I’ve been thinking a lot lately about existence–about beginnings and endings. How they never are just that. How ever beginning already has built within it its own ending. And every ending simply the beginning of something else. How, on this continuum–non linear/circular in my mind–there seems not to be a definitive starting/stopping point. Only movement of sorts.
Last night I was reading from “On a Farther Shore: The Life and Legacy of Rachel Carson” by William Souder. There was a section there discussing amoebas. How they don’t die. How they just split. And each split of parts continues the splitting–ad infinitum. And I thought, yes, this is what I’ve been sensing. This.
So, this morning as I placed three stars on the heart cloth, I suddenly realized that she was mother spirit. My mother. Every mother. I thought of the line “all day, all night, angels watching over me my lord…” and I thought of my own mother. I was stitching pieces of linen. Linen that I saved from her many boxes of stashed fabrics. Boxes buried deep within a bedroom closet in my childhood home. I’m thinking how these linen fragments–pieces left over after the end of one of her many sewing projects–participated in the beginning of this piece. This, what is now Mother Spirit. The spirit of beginnings and endings.
I’ve been thinking about this as I plant my garden. As I handle seeds. Seeds that represent the end of last year’s harvest and the beginning of this one. And quickly now, the rain. The rain has been amazing. Filling aquifers. Replenishing the earth. But making planting a challenge. So here is what I have. Strawberries galore, planted last year.