Grateful for a Sunday

Sunday


The name comes from the Latin dies solis, meaning "sun's day": the name of a pagan Roman holiday. It is also called Dominica (Latin), the Day of God. The Romance languages, languages derived from the ancient Latin language (such as French, Spanish, and Italian), retain the root.

French: dimanche; Italian: domenica; Spanish: domingo

German: Sonntag; Dutch: zondag. [both: 'sun-day']

 Both my hands lay upon the ergonomically designed keyboard, and with increased ease my fingers are nimble on the "j,kl: and space bar."  My right fingers are healing as my right arm heals.  The whole rest of my dear old kino (the body) is making adjustments to the fall I took nearly two weeks prior.  With the injury, the splitting apart of body-mind-and spirit happens.  I attend to those messages and though I am not always accurate in my tuning, I must commend myself for the commitment to stick with the atunement.  I am a seasoned seeker, not new to the process yet always humbled by the reality that being 'fixed' of my foibles is really not the goal.  Grateful for this Sunday, I work at the keyboard with an old favorite guide at my left-side--a book.  For years now, I have been void of books and found replacement satisfaction through the screen, when I could have one.  This Sunday, I have been savoring the tactile page and the promise of words on paper.  More from Gabor Mate ... about "commitment"  "Commitment is sticking with something not becasue "it works' or because I enjoy it, but because I have an intention that overrides momentary feelings or opinions...you just have to do it and to understand that if you have lapsed, it doesn't mean that you have failed.  It's an opportunity to begin anew..." (p. 377 "The Four Steps:  Plus One" from In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts)

When I was a very young girl, there was a sadness I couldn't explain in all the Sundays of my memory.  I see an image, real or adapted from selective images, of me in the mango tree next door.  I'm up there with a box of Mr. Good Bars ... think that's the name of those candy bars.  Why was I in that tree with a box of candy bars?  Fact was there was little else going on in my own house, and escape (Aunty Lily's mango tree) and sweets were my way of making things sweeter.  Reading this book In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts gives me stories and steps that make sense to the reassembling me.  I write about these things to make sense of the harsh climb that I judge as one more failed attempt at getting things right.  Mate's accounting gives me hope by guiding me back to the reality of "the core problem in addiction because the brain and the mind was negatively affected by adverse early circumstances.  The first two steps (of his Four Steps:  Plus One idea) place the maladaptive behaviors in their proper context of brain dysfunction.  The third directs the brain to a more positive fouc.  With the time and mental space (of the first three steps), the fourth step then reminds the addiction of what motivates her to get over her habit..." (p.376).

I take to the blog(s) as a way to create my new worlds.  Over and over again, and one after another, I birth a blog or spread the flow of a blog to reflect the new findings.  When VardoForTwo began, it was a way for me to document and chronicle the process of making something.  The golden wagon home was created as a safe haven from a toxic world.  The home is not the end all, nor the cure.  Metaphorically and truly, our tiny wheeled home is example of a place that is safe under most circumstances.  It is safe only when we are connected with others.  It is safer when my internal envirnoment is not addicted to escaping and that brings me back to the image of the little girl in the mango tree. 

Miraculous situations, new friends and unexpected inspiration came because I could not read books.  I began my first blog knowing not much about the blogworld.  I knew (this) much and now I know a lot more about that world and far more about other people -- the humanity of the collective, than I could have imagined before I started to blog.  In the year (coming up on April 4th) since Pete and I shuttled our selves from city to rural ledge with our vardo, we have learned to live in community.  It's not the exact image we had for ourselves 'in community' ... it's different.  Upstairs, our friend Doug is making an apple pie.  Around the corner and out of sight I hear Pete behind the closed door of the othe half of this basement, clearing his chattels making room for whatever is next.  JOTS our black kitty, adjusting and adapting to a citified indoor life, is snoozing on the computer arm chair behind me.  Yesterday, Lois passed on big neighborhood news:  "Two blocks down, Nancy put out a bunch of really good junk in a FREE BOX."  She went through a short inventory of what she spotted and thought we might like to check it out.  After a delicious supper of marinated Dover sole and steamed greens, Pete hopped on his bike and went to check those freebies out.  In what seemed like no time, he was back. 

"That was quick!" I said.  "Find any good stuff?"  I wondered seeing nothing new to us. 
"Yup, a rake, a pruner and ... a back-up toaster oven (that is exactly like our old, old toaster oven). 
"How'd you do that on the bike?" 
"Just like this --he gestured with one hand a tuck under his flannel shirt.  Do you know how much more time and effort it would be to get in the car, park on the other side of the FREE BOX and then get the stuff, and get back in the car, drive back ..." 
Point made.

Today, this Sunday, I am years older than my Ma and Daddy were when their choices short-circuited the way my brain and my body-mind were able to get the endorphin soothing chemicals that make for a self-regulating human woman.  I have learned "maladaptive" behaviors and when I am exposed or damaged by chemicals of a synthetic origin or break a bone/jar my joints, all manner of circum-navigation takes place.  Yet, that Higher Power is here for me ... I turn to that Source, and shamelessly say, "Please help."  My prayers are always answered.  They are answered in many ways, and that's where I need to remind that little girl in the mango tree that a mango tree or box of chocolate bars aren't the only way to get to 'feel good land.'  I write this to trigger those endorphins and know writing is one of my major creative express ways.

Grateful for a Sunday, I press the keys and feel good.