"Mother Spirit, Father Spirit"

Mother Spirit, Father Spirit, where are you?
In the sky song, in the forest sounds your cry.
What to give you, what to call you, what am I?

Many drops are in the ocean, deep and wide.
Sunlight bounces off the ripples to the sky.
What to give you, what to call you, who am I?

I am empty, times flies from me; what is time?
Dreams eternal, fears infernal haunt my heart.
What to give you, what to call you, O my God?

Mother Spirit, Father Spirit, take our hearts.
Take our breath and let our voices sing our parts.
Take our hands and let us work to shape our art.

text by Richard Frederick Boeke, from a translation by Paul and Anita Munk

I'm doing fairly well this New Year's Day, determined to start as I mean to go on. Not that I can't add, or subtract things from this day forward, but I am all about the power of action, actions as symbols that can shape the map of my life. So today I drank my latte, read some, hugged my daughter, ran a little, did some specific abs and leg exercises, a little movement meditation, played some piano (Bach, and the Debussy Clair de Lune that I've been having real trouble getting comfortable with), spent time with friends, did laundry and dishes (not because it's my life goal to do these things daily, but it's a good reminder that they have to fit in somewhere), drank red wine, had sex, sang some (including looking at a couple new-to-me songs), and here I am writing in my little blog. I'll knit later to round the whole thing out. What I wish I had done, as well: sewn something. Practiced French, recorder, mandolin, string figures, or juggling. Written a song, or in my journal.

This song does have a Native American feel to it, just enough to evoke without being overdone for the general public. It speaks to the desire to know God, and I'm not so consumed by this desire. I take God on the fly, in the moment, trusting that She knows her business and doesn't need me to worry about it for Her.

Who am I? I am the me defined by the above actions, by my long hair and loud laugh, the people that love me, and those who I love. I need to feel like I'm working; I can't stay still for long, unless that's the goal I'm after. I rejoice in my brains, and grieve my loss of memory. I love the feel of myself in my body. I occasionally crave salty foods and well-written romances, uncontrollably. People are the most important thing in my life. I'm not afraid to take time for myself, or to say no. I believe that life can be very good. Here's to a good year.