Strange land it is, the land of Flu. Pneumonia. I knew something was really not right at all, but it took me a good while to get myself to a doctor. Because…well because that is what I do only when nothing else works. And nothing else was working. And really, there’s a place inside that knew it was time.
It’s been an interesting period. A time to practice lots of things. Patience for one. Acceptance another. And gentleness to self. I’ve been moderately successful at some…moderately being subject to debate, except not by me. There have been other lessons practiced–or anticipated–but now that I’m moving past that place and on somewhat of an upswing, I’ll just rest with the knowledge that there’s still some work to be done in certain areas.
And although I’m never certain which way my cloth will take me, a few days ago I found myself sorting out fabric. Specifically fabric dyed with vegetation–iris, walnut, onion, acorns, leaves–all these things and more. And I notice how abstract I’m feeling. Non-specific. Non-linear. Non-representational. Still adrift, I suppose, in that la-la land of wherever-it-is that I was. And I’m finding that I have no specific thoughts or objectives. Simply looking at relationship. At color. At texture. Simply looking.