Following two days of record winter heat, Los Angeles returned to the sort of overcast morning that reminds us the beach is not far away. Mornings that others proclaim gloomy have never seemed that way to me. The sun will be back. Soon. Thoughts brought on by the low ceiling, the deep marine layer - our weather people apparently delight in the naming of things - and a cottony quiet interrupted only by the local parrot flock have Karla Bonoff's bittersweet tunes spooling among the mental trees. The following has always been my favorite, supported as she is by James Taylor and Garth Hudson of The Band on accordion.
Grace and luck, the difference between them, are playing kick the can down the fog-dimmed street. Angels, with the Heaven Can Wait image of Warren Beatty symbolizing how, in our earthbound forms, we may be called to deliver messages from ineffable sources, have sidled into the auditorium, wanting to see how I explain my way around this theme.
I subscribe to a daily email message called Notes from the Universe, offered "...to remind you of life's magic." Today it was suggested that I steer my imagination toward what I DO want, rather than what I don't. Since right now I seem to creak as though my joints were made of wood, I HAVE been giving energy to the unwanted, neglecting visions of success or triumph or the simple accomplishment of, say, a page of illustrated letter forms that might become something.
Lucky is not the first word I would choose to describe myself or my life, nor am I anything approaching unlucky. What I feel has been a continual presence for me is benevolence, grace by its many definitions, which does not mean life became something other than what it is, fraught at times to the point of seeming almost too much to bear.
Duality stares back at me, no matter where I look. I walk around with my hands doing the dance that indicates balance, half this, half that. Seeing the bigger picture, if only occasionally, tips things into grey areas that match today's sky. The circular path brings me back to where I began but this time with an idea of what unconscious connections were formed between weather and angels. We'll call Karla Bonoff a bonus, for I can't tie her precisely to the murky theme. Perhaps it makes sense to you.
Thank you to Beth for her comment yesterday about making herself write - in spite of all that is missing or present. She helped kick my ass into action this morning.