Saturday, September 8, 2012

Spirograph Life

Life is swirling in intricate designs like a broken spirograph, wildly beautiful with no way of predicting how it will turn out.  I am clicking on my four-color ink pen however, and that gives me deep hope.  More than hope, trust.  I know that when I remove the disc, a thing of wonder will remain.  Even if it looks nothing like the designs on the box cover, or the ones that Colleen made at the sleepover we had when I was 9.

We are changing how we live, those of us sharing a house.  My friend is selling her home, the one we live in. Tom and I are beginning the process to buy a home - and no, not the one we live in because that would be far too logical.  Our fourth housemate is preparing for the change, too.  And nothing is set.  The disc is cracked and the colors are wobbly as we spin and watch the future revealed on the white paper of possibility.

Why do I hope and trust, knowing that this rotor is broken or that ink is only plain black, not vibrant red?  I don't know.  Somehow the alternative is worse.  Not hoping and trusting seems a sure way to die.  Dying without the last fascinating twist and and curve.

So moving sometime without knowing exactly when.  Working without knowing if I can advance in this company.  Writing my blog without readers.  Breathing without promise of another.  Doesn't that make sense to you?  I wonder about you, too.

Are you happy? When you look at the white paper, are you making designs for everyone to see? Can you see me as clearly as I see you? If we were wearing our PJs and listening to KISS's "Beth", doodling hearts, simple daisies and 3-D geometric shapes on our notebook covers, would we see each other?

Because that is what matters, seeing each other.  All the details of today are just what the design looks like with this spiro gear in relation to that rotor.  Change one of the components, the design is transformed.  Look with kind eyes at one another.

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