_________

One of Maria’s favorite things is working with her sheep and bringing the wool to the mill – hard work all year – and reveling in the enthusiasm for her community of readers who buy all of it almost instantly. So many wait all year for her wool; they love to make something from it, and send her pictures, which she cherishes.

For the first time, Maria and I were shocked that so few skeins of wool sold.

It was surprising and disappointing, but we both understand that the problem was not her wool or her work; the problem was that our readers are both distracted and frightened.

People watch a war when there is one; they may not be in the mood for wool. They worry about the country. We understand. Maria and I both believe in being authentic and sharing the good with the bad, the reality, along with the ever-disturbing news.

She wrote about this revelation and was disappointed on her blog yesterday, and I admire her for it. It’s not about selling or money. It’s about the darkness of our times. I wanted to share it with you. It’s about turning a disappointment into something meaningful. It’s very hard to keep one’s eyes off of something as chilling and devastating as a war. But I know Maria. She will always understand, but she will never forget her wool or the sheep who offered it. She is making plans to help people living in such fear. And to be strong herself.  I’ll leave it to her to explain. We both want to be a bright spot, not a dark one.  – ME

_______

From Maria:

I do my work, take care of the animals and the farm, listen to the news sporadically, meditate, walk, and do yoga. Jon and I have been relaxing on the weekends, the long winter finally letting up.

I keep at it, keep going, but this weekend, the darkness of our times came crashing down on me.

I feel like I should be doing something about it.  I think of writing letters to my representatives, but I know the ones who agree with my beliefs don’t need to hear from me, and the ones that don’t won’t listen or care.  There’s a weekly protest a town over, but I don’t have the energy to go.

During difficult times, I try to have a sense of history about it.  I think of myself looking back at how I handled certain situations, what I did and didn’t do, and hope I will feel good about my actions.

Feeling low doesn’t help, but it happens.  So I let myself feel what I’m feeling.  It is a sad and scary time in our country, and being at war isn’t something to feel good about.

But I also know that I don’t want to stay there too long.

So I think of what I can do and remember the idea starting with myself.  Because that’s where it has to begin, and I know that what I’m really looking for will not come from outside of me.  We just don’t live in that kind of world.

So I go inside, an hour of meditation, which calms me in a way I can’t really explain.  I think of the beings around me whom I love and how I want to be there in a positive way for them.  I think of the small things, those little miracles I see when I walk in the woods.  How they give me hope and how sharing them through pictures and writing makes me feel like I’m putting something good out into the world.   I think of my art, which I hope does the same.

I think of the little things I can do that make a difference.

And I know that once my spirits lift again (and they will), those other bigger things might not seem as daunting.

It’s so much about what I can and can’t control. More and more, I believe that it’s how I react or don’t react that is the only thing I really have any say over.  And I’m finding that not reacting is often more effective.  That doesn’t mean doing nothing, but doing whatever it may be,  in a thoughtful and considered way.

______