Page 87 - Dark Matter Women Witnessing

II

No mode of creation is more direct or naturally arrived at than the

accumulation and agglomeration of materials founds close at hand.

William Seitz

I regard everything from shoes to cabbage to keyboard as noble when put in the context of

the extraordinary creation they and I are part of. Whether or not we are aware of it, we are all

caught in the dance of attraction.

The first expression of wonder is through the senses... enthralled by the miracle of

e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. First I praise the “mater-ials” that serve me. I am not a compulsive hoarder, I

am a grateful devotee. .My dearest wish is to go SLOWer, taking time to register and praise

e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g.

One of my cherished materials is soap. I like clear, unscented glycerin-based bars of soap.

When I release the angular shape from its clear paper cover, I am taken by the sharp edges,

an intriguing contrast to the flesh-like velvety feeling of the soap. I experience these bars of

soap as poems of (divine) mater-iality. I delight in the way their edges soften and become

rounder over time. My pleasure deepens when the soap dwindles down to a transparent sliver

as its color changes from gold to yellow to ocher. To hold this piece of soap in my hand is to

also hold it in my heart...and when I hold it up to the light, I see a stained glass window, or the

amber bead of a funky necklace. Or maybe I just see a fragment of soap. It is worth being

admired for what it is. Perhaps I will be inspired to make something of this soap someday, but

for now, the material is matter... is Mother. When I get up during the night and fumble my way

to the bathroom in my old adobe house, my hands touch the smooth, rounded walls,

reminding me of my smooth, rounded bar of soap. Touching the walls, I feel touched by

tenderness.

Another beloved material is the match. Why does match, the tiny word-being that speaks of

fire, draw so much of my attention? Match, as minute as she is, speaks on behalf of light. If

Light is Spirit, no wonder I have a thing for match. Match touches many different parts of me.

Visually, she is utterly precious in her pale smallness, carrying the memory of her mother tree,

the aspen of my home in the west. Aurally, she emits a slight and hollow sound, a cross