My full time job at present,
which is building my home, does not earn me any income. It only takes money, precious savings
carefully stock-piled before taking this leap of faith into another mode of
life for myself. Yet as the
stockpile dwindles, it becomes harder and harder to "keep the faith"
in my "leap of faith".
Old anxieties rear their ugly heads, tired patterns tempt before new
ones have time to fully take hold, like weeds resuming their summertime
strangle of flowers after being beaten back from the patch earlier in the
spring. Yet if I don't "keep
my eye on the prize," which is a warm dwelling this winter, and allow
myself to get side-tracked by pursuits with more immediate reward, I'll risk
not being able to complete the most important job I've ever had.
Some of the most critically
important jobs in the world earn no money at all. Examples, outside of home-building, include fathering, mothering,
even sistering, brothering, mentoring and encouraging others. It is difficult in a world that values
inordinately the material and anything with a price — that relegates spiritual and
emotional sustenance to off-duty or weekend endeavors rather than valuing them
as core pursuits — to retain in the fore of one's mind that some of the most
important jobs require far more money than they earn.
How will I feel in a warm home
this winter? How will strong walls
affect my mood, and my ability to think and be in touch with my creativity? What does security do for a person?
The answers to these questions,
and to so many others that laborers of the unpaid positions could ask, are
priceless.
Thought of you when I read this Mary Oliver poem:
ReplyDeleteMessenger
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
Yes, thank you very much. I love this poem.
ReplyDeletePamela