Sunday, March 15, 2009

Sacred Spaces

I bought the first piece of furniture for my yurt today: a bright red butt board for sliding down hills in the snow. Practical, transportable. Maybe a little out of season in mid-March, but on Friday I got great news on the flashing frostbite in my fingers, and felt like celebrating.

It's actually called a Rocko Flake Sled and it's from Sweden. Cool design and I couldn't leave the Cooper Hewitt today without one of my own and some plans for felting a yurt. The yurt they have installed in the gazebo looks like a chupa. I think it's beautiful. Mongols have rules about creating harmony while they are felting: "While among others, check your tongue, while alone, check your mind."

Lots of sacred spaces this week and happenstance encounters with dear friends. The Greenman showed up at the Riverside Church event with Archbishop Desmond Tutu. He made me smile: I'm having such a good time, JB. I wake up, take my Ritalin, and go spend the day playing with children with learning disabilities.

And in case you missed it, Archbishop Tutu, the father of restorative justice in a land that once held so much violence, danced, he danced down the aisle to a resounding spiritual processional that night. And then gave a benediction in his own language. It was beautiful. Violence does pass; goodness does win, in part because meanness is just too labor intensive and exhausting. This was on the full moon night of Holi - the Hindu celebration of good over evil.

On Friday Carla sang Brazilian Jazz at a local burger joint. And Saturday afternoon I spent learning about light and space with Agnes Martin at Dia:Beacon, after finding Judy pulled over with a flat on 287. Sunday - St. Pat's, the Temple of Dendur and that felted yurt. I am really so blessed.

The best part is that much of it was field study for work! Maybe not the butt board, but still.

Here's something I learned. Judy sat for an hour on the shoulder of 287. She'd left her phone at home and had a blow-out on 2-week old tires. A couple of state patrols drove by her. Didn't stop. Lots and lots of cars drove by. Nobody stopped. She told me that eventually she was really wondering what she ought to do since she didn't know how to change the tire.

So she decided to pray. That's when I drove by. Now. I'm not saying I'm the answer to anybody's prayers. That's not my point. But what I learned from this is that we do hear each other's prayers. And God does. And prayers are answered: I had my cell phone and she called AAA.

Maybe we don't recognize when our prayers are being answered. It occurred to me today, as I walked by a playground in Central Park, that I sorely miss having a husband, a home, a dog, and plans for having a family. I've prayed that he would have a son, or two or three. I've also prayed that he would not be a flash in the pants, or pan, or whatever.

And I really believe my prayers will be answered. Like the elephants of Sri Lanka, I can feel that big wave coming. Instead of running for the hills, though, I've been learning to navigate my little craft, checking the wind and adding plenty of ballast, because it's going to be a great ride. And I'm looking forward to it. Point being there's now a pretty strong little boat called me.

And the yurt, I figure, will stow nicely until landfall.