A dinner of blessings

Attention is love, what we must give

children, mothers, fathers, pets,

our friends, the news, the woes of others.

What we want to change we curse and then

pick up a tool. Bless whatever you can

with eyes and hands and tongue. If you

can't bless it, get ready to make it new.

- Marge Piercy, from What Are Big Girls Made of?
an excerpt from "The art of blessing the day"

 

At the end of the day, I sit, next to my friend, the day's hostess, and breathe.  A candle burning next to Lakshmi, the muskiness of incense tinges my nostrils.  I feel blessed.  I neither praise nor criticize. My skin and muscles retain the warmth from the bubbly hot water of the Jacuzzi where I floated, naked, under the starts, floating in the warmth of the water, like a baby securely vulnerable in the womb.  The dryness of the air leaves nothing in the way of the stars tickling my skin, bestowing the power of the universe.  I feel lithe and warm, despite the big meal of Thanksgiving.  The laughter, the intoxication of all we ingest and of the company.  A collection of strangers who have broken through each other's strangeness.   As we go around the table to count our blessings, each has a moment to bask in the attention of the rest.  We thank healed relationships.  We thank intentions manifested.  We thank the pains and sorrows that inspired and taught us how to use our tools to create what we have today.

            I remember last Thanksgiving spent with another group of seemingly mismatched folks, thankful that once again I escaped being alone, blessed with people who care enough to include me in their family.  I look back on the days in between, seeming to bring me back full circle, but at a different plane on that point.  Through a year of love and loss of love and potential for love, of death or impending death; through a year that has changed the supporting cast of my life, thankful even for those who made short appearances, who were need to move along my plot and to teach me new pieces of wisdom; through the steadfast friendship of the original cast who, though having occasional hiatuses, always are there when it is most important; through finding and surpassing my own limits; through headstands and lesson plans and writing projects, I exhale all I have cursed (or that has cursed me) and inhale all the blessings into which they have been transformed.