Imperfect Vessels

As I have aged, I have become more appreciative of the vessel that is my body.  As time and illness and injury have each taken its toll on my physical vessel, I have come to regard my body as an imperfect, wonderous miracle.   It is with kinder eyes that I see myself now: lumps, bumps, bulges.  I can feel how hard my heart works, scarred though it is, to supply enough oxygen rich blood to get me up a short set of stairs or across the street.   It is an effort.  I notice that.  I appreciate it.  I’m thankful for it.

Conversely, as a young woman, I led a busy and very physical life.  Working.  Raising children.  Engaging in my favorite spiritual  past times:  hiking, swimming, kayaking, walking.  The list goes on and on.  I enjoyed using my body and I demanded a lot of it.  In significant ways, I took my youth, my beauty and my health for granted.  I was far to busy to THINK about it.  When I was still, I was in nature, thinking about oneness and connection.  I felt a great kinship with the land, the sea and the sky.  That meant a lot to me.  But I did not fully appreciate the vessel that allowed me to BE.

I imagine that my son and my husband, both of whom have had to contend with severe physical challenges, have long been more aware of their vessels.  Imperfection, physical imperfection, was and is something that they have to confront in every instance that they live and breathe in this world.  I will venture to say that I bet they never take their bodies for granted.  But those of us with fully functional  bodies usually do.  Until we age or until something goes wrong.

Rumi says there are a hundred ways to kiss the ground.   My way is through clay.  I make clay vessels, one of a kind, unique.  Each is meant to be a meditation on the beauty inherent in imperfection.   Invite me into your story and let me make a vessel in honor of your beauty.

Rush Limbaugh and Me

If you want the scoop on trashy novels, I’m your girl.  I  have had to pretty much give up literary fiction in favor of escapist novels (and I use the word “novel” loosely) that don’t require much  in the way of thinking or feeling.  My son, Jordan, loves hearing this.  Years ago, he commented that all Marc and I did was “watch depressing movies, read depressing books and listen to depressing music.”  Turns out, he was right.  I’ll never live this down.

I have been rotating through genres and in the last month or so have been reading political thrillers and mysteries.  I had worked my way through the books my father-in-law had around the house, noticing as I did so that these books seemed invariably to be about  American agents pitted against Muslim extremist groups, basically terrorists, who could only be stopped through the use of torture.  I ran out of books a few days ago and asked Marc to pick up a new one for me.  He came home with American Assassin by Vince Flynn.    I read the first few pages, noting the usual plot lines.  I decided to check the copyright date, thinking perhaps all of these books were written right after 9/11 in an attempt to capitalize on a narrow definition of patriotism.  Nope.  Dated 2010.  At that point, I happened to see a quote by none other than Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh, stating that the book was “fantastic” and “just fabulous,” respectively.  Hmmmm.  I’m now reading the same novels as these two.  And, since Beck and Limbaugh are the FIRST two people quoted in the accolades, it seems fair to say that other people reading this type of book value the opinion of these gentlemen.  Sigh.  Look how far I’ve come.  I need some help from my friends.  That’s how we get by, right?  Send me your reading suggestions…any genre.  Just so the overall take away isn’t, to quote Jordan again, “soul crushingly depressing.”