Sometimes, more often than not, God speaks to me through the quotes I collect. She whispers endearments for the glory of all Personhood. Whops! Nearly said the “M” word and implied Mankind or HuMANkind.
Whops again! God, at least what I love as God, is binary man/woman, light/dark. . . . Now I’ve really stepped in it!
Flowers cannot be -- at least I don’t think so -- exclusively male or female.
--Georgia O’Keeffe
"I hate flowers - I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move."
"To create one's world in any of the arts takes courage."
. . . I was envisioning her tree painting rendering cracks in the starry night sky
. . . and thinking of how touched I am by Tom’s brush drawing & then I thought The Tree of Life
Trees are as much about the sky as the earth enveloping their roots. The reason for posting this lays deep in my shame implied by mother’s choice to take my six year old sister to a gynecologist . . . maybe that’s why I’m a life-time member of The Society of The Virgin Mary and eventually my shame/guilt informed me that virgin birth has nothing to do with maidenheads but more to do with the virginity of one’s soul. . . .And it follows that we are both male and female; Carl Jung’s thesis. Most people, not in equal measure but some are, or become so by choice. Which in Jung’s wonderful imagining implies becoming Whole as in Holy as in Jesus and or Mary.
Mended things are often stronger than that which remains whole from the potters hand. So too with people who become more loving than destructive or vindictive. Love trumps destruction as in Georgia’s case; abused by Stieglitz she equaled his memory in history and in this child’s mind (growing younger every minute) trumped him.
We are all broken in one way or another. Get over it--move on. Go into your heart you’ll find the Tree of Life there and know peace eternal for the first time.
God loves every fallen leaf.
PS Yesterday, at hospice, I was asked to stay with a new admission. He was agitated kicking, grabbing, pulling his diaper off etc. We do not restrain people like in the loony bin, neither chemically nor physically. I stood by his bed in my heart of hearts thinking, “that could be me.” Vallory walks in, young-black-gorgeous, looks at him, looks at me; “I could be there as well as he.”
“Yeah I’m going to buy a hand grenade and wear it on my belt.”
When you walk to the bitter end with Parkinson, Alzheimer yada yada you don’t see people the same way ever again. . . .We all die. Be Kind!
As for Vallory: she’s bright: all diamonds, lasers and needles, intelligent; wants to be a L.N. or R.N. Me too but there is so little time left. . . . She should become a doctor. If I had the money I’d give it to her. Gratis.
