HAVING COME THIS FAR
by JAMES BROUGHTON

I want to "plash in a poetry puddle"!!!
A line that is joyous and playful
and delights the tongue!

The stepping stones were the idea that spoke to me.

Stepping stones may or may not be steadfast and secure
but they offer an invitation and a hope.

Stepping stones may or may not have a firm foundation
but they bridge a gap.

Stepping stones may or may not be what they appear
bu they encourage and enable a crossing to the other side.

Stepping stones may have a variety of shapes and sizes
which change with perspective and age.

Stepping stones may have a variety of surfaces -
slippery, coarse, slimy, pitted, worn, cracked -
but they may support my footfall for a moment.

Stepping stones may be the 'road less traveled'
but are a signpost for the heart.

I asked myself ...
Have I used people or philosophies or religions and institutions as stepping stones -
consciously or deliberately or unawares?
Have I avoided stepping stones
and trodden a safe path?
Have I looked longingly at stepping stones
but never dared?
Have I enabled others to use stepping stones by providing a hand hold
but never accepted it for myself?

There is always another way -
not better or worse -
just different, unique.

Mmmmmmm!!!
I took all the pattern pieces and 'squished them into stepping stones'!
I wrapped each stone with thread,
denoting a different aspect of my life -
spiritual, physical, intellectual, emotional, sexual, social.

LOVE POEMS TO GOD II, 22
by
RAINER MARIA RILKE

You are the future,
the red sky before sunrise
over the fields of time.

You are the cock's crow when night is done,
you are the dew and the bells of matins,
maiden, stranger, mother, death.

You create yourself in ever-changing shapes
that rise from the stuff of our days --
unsung, unmourned, undescribed,
like a forest we never knew.

You are the deep innerness of all things,
the last word that can never be spoken.
To each of us you reveal yourself differently:
to the ship as coastline, to the shore as a ship.

 Rainer Maria Rilke from Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God,
translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy

Well, I broke the rules (if there were any to break!!)
"To each of us you reveal yourself differently".

A different doll using a template for a modular doll.
"You create yourself in ever-changing shapes"

Black
"You are the deep innerness of things"

Hair is knotted black lycra
with a bell -
a call to worship, to prayer, to pause,
an invitation to presence, to attentiveness, to gratitude.
"You are the dew and the bells of matins,"

With a beaded spiral -
generative, creative, fecund.

and a Use By tag on the back
to recall the finite nature of our days.

PRIMARY WONDER
by DENISE LEVERTOV

What are the 'courtiers', the distractions,
that deflect me from 'the quiet mystery'?

This question doesn't just nudge and probe -it hurts.
I have avoided it -
perhaps for most of my life.
The roller-coaster ride of every day life.
Cataclysmic global events.
The search for a place of belonging.
My attachment to things,
and the things of others.
The peregrinations of my heart.
The shattering of illusion and hope.
The volatility of hormones and emotions.
The search for my true calling.

I find - now and then -
that by naming the problems,
dialoguing with them,
offering them companionship,
sharing their yoke,
placing them on the altar of my heart,
that they become less a distraction
and more another door through which I enter into 'the quiet mystery'.

The chiffon represents the quiet mystery  that Denise Levertov mentions-
the mystery that is without and within.

Everything is veiled in mystery.
Live with it.
Embrace it.
Inhale its fragrance.

This figure has a short body with stuffed and hinged legs (sewn across at the knees),
a hand stitched heart,
knotted hair
and thin arms.

MANIFESTO: THE MAD FARMER LIBERATION FRONT (second half)
by WENDELL BERRY

Several lines of Wendell Berry's poem spoke to me -
"Ask the questions that have no answers"

"Go with your love to the fields"

and
"... hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come."

They spoke of mystery and attentiveness;
patience and promise;
life, death and rebirth;
and an invitation to live my one and precious life fully.

Onto an elongated body
I stitched two large circles to represent breasts
and a small circle within a large circle to represent a womb.
(I hear the faint chattering of songs that are to come)
I used a running stitch.

The entire figure is wrapped in spiraling ivy.
Ivy has many meanings.
It adheres to trees but is not a parasite.
It grows in the shape of a spiral -
which indicates consciousness, development,
expansion, rebirth.
(Ask the questions that have no answers)

Ivy is a symbol of vibrancy -
renewal, connection,
opportunity and friendship.
(Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade.
Rest your head in her lap)

Ivy has the ability to grow in harsh environments -
it is a determined survivor.
(Practice resurrection)

THE FOUNTAIN
by DENISE LEVERTOV

What is the fountain I turn to in times of dryness?
Where do I go when that fountain is dry?
Who do I choose to guide me to my healing fountain?
Are there any signposts to show me the way?

I used the elongated body form and legs with feet.
The torn heart is attached with a running stitch, threads hanging loose.
I created a chain of four paper dolls -
connected, arms outstretched to each other and to me -
to represent the four ways I heal myself:
silence, solitude, the arts, creativity.

LINES FOR WINTER
by MARK STRAND

An immediate response to this poem was to ask,
"What is my song?"
I have a children's book by Denis and Sheila Linn titled "What is my song?"
and it relates an African fable ...

“There is a tribe in east Africa in which the art of true intimacy is fostered even before birth.
In this tribe, the birth date of a child is not counted from the day of its physical birth nor even the day of conception as in other village cultures.
For this tribe the birth date comes the first time the child is a thought in its mother’s mind.
Aware of her intention to conceive a child with a particular father,
the mother then goes off to sit alone under a tree.
There she sits and listens until she can hear the song of the child that she hopes to conceive.
Once she has heard it, she returns to her village and teaches it to the father so that they can sing it together as they make love, inviting the child to join them.
After the child is conceived, she sings it to the baby in her womb.
Then she teaches it to the old women and midwives of the village,
so that throughout the labor and at the miraculous moment of birth itself,
the child is greeted with its song.
After the birth all the villagers learn the song of their new member
and sing it to the child when it falls or hurts itself.
It is sung in times of triumph, or in rituals and initiations.
This song becomes a part of the marriage ceremony when the child is grown, and at the end of life,
his or her loved ones will gather around the deathbed and sing this song for the last time.”
A Path with Heart (Bantam Books, 1993), p. 334. Jack Kornfield

I often ask myself, "What is my song?"
What remains constant in me throughout all life's changes?

Another favourite story is by Leo Tolstoy, "The Three Questions?".
I have the children's book adaptation
and it has a profound, grouding effect on me every time I read it.

I went back to my original pattern - head and base.
I sewed very long arms which encircle the body.
There are two strands in my life -
self-knowledge and discovering my true self, and
responding to that growing awareness in my daily life.

INSTRUCTIONS FOR PAINTERS AND POETS (excerpts)
by LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI

The carrier of my true colours

There is a colour that is created when young children mix all the acrylic paints available.
Sludge brown.
That is the colour I paint myself.

Mongrel it appears with it's specks and streaks and revelation at the edges.
But it is a colour steeped with history and memory and promise.
It is the carrier of my true colours.

firebrand red
challenging injustice

evergreen
rebirth, regrowth, regeneration

infinity blue
the realm of dreams and visions and possibility

a hint of white
a reflection of all that is divine

There is a colour I paint myself.
It is the carrier of my true colours.

NOT DAWDLING
by JAMES BROUGHTON

Another way to bump into wonder

I only ever dawdle or amble or linger or pause.
And in this counter-cultural slowness,
I bump into wonder:
the pansy growing in a crack in the footpath;
the old man walking his dog who simply wants a chat.

I am rarely sure or certain.
I dwell in the grey.
And in my doubt,
I bump into wonder:
the compassion that comes from putting myself in another's shoes;
the awe I feel when I look through different eyes.

I am not intrepid or brave or courageous.
And in my timidity,
I bump into wonder:
when the siren sounds and men and women set aside their lives to aid another,
a deep gratitude envelops me;
when a dying friend empowers and strengthens those around her.

I do not have discriminating wisdom as I am too attached to all that I have and know.
But in that attachment
I bump into wonder:
that I have just the right book for the right person when they most need it;
that I can share my collection of teapots and cups at a friend's birthday picnic.

I have stood at many crossroads
- I stand at one now -
and in my dawdling and doubt and timidity and clutter,
holding the truths that I know for sure (that I am known and I am loved),
I am prepared to bump into wonder.

And I do.

Life seems to be full of crossroads!
Choices throughout every day -
some important, most trivial or mundane.

I chose the elongated torso with short feet.
I tore strips of fabric for the hair,
and to stitch at random onto the body
with a red running stitch.
The stitch runs off the strips
and intersects with other lines of stitching.
At each and every intersection,
I bump into wonder!

WAKE UP, DAY CALLS YOU
by PEDRO SALINAS

I will carry my life high

I have been reflecting on what it means to "carry your life high".
When do I raise someone or something high?
I considered:
raising a trophy or elevating a team member when there has been success
we carry our life high when we celebrate

raising someone up so they can climb a tree
or putting someone on our shoulders so they can see better
we carry our life high when we enable others

lifting my arms to peg out the washing
or lifting a pack above my head while fording a river
we carry our life high when we are good stewards

supporting others in a team building exercise
or crowd surfing in a mosh pit
we carry our life high when we trust and are trustworthy

highlighting a cause or an issue through protest
or petition or dedication to change
we carry our life high when we are selfless

when we raise a flag or a banner or an icon
we carry our life high when
we invite participation and engender a sense of belonging.

So how will I "carry my life high" today?
I will be a steward of my one and precious life.
I will celebrate the people and places around me.
I will trust others who enable me, and I will continue to enable and empower others.
I will try to live authentically.

I wanted to fly a kite today.
So I created a doll to fly one for me.
Long arms. Long legs.
A kite made with a bamboo frame
and a wire to hold the bows.
The tail bows are
enabling
celebrating
trusting
stewardship

THE WILD GEESE
by WENDELL BERRY

Abandon to the process

I am a textile artist,
exploring my life through figurative sculpture (which I call doll making).
When I am surrounded by textiles and tools,
immersed in patterns and ideas,
I lose all sense of my individuality and accept their invitation to create intuitively.
I seek the promise they hold.
I abandon myself to the process.
For me, this is the 'abandoning' akin to love and sleep.

Each figure reflects a part of me
and becomes a part of my story as I become a part of theirs.
I submit wholeheartedly to this process;
trust its outcomes and revelations;
encounter wisdom and LOVE.

These are not fine works of art.
They are the heartfelt work of a soul.
My soul.

I created two figures.
One I stuffed, the other is flat.
The stuffed figure is stitching the flat figure.
There is a single thread going from the stuffed doll's heart
to the heart of the flat figure:
one doll is tending to the heartfelt work of another.