L'aura del Campo

Petting Penny. Read Kabir or Kinsolving?

L'aura del campo

WINTER: 16 Sultan (3 February) 18º in the afternoon.

'é a lua, é a lua, na quintana dos mortos'
♣ Federico García Lorca ♣

Petting Penny

I sat petting Penny, this cute little blond, during the AA meeting. She didn't seem to mind and because we sat off in the corner, well ... maybe two people noticed.

Now, I'd never been to an AA meeting before. I entered the unassuming white building with its rundown chairs and tables because my friend Chris needed the support. He got out of detox this week, found a bottle, got into a fight, which means he's banned from the flophouse and it's bitter cold tonight.

I'd take him in if I could ... but I digress ... Penny and I were sitting there listening to the stories of triumph and defeat as most spoke to the topic of 'the attitude of gratitude'. But I think we were more interested in each other than the greetings of "Hi, my name is ... and I'm an addict.' After all, I do understand AA, but I haven't had a drink since 1975 (except for half a glass of wine in Illinois sometime in the 80s).

As the meeting droned on, only twice interrupted by someone who spoke out of turn and went to get coffee, I vaguely remembered the night of March 30th, 1974 in Playas del Coco, Costa Rica. After some rum and who knows what, I'd decided that I couldn't touch the stuff. In this case my stubbornness had paid off. I've been stone sober ever since.

Which doesn't mean I don't have empathy. My personality and background is susceptible to alcoholism and it runs through our family like a secret tributary of de Nile. I could just as easily have been anyone around that room. One drink and I'd be going going gone. Red wine and sweet liquor could easily make me your pal, his or her pal, well anyone's pal.

So Penny kept giving me the tongue since I was being quiet while the others were talking and hey ... it was all good for me!

At the end of the meeting the little harlot was all over Chris. He's younger, handsome, with long blond hair. But we had to go and Penny had to go too. Of course she probably would've just run off with us, but her owner got out her leash. It's been a while since I've had a chance to pet a blond for an hour. Maybe next time she'll curl up in my lap.

Me?

Thursday I was comatose. Barely got to Tea at Three (without any poems). I just don't do well some days. Friday was explaining to Susan how down, really down, really really down I've been. Nothing quite like depression in the wintertime. Which was too bad because the day was beautiful even if it was cold enough to shrivel one's cojones.

Saturday has been better. went to class on writing a profile. Even though I haven't yet done my interviews,
I was able to connect. One of the other students was interrupted by a call from her husband, "He was just missing his sippy cup", she informed us.

Afterwards, I saw a friend upstairs at the 'buy a bowl, have some soup' fund raiser. Jeanine put a $10 bill in my hand and told me to go find a bowl. So I did. I bought a bowl that appeared to be a slab, pressed with burlap on the inside, glazed an almost lacquer-like black. The outside had a design in a black and white pattern like short pine needles. The rim undulates, not a perfect cut. "How Japanese," Jeanine said. I bought it because it was one of a kind, inscribed with the name Abby Marsh and 5th. Maybe a 5th grader?

I spoke with an artist, whose name I can't recall, about death and dying on the streets of this city and gave her my booklet, 'Earth Groaned'. She had cared for her husband who had Alzheimer's and suffered a long slow death. While she was caring for him, sometimes he'd try to eat just a bit and for some reason, that allowed him to speak, somehow reversing the affects of the stroke. He needed care all day and throughout the night so she didn't get much uninterrupted sleep. She referred to herself and a friend as two Florence Nightengales in long white robes.

IMAGES

At Aimee's Cafe:

Flash of camera; computer screen showing the chakras; a child, Margaret, playing with her mommy among the toys in the corner; biscuits and gravy; new art on the walls by Tracey Fields, portraits of Native Americans looking out at me; bright sunshine putting customers in silhouette; cold brisk day now turned into night slipping in through the back door.

At the AA meeting:

Shabbiness; courage and timidity, the earnest hope and despair in the voices; the 12 steps on a poster; Penny, a blond spaniel eating a treat out of my hand, licking me, nudging me to scratch and pet her, not wanting to be put back on a leash, her owner smiling a silent chuckle; free clothes; the basket going 'round for donations; outside, the slippery ice.

February First

In the tweet tweet tweet
of the unseen cardinal
hear the promise of Spring.

Over the hillside clad in snow
seek where the hidden henbit grows

while under waters glazed with ice,
know that the bass and lotus sleep.

Beyond dark cold depths between the stars,
behold the night where we'll meet.

But in this moment,
this single moment,
hear what the redbird tweets.

[163.568]

The weather was bitter yesterday. Nothing to be out in. Today it is still biting away, but I'm sitting in the coffeehouse all snug and toasty, except when the back door's opened.

READING

Read some of the songs of Kabir. From India, he sought the intersections of Muslim and Hindu spirituality and wove it into his poetry. He was a profound influence in the writings of Rabindranath Tagore, the great Bengali poet.

Also some poems of Attila Jozsef (1905-1937). National Poetry day in Hungary is celebrated every April 11th, on JA's birthday. It is ironic that a poor tortured young poet who was not part of the poetic powers of his time, who ended up throwing himself in front of a train should be so honored. His poem about the Danube reaches into the soul of those who live in that region. A memorable line includes the imagery of a melon rind floating in the water.

Dailies and Rushes by Susan Kinsolving continues to amaze. I've finished the parts, "Winter Watch" and "Small bouquets". I am intrigued by the way she uses language and of course entranced by the images of nature.

BLOGVILLE

I finished my tour of Blogville, but it exhausted me. I'll have to cut back on reading, but will try to do as much as possible. I left 158 comments in 76 blogs.

Pictures of bloggers? wonder what people look like?

Go see alfred booth, wanbli ska in his entry "Invalid Entry" 
an see Ŧĥē Beŋ as a poultrygeist in "Invalid Entry" .

A most interesting read can be found at: "Invalid Entry"  as Chewie Kittie takes us on a tour of the Titanic.

Quote

"I am weaving the garland of day and night." {III.110}

"I was anointed with ungents of pleasure and pain." {I.109}

~ Kabir

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