Wearing Lace at Home

The Dust in the Corner Sparkles

The first thing one usually likes to do when they get home from a long trip is look into their closet and wear the clothes they haven't touched in months. And of course, I did that. But what I'm wearing above I had with me all those months... and yet never wore that combination together. Odd how that is. 

Except the mittens.

I've found them in my drawer, a birthday gift from years ago that I thought so lovely yet was unsure of how to wear. 

Until my fingers were too cold to quilt and I wanted to quilt. 

I've done a lot of road tripping. And yet this last one was truly the best one. I'm still glowing. How good it is to be a gypsy, woke on all the right day to the surprises, gay and because I was homeschooled and learned my words from old books and could care less what those who've never read have to say about my vocabulary. 

To have dreams is one thing. To witness the advent of your visions is another. And that's where I'm at. . .had to make a hardcore WIP list. Whenever I need to procrastinate, I do something else on the list, and somehow so much of it is nearly finished. 

I've been thinking about the good people in my life. How they are never petty, how they cause me to be softer and less petty. They show me the beauty of the mysterious. How sad it is I used to dislike mysteries simply because I misunderstood them . . . the intent is not to be secretive, reclusive, or passive, or if it is, it isn't a mystery. Not the wondrous, elating, extraordinary mystery we crave. Not the thing that beckons loyalty and commitment and trust. 

What is a mystery? 

The promise of an unveiling, a revealing of something wholesome. I have something good for you, do you believe? Not yet... but soon. 

Do I know this mystery? Ah, perhaps not fully, yet. But I've tasted and smelled it. It destroys all walls, is needs no safety nets, it invites an open heart to be free and joyous. It is no secret, but quiet certitude one feels deepest while napping.