Coping with earthly limitations

With Thanksgiving over, Christmas begins to loom, and for some -- my guess is, women in particular -- it has the same sort of ominous, overwhelming quality of this incoming plane: that sense that something huge is speeding toward you, that if you don't move quickly you will be flattened; often accompanied by a sort of deer-in-the-headlights paralysis.

And I find, as I get older, that the least little glitch will take away my confidence that I can accomplish everything; will pretty much throw me under the wheels.

This year that glitch is classwork: though class is over, I have several final assignments, and though I know they'll probably be completed in the very near future, they are looming particularly large at the moment, and I'm wondering if I should decide NOT to produce calendars -- other than the family calendar -- this year.

So every year for the past 8 or 9 years I've been producing three different calendars each year: a family calendar, with photos from our annual Thanksgiving gathering; a Sandspit calendar, with pictures I've gathered from the neighborhood over the course of the year; and a Diane Walker calendar, with favorite images from this year's wanderings.

The family and Walker calendars are giveaways to families and friends; the Sandspit calendars I sell to neighbors, who have come to expect it.  And the fact is that all of them require a substantial investment of time and money -- both of which are pretty scarce this year.

If I were smart, I'd put them together earlier in the year -- and sometimes I manage to do that -- but this year, with school, I just figured I'd wait til all my other responsibilities were done.  So here I am, down to the wire, wondering what to let go...

Which may be why, when I read the lyrics to this old Woody Guthrie song in my readings this morning from 365 Nirvana, I immediately rose from the table and went to Youtube looking to get the sound of the music. Because when I'm feeling overwhelmed, it's awfully appealing to think that something major could shift, and I could step outside these earthly limitations:

This Morning I Am Born Again

This morning I was born again and a light shines on my land
I no longer look for heaven in your deathly distant land
I do not want your pearly gates don’t want your streets of gold
This morning I was born again and a light shines on my soul

This morning I was born again, I was born again complete
I stood up above my troubles and I stand on my two feet
My hand it feels unlimited, my body feels like the sky
I feel at home in the universe where yonder planets fly

This morning I was born again, my past is dead and gone
This great eternal moment is my great eternal dawn
Each drop of blood within me, each breath of life I breathe
Is united with these mountains and the mountains with the seas

I feel the sun upon me, it’s rays crawl through my skin
I breathe the life of Jesus and old John Henry in
I give myself, my heart, my soul to give some friend a hand
This morning I was born again, I am in the promised land

This morning I was born again and a light shines on my land
I no longer look for heaven in your deathly distant land
I do not want your pearly gates don’t want your streets of gold
And I do not want your mansion for my heart is never cold.

If you'd like to hear what this sounds like, you can listen to the Slaid Cleaves version here:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjlI_P6ua-0&feature=related

...and if, like me, you're feeling a bit overwhelmed by the demands of the season, I wish you this sensation -- if only for a moment: to stand above your troubles, and on your own two feet; to feel your hand unlimited, your body like the sky, and at home in this sweet universe where all these planets fly.