The dog was utterly traumatized by the other creature smells left behind
Which the old hotel had tried to mask with various chemical sprays.
It felt dirty and neither one of us could settle.
She looked 100 years old to me
As she scrunched her brow and tightened her temples just like we do.
All of a sudden I realized we could not stay there.
I’d come for a bit of peace and clearer air
But it was worse here!
So we packed up and left.
After an hour.
I hadn’t the energy to go looking around for another hotel
As it is a holiday weekend and ‘pet-friendly’ is a challenge.
As the two of us meandered home along the Rio Grande river,
It began to rain.
The first rain we’ve seen in these parts since I don’t know when..
I think the last water was snow.
It rained and rained..
I almost cried from gratitude.
When the two of us returned home
The skies were crystal clear.
Scrubbed clean by the dripping skies.
I opened all my window to the pristeen evening
And we laid down for a nap.
Really tired.
Really happy.
