"Former publisher of the Crone Chronicles, Ann Kreilkamp engaged in conscious grieving after her husband died suddenly of a heart attack. Supported by a deep spiritual practice, Kreilkamp attuned to her need for ritual and ceremony to acknowledge and honor a path of grief that encompasses both pain and joy. Part cartography, part plein-air painting, This Vast Being gives form to a rich internal landscape of fierce love and loss."
This review, by Connie Mears, in the New Age Retailer, sure looks impressive! Not sure I understand what "plein-air painting" means in this context. Oh well! No complaints. This little magazine goes out to 10,000 independent bookstores.
Meanwhile, back in the Prius, now in Boise at an internet cafe with my friend Azimat and our dueling MacBooks. Spent 45 minutes standing in line at the Cingular/AT&T store to see if I could exchange my iphone, again on the blink, only to discover, as I finally got to the clerk, that Cingular does not exchange the phones, that I have to go to an Apple store for that . . .
{Here, fill in your own circuit-breaking rant on how technology both accelerates us to warp speed and stops us in our tracks.]
The other day, when I said, "yes, of course, it would be great to eat quiche!" and meant it, to my dear friend Judy, when I had just had huevos rancheros, courtesy of my friend Brenda, only four hours earlier, in retrospect blows my mind. Eggs upon eggs, something I would never have agreed to even six months ago and makes me nauseated, now, to even think about! I guess it might actually mean that I'm moving into "the flow," appreciating WHATEVER presents itself.
[Except for technological glitches! I still grow agitated when I think back to standing in line for so long, that conversation with the Cingular guy. My internal state was—is— that of complete chaos and frustration. All awareness OUT THE WINDOW!] Azimat asked me if maybe there was some early childhood memory that my consistent trauma over technological glitches reminds me of, and I immediatley sunk back into a day when I lay on a table in my doctor Dad's office—he was hooking me up to an electrocardiograph machine to see if it worked. I was six years old, and do remember feeling the alien wires on my chest, but no memory of fear or rage.
Though most of this trip IS doing what I hoped personally, plunking me into the Now, these technological moments are my Waterloo, clearly where I need to remember, with every breath, to practice awareness. So, thank you, iphone, for the intransigence of your sautered-in battery. I bow before you, most honorable opponent!
(BTW: if you will please forgive one more moment of obsession . . . Just wanted to report that I really felt for the Cingular guy. Clearly, he WAS sorry, and chagrined that he couldn't help, and I'm glad that I wasn't even tempted to take my rage out on him.)
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