Alchemy

I have a few things on my mind…really Kat? I can hear some of you say.

After living in one way for so long, this summer I have been with multiple feelings that have arrived after many months of absence. So in order to help me sort through these feelings, I journaled and started biking again(a lot ☺)
I have been using my dominant hand to ask a question and have been answering it with my non-dominant. My non-dominant left is more compassionate and wiser it seems.
My wise self (left hand) reminded me that there are seasons in life and at the moment it is spring and to enjoy it. Before long summer makes an appearance and winter arrives again…the message was to enjoy the moment, however long that moment might be. Sometimes that means being fully present where you are at, other times it means acknowledging, holding and paying attention to the season you are in. A timely reminder for me to rejoice in this day the Lord has made and practise yet again keeping fully present.
Spring as a season is long awaited after winter and as the first shoots push through the ground we become hopeful. It is also changeable and unpredictable, storms arrive bringing high winds, extraordinary blossoms, daffodils and snow. It is a mixed season of hope and perseverance as lambs are born amidst unpredictable temperatures. Down south it can seem like a perpetual spring with no hope of summer actually arriving at all. In the Disney movie of Bambi - spring is all the animals going silly and getting as Macker puts it- getting ‘love fluttered’ as they gamble and bat eyes.
All of life has arrived this month, hooting like a paradise duck and landing like one too water spraying out either side. A life jackets feel mandatory.
In my last post I talked about my party feeling Narnian. In my minds eye, I saw a door to summer, an end to a challenging but successful year, and I guess hopefully a lighter heart stepping into the next year. Well, I have just re-read the Lion, the witch and the wardrobe by C.S Lewis. What I had somehow missed was that the land of Narnia was in winter for a very long time. Spring came when the children entered Narnia through a doorway and Aslan returned. There is a part in the book when the children are walking as the woods wake up and the snow starts to melt, they notice the bluebells and kingfishers, they smell the freshness of the earth. A kingfisher lives in my gum tree at the bottom of the garden and calls out most of the day. They sometimes flash past me when I am biking in all their iridescent glory, they are quite a sight.
In a sermon from January, the reading was from Ecclesiastics and reflected on time and its purpose..a time to mourn, a time to dance. It was also about making the most of the time you have and being mindful of how you spend it. The idea of fruitfulness and allocating time arose, for without plans we drift to a lesser place (for me sometimes Facebook).

Living this season whether an actual one or whether it the spring of our life reminds me once again of a favourite poem  ‘The art of walking upright here’ by Glen Coloquhoun -  in particular the last two bites.

The art of walking upright here
is the art of using both feet.

Ones is for holding on.
One is for letting go.

This summer has been springy, I have been saying yes to things that surprise me in a good way. Spending time with good people and growing up yet again.
So I am manning up, carrying a merino and getting out in it. I am preparing for eventualities, saying yes to life and am learning to use both feet again and walk in two worlds holding the past dearly and also celebrating the new world that is opening up.
There is an alchemy in despair if you can sit with it in all its pain and madness, the potential change and growth is the dark gift in times of intense grief. The gold that comes from the black.
Alchemy is my first word for the year, what’s yours?

The art of walking upright - Glen Colquhoun

"The Art of Walking Upright"

The trick of standing upright here
is the trick of using both feet.


Being born is casting on a row of stitches.
It is a whenua in a plastic bag in the freezer.

Bread is walking back from a dairy with milk.
It is the smell inside of tea-towels.

Red is the sun burning at dusk.
It is kowhaiwhai curling around a rafter.

Meeting is the grip inside a hand.
It is the sound of wet lips.

Black is the colour of the sky at night.
The clothes of old women at church.

White is the sun's paint.
Flax drying on a fence.

A feast is the warm order of plates on a tablecloth.
It is a fat kettle of tea squeezing between tables.

Seafood is fish on the plate with lemon.
It is the rattle of cockles in a pot.

Singing is the wind in the trees like a choir.
It is Tom Kelly crooning at three in the morning.

Laughter is the sound of hands clapping.
It is a row of cans falling off a shelf.

Sleep is the feel of clean sheets on skin.
The soft gaps between people on floors.

The sky is a lid left off a tin of biscuits.
It is a man making love to a woman.

The sea is an uneven playing field.
It is the blue eyes of a god.

Remembering is a statue in a park.
It is a face carved in wood.

Growing old is a pattern fading on a dress.
It is collecting pipi at low tide in an apron.

Dying is a casket the shape of a keyhole.
It is a long walk north to the cape.

The art of walking upright here
is the art of using both feet.

Ones is for holding on.
One is for letting go.