Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances.”

05 October 2010

Open Letter to First Limb on Second Branch:

I recognize this is not how Gap does it. Its how the hat evolved with the skills I had and my own personal aesthetic which is unfortunately for other folks difficult for me to back burner on a project. I also apologize for the protracted amount of time youve been made to wait. As your father can tell you ive been feeling like shit on a shingle for about two months now and even though the hat proper has been done for yonks, the bitty stitching ive been avoiding because I suck at bitty stitching and those Gap people have blind Laotian orphans to run their embroidery machines. The nose is totally different, and somewhere im disinterring the bones of a nineteen-eighties floppy cotton hat with phony sunflower centerpiece that my sister dressed her daughters in. Trying to redeem the travesty. Honestly, I just knit longer than I intended to on the nose part and instead of starting over I stayed the course and danced with it. In my dotage I believe I may becoming acquainted with this spacious patience, this dancing, and practiced it on this hat. If you want a circle nose higher up on the crown, or little mitties or anything else I can apply the Shirley Feeney Improvisational Scarf Dance to, let me know. Knitting rocks.

And the cookies are pretty good, too.

"And if the question were asked: What is more real, the mundane or the sublime? most would hesitate before they gave an answer. On the one side, details: say, the aftermath of a breakfast, dirty chipped plates in the sink, their rims encrusted with egg yolk. Against this, the unnameable: small aching heart with boasts, what can you know? Outside the cage of everything we ever heard or saw, beyond, outside, above, there lies the real, hiding as long as we shall live, there stretch and trail the millions of names of God burning across the eons. When all through this our end will come before we even know the names of us.

For many the egg yolk prevails." -L.M.

"Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well."

"The perfection of the Absolute where all Becoming stops and pure Being, immutable, timeless, unchanging, hangs forever like a ripe peach upon the bough." -E.A.

"...and the whole incident was incredibly frazzling and angst-rod and filled almost a whole mead notebook and is here recounted in only its barest psycho-skeletal outline." -D.F.W.

"At the top of the mountain, we are all snow leopards." -H.S.T.

"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live." -D.T.
"Cometh a voice: My children, hear; From the crowded street and the close-packed mart I call you back with my message clear, back to my lap and my loving heart. Long have ye left me, journeying on by range and river and grassy plain, to the teeming towns where the rest have gone - come back, come back to my arms again. So shall ye lose the foolish needs that gnaw your souls; and my touch shall serve to heal the fretted nerve. Treading the turf that ye once loved well, instead of the stones of the city's street, ye shall hear nor din nor drunken yell, but the wind that croons in the ripening wheat. I that am old have seen long since ruin of palaces made with hands for the soldier-king and the priest and prince whose cities crumble in desert sands. But still the furrow in many a clime yields softly under the ploughman's feet; still there is seeding and harvest time, and the wind still croons in the ripening wheat. The works of man are but little worth; for a time they stand, for a space endure; but turn once more to your mother - Earth, my gifts are gracious, my works are sure. Instead of the strife and pain I give you peace, with its blessing sweet. Come back, come back to my arms again, for the wind still croons in the ripening wheat."
-John Sandes, The Earth-Mother (excerpt, 1918)