#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.
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#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…
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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.

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