Wednesday, May 4, 2011

BOOK TWO (13) stars, Cinderella, googly eyes

Nothing is more depressing than to peer curiously though a telescope into space--and consider a distant planet's wee blinking light "negligible"...only to discover, upon coming back inside, a sink full of dishes, which reflect back nothing at all.

Saving the coral reefs, or having a beehive or chickens in our back yards, (as we love our ecobuddies for promoting), or chatting with the elderly bikeriders who tuck their pants into their socks, are all fine, as long as your first commitment is to understand (and hold fast to) the divinity within you, and serve it like you would your mother in-law. (For whom your love, fear and respect are knit together with especially tiny needles--kind of like a fine washable).

Such care involves not tossing out the citrus plant you've been nursing along all winter just because it's now shedding leaves; nor wandering through Winners contemplating bad klunky jewelry which is only almost cool. Nor should you suffer from the tooth gnashing that comes from attending the school musical, thinking you should have volunteered more, because then it would have been better and your child (the Prince!) would have had a better role than "Footman" in Cinderella's court. For the divine night sky (vast beyond imagining) deserves our awe because it's not a sink full of dishes. And for your housewifely divinity --not to mention baking cinnamon buns at some ungodly hour--you deserve every wonky kid-made craft involving paper doilies, styrofoam balls, and googly eyes you've ever been the recipient of, along with a large dose of compassion. For we are also wonky, frequently unable to tell good from bad; as terrible a blindness as if we were looking through googly eyes, ourselves.

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