Shifting the Vibration

20171110_120319.jpg

Things go awry. We land as a shipwreck of our best intentions. Out of that springs some sort of ingenuity. It is not smooth and seamless. It is often full of tears and desperation. Somehow that authentic power emerges, not terribly pretty, definitely not anticipated, but somehow it fills the need. It fits the void. It feeds the hole in a way that elevates and shifts that vibration from its low, thick density toward a higher, more versatile energy of love and inspiration and awe. Open wide.

Suffering the setbacks of the winter season, slicing my finger open with a breadknife and finding myself at the end of my wits with my plans in shambles and my usefulness dampened, I am forced to stop. Adopting the pace of nature which embraces respite, hibernation and dormancy, I find room to reflect.

I recall a similar setback when I lived in California. I was in the zone of throwing on the wheel. I was really starting to get into a groove and reach the next level of proficiency. I commuted by bicycle and often would tie 50 pounds of clay onto the crate attached to the back fender of the bike. I managed to sprain my wrist muscling that bike and clay one day. Thus, my throwing practice halted. This is when I started handbuilding, something I was never much interested in or inclined to think about.

I started making doll parts out of ceramic, then stitching bodies together, sewing clothes and building furniture for them. It became a real love that filled that time when my wrist could not hold up against spinning clay. The setback became a launch into a radically different pace and line, equally satisfying and possibly more inspiring than what I was working on prior to the injury.

So I sit with my injured paw. At first fear and loss swam from my eyes and I bemoaned the new obstacle loudly. But now, in the quiet of candlelight and healing I see another path I can follow toward my authentic self who knows just what to do in this situation…revel in the inspiration of wide open fields where the finite path falls away and possibility can carry us through the storm. We can rest in the mercy of Creation.

Christine Jacobson