What's singing in the shadows

Some days there are phrases that leap into my head while I sit in meditation: one of the challenges of that activity is to keep my brain from running after them, chasing them down, trying to attach significance or images instead of staying centered in the now.

In one of those flights of fancy this morning I was chasing after the phrase "knife-sharp edge" and briefly considered looking through my files of boats. I have even more boat pictures than I have driftwood pictures, and yet I rarely use them here, so part of me, that part that wants to find a use for everything, that sort of "busy-mother-in-law" wanted to run to the closet and flip through all the images, looking for something that might fit you, that I could give away.

I realized later that the phrase was taking me somewhere else altogether, and wrote a poem that followed that direction, but the mother-in-law was still whispering in my ear, so I went to the boat closet and pulled out this rather drab offering. I hear her whispering, depression-child that she was, "don't ever give away your best things, dear" and pushing this gray, moth-eaten thing at me.

Okay, I get it: it's a metaphor! The function of the shadow is to illuminate the messy stuff on the surface, to help us see both where our facade is starting to peel and what free-floating garbage is starting to collect around us, the oil slick from leaking emotions, the drifting detritus of outmoded assumptions.

I ran out of time this morning and had to take a break here to take my dog to the groomers. As a result, my train of thought has been derailed and I'm sortof stuck on the sidelines, chugging away but not moving anywhere. At times like this (my family will be happy to confirm this) the drawers in my head have this odd tendency to pop open and spill out old song lyrics. So here's what's playing now, taking me back to high school dances and the Standells:

I'm gonna tell you a story
I'm gonna tell you about my town
I'm gonna tell you a big bad story, baby
Aww, it's all about my town

Yeah, down by the river
Down by the banks of the river Charles (aw, that's what's happenin' baby)
That's where you'll find me
Along with lovers, fuggers, and thieves (aw, but they're cool people)
Well I love that dirty water
Oh, Boston, you're my home.

I love that dirty water...
Love that dirty water...
Love that dirty water...