Peggy pup

I couldn't resist, since I mentioned Peggy in the post below, to add a photo of her. She is one of many names: Peggy-jon, which means Peggy Dear; Peggy-cha, which means Little Peggy; Peggy-Sue, which is the title of a song by Buddy Holly; Peggy-O, which is another song by the Grateful Dead; or Gurg-cha or Gurgita, which is the diminutive of little wolf in either Tajik or Tajik-Spanish. Speaking of songs, I actually have one for her - it's not bad as little ditties go. She is definitely a joy - a typically happy, loving, attention craving, mischievous, smart-as-a-whip dog ... a fabulous companion.

bursting

My head is abuzz and my belly full with the New Year festivities' hosting requirements and the mass quantities of shurbo and plaf I managed to stuff in my face today. So much for the quiet, sober, pensive ringing in of the new year. Although I can claim sober, quiet and pensive I'm not. I even had a phone call by one of the "big men" in Garm that threatened to turn off my water if I don't come to his house ... of course this was spoken with an entirely thick tongue and hazy speech, and I'm not sure if tomorrow he'll remember his threat, which, I understand perfectly, contains an undercurrent of respect, albeit a bit odd in its expression. I laughed and told him that I went nearly three months without water not long ago - I got used to it. He didn't really think that was funny.

Firecrackers are one of the components of the New Year celebration here in Tajikistan and I, like most dogs, only feel like hiding under the house as a result. In fact, thinking of my Peggy pup, I bet that's what she's doing now. Although being under this house also means being curled up next to a warm coal-burning stove.

So as for thoughts for this coming year, I expect it to be pivotal in no uncertain terms. It will be one of leaving significant things behind, including Tajikistan, and one of embracing vast unknowns ... of intentional challenge and growth, opening of my heart to things (and people) that it has long been closed too (this has already started), and navigation through uncharted territories of unlearning and re-learning - or re-membering myself through time and ancestors and dreams and songs and words ... of delving to the depths of my buried cellular and heart memory. I can't wait for the full-scale version to blow wide open ... I truly cannot wait. Last night I sat and spoke with the angels that I felt in my presence and poured out my gratitude for the blossoming that I feel rapidly welling up from deep within me. It's so hard to imagine that at 44 years I can feel the beginnings of a "rupturous" or rapturous blossoming and bursting of beauty from within, but there it is. 44 years is, after all, but a blink in the eyes of time.

Bliss

1.  supreme happiness; utter joy or contentment

2.  heaven; paradise

How is it that when I finish something so silly (or simple or mundane) as writing a report, I can feel such intense feelings of bliss, levity, and accomplishment?  That's my day today.   Never mind the work I cast aside that is still glaring at me from the corner of my desk (or desktop as the case may be); right now, at this moment, I am beaming with a sense of accomplishment and this fleeting moment of joy I want to savor like its my last morsel of food for the next few months, like the sunflower in the desert that welcomes the brief and infrequent respite of summer rains and then beams blissfully in the last rays of the sun.

NOW

Electricity will be cut shortly casting us into the thick darkness.

The smell of fresh snow is floating down the mountains on a soft breeze.

Night time is the time of dogs ... frenzied barks break the silence, roaming near and then far.

Heart melts like dripping wax with the failure of personal composure.

The last nerve is on the razor's edge.

The Brain Pie is sliced too thin.

How long?

How long?

Can this go on?

How long?

The Brain Pie

I feel myself so divergent - scattered in a thousand mental and emotional directions these days, like ice crystals on my kitchen window. My motto these days is "the brain pie is getting sliced into smaller and smaller pieces". Enough people have heard the slogan so that now I can just say, "The Brain Pie!" while I indicate with my finger a slicing motion over my forehead, and it's clear what I mean and feel. Not exactly where I would like to be and I know that it's all in my hands. I take full responsibility for my hardcore positioning, my feverish moods, my derelict spirit. Oh that I don't explode before going home.