karamoja pictures with t.s. eliot

In my beginning is my end. 

In that open field
If you do not come too close, if you do not come too close,
On a summer midnight, you can hear the music 
Of the weak pipe and the little drum
And see them dancing around the bonfire 

Round and round the fire
Leaping through the flames, or joined in circles,
Rustically solemn or in rustic laughter
Lifting heavy feet in clumsy shoes,
Earth feet, loam feet, lifted in country mirth
Mirth of those long since under earth
Nourishing the corn.

Keeping time,
Keeping the rhythm in their dancing
As in their living in the living seasons

 

The time of the seasons and the constellations 

The time of milking and the time of harvest 

The time of the coupling of man and woman 

And that of beasts. Feet rising and falling. 

Eating and drinking. Dung and death.

 
Dawn points, and another day
Prepares for heat and silence. Out at sea the dawn wind
Wrinkles and slides. I am here
Or there, or elsewhere. In my beginning.

 To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not, 
You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy. 
In order to arrive at what you do not know 
You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.

 

  In order to possess what you do not possess 

You must go by the way of dispossession. 

In order to arrive at what you are not 

You must go through the way in which you are not. 

And what you do not know is the only thing you know 

And what you own is what you do not own 

And where you are is where you are not.

Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated
Of dead and living. Not the intense moment 
Isolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment
And not the lifetime of one man only
But of old stones that cannot be deciphered. 
 

There is a time for the evening under starlight,
A time for the evening under lamplight
(The evening with the photograph album).
Love is most nearly itself
When here and now cease to matter.

Old men ought to be explorers
Here and there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion 
  

In my end is my beginning. 

patience

oh dear.
i'm filled with love and overwhelm and everything in between.  the house goes on the market in less than 3 weeks, i need to get our new uganda website up and running, i'm trying to plan a fifth-grade-ish curriculum, and i have to prepare to give a talk for work next week.  so what did i do today? i reclaimed a massage gift that was given to me last year. and it was fantastic.  i have to say- i highly recommend Mark from Therapeutic Touch in cobb county.  (and for me to say that is a lot- because i never go outside of the city if i can help it).  i sat in that dim lit room filled with anatomic muscle posters and dream catchers and driftwood, listening to some american indian new agey music and totally relaxed.  i allowed myself to be completely self indulgent.  that means i allowed my mind to drift far and away.  i made no todo lists, i thought nothing about the kids, or work, or the house, or even uganda.  i just stayed with whatever floated in to my mind- music, words, poems, books, images. it was lovely.  and while that was going on- my body was letting go too. except for my left side.

my left side always holds onto everything.  my left side holds a grudge.  it can't just let things go. it wiggles and squirms and the muscles tighten and if it could speak for itself it would say something like, "keep out- don't bother, just stick to the right side." i always assumed this was linked to my psychology.  knowing that brain hemispheres usually correlate with the contralateral side of the body- i figured this meant i was left brain dominant- right brain weak.  i dragged jung into it and assumed i was too animus dominated- too male driven in my subconscious - that my wiggly left side- reflected how out of touch i really am with my sensitive feminine parts.  i feel uncomfortable, for it. embarrassed and apologetic for it.  i usually tell the person doing the massage- beware- my left side has an attitude, it's the problem child, it's not you, it's me.  but today- my left side lost.  and it was because of patience.

after about an  hour- and much leftsided squirming- he found a spot where the muscle must insert around the ischial spine (mid-butt in non-doctor speak) and he just pushed on it.  for seriously, almost 10 minutes.  i know this because after about 6 minutes-  i became aware that it was kind of weird that he was still only pushing on this one spot and began to come out of my adrift mind and begin counting. the point is that - his patience paid off. after 10 minutes- the muscles on the left side gave up. the entire side all the way up to the left neck- surrendered.

so my mind left whatever beach it was sitting on- and began to think about patience.  the importance of it.  the rewards that come with it. and how hard it is.  all i could think was- how did he know to stay in that one spot for 10 minutes?- i would never have been able to do that. i'm too antsy. maybe he's really good at listening.  maybe he knew that until that if he gave up before then he would have lost.  i don't know- but i began to realize the value in waiting.

so after 2 hours- i left, realigned, really for the first time ever. the right and left sides in balance.  not ashamed for the parts of me that won't cooperate, the parts that resist, that refuse to be flexible.  now, hemispherically adjusted. and that made me happy.

maybe it will translate into good psychology, good jungian theory evolution. or maybe my muscle memory will quickly jump right back to normal- and my lopsided self will continue. who knows.  but i did learn something about being patient.  and that is vital to my days.

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.

T.S. Eliot East Coker

i've quoted this before- it speaks to me because my challenge is always with being still, with waiting, with how i wait.  and with learning patience. perhaps my body will help inform my mind.
I