All that glorious suffering.

Suffering is a treasure, for it conceals mercies;
The almond becomes fresh when you peel off the rind.
O my brother, staying in a cold dark place
And bearing patiently the grief, weakness, and pain
Is the Source of Life and the cup of Abandon!
The heights are found only in the depths of abasement;
Spring is hidden in autumn, and autumn pregnant with spring.
Flee neither; be the friend of Grief, accept desolation,
Hunt for the life that springs from the death of yourself.

-  Rumi




I do have a hard time with all this Treasure of Suffering stuff. My life, my heart - pretty darn good treasure before. Source of life, springs of goodness - all that. For now, I take these poems, these lines, as ~ this is supposed to be desolation. This is supposed to be pain. Drink it down, my friend; this is the cup you have.


I am off to shovel goat poop in the rain.

open for suggestion

My birthday is coming up. I've already been older than matt for awhile, given that he died 3 months and 3 days before his 40th birthday, and I am 11 days from mine. Birthdays were rather quiet in our family. Matt did not like to be showered with gifts, or really have a big fuss made over him, or near him. He did allow me to make him cake, mostly because I really like to make cake. Elaborate, goofy, long-involved-process, cake. His favorite, from when he was a kid, is duncan hines cherry chip cake with cream cheese frosting from the can. He hadn't seen it in stores for years, and - knowing me so well - he told me that a from scratch, organic dried cherry bits cake with homemade cream cheese frosting was just not going to be It. I'd already been concocting that masterpiece from the first time he mentioned it. Foiled. Eventually, my mother tracked down a case of said cake mix (yes.) so he would never be without. There is still a bag of cupcakes in the freezer at my parents' house, and spare cans of frosting.

All of which is entirely not the point of this post.

Last year, in the two weeks between matt's and my birthdays, I sent myself on a crazy, grueling 15 mile, 4 summit hike, and a much slower 6 mile hike. A wee nuts, but I needed the woods. This year, between matt's and my birthdays, I am going to goat school, where I will be with around 100 other people learning how to trim hooves and give shots. I booked an extra night at the inn so I could take off on a good hike after being near all those people.

Also not the point of this post. Except that last year, there was no cake. I wasn't eating anyway, and in no way wanted to acknowledge my entrance into this world. And, making myself a cake, knowing matt and jake aren't here to eat it - not so much. I'm still not much for celebrating, but this year, I want some cake. My plan is to make cake, and share it with a friend and her three and one year old kids, because I like them, and they like cake. I may or may not point out that it is my birthday. Only, I really miss someone noticing, and caring to think what I might like. So. Though you all won't be here to eat said cake, I am inviting you to participate in my birthday, if you'd like, by making cake suggestions. If you have a favorite/preferred recipe, or a favorite cake to eat, or you had some awesome concoction at some restaurant, but you have no idea how to make it, leave me a note.

Guiding You by the Hand

What I long for, you know would kill me;
What I think will kill me, you know will heal me.
Loving you, I enter a darkness where I can't see anything.
"You do not need to; I am guiding you by the hand."

- Rumi

This made me laugh. No small feat. Helps that this is how my mind works too.

today

http://compelledtotruenorth.blogspot.com/

Spent the last hour or so on her blog. Her daughter was killed by a rogue wave, with her daughter's husband as witness. Her words have got me crying today in a way I haven't, and that "haven't" has been wrecking me. Tenderness is what I need, and tenderness is what smashes me most. Her blog adds my father-in-law's pain to my own today, and I can't hold on to them both, but it also, oddly, helps. Matt was his whole word, along with his grandson. Ray can't talk to me. Can't see me. It is too painful for him. I talk to his wife, and I am so glad and thankful for her.

Anyway. Though she lost her daughter, not her Love, her words are so specific, so perfect, so awful and hard and beautiful.

I have to stop crying. I have to go outside. I have to do something with the stupid cup of this day. As she says, "this is the land I have been given to walk." (I mean, to mix my metaphors.)

Garden of Love

In the always-green and boundless Garden of Love
There are many other fruits than grief or joy.
My awareness is not bound to imagination or illusion
There is another state of being which is rare as You.

- Rumi