This dictionary page, with amoeba: ***chaos*** *carolinensis* L Doctor

Our fate restricts us so that our destiny can find us, so that we can find again the gifts we came to give the world and receive the blessing the world would give to us.
— Michael Meade, Fate and Destiny

When something happens that common notions don’t have enough gravitas for understanding, the old stories talk about the “hand of fate.” The Greeks have many stories about prophecies, fate, and destiny — and the danger of dismissing the signs.

Now the whole world is tied together by this “hand of fate.” It is as if the planet really is alive with intelligence, insisting that we slow down. Alongside the tragedy of illness and death all around, there is the sense of destiny, of something larger than all of us, forcing us to go inward, or live in trauma.

I have thought a long time about the words fate and destiny. I am not a Calvinist; I don’t think everything is pre-determined. I believe that every choice matters. And yet, there is this ancient notion of fate as an invisible thread that is woven through all the things of the world and all the events in time. (Michael Meade). It includes an awareness of the limitations we have been given, including death. Fate is the hand you are dealt. Destiny is how you play your hand, how you choose to live into your fate, and find meaning in what you have been given. Your destiny is fully realized because of your limitation. There is an inherent connection between your inner gift and your inner wound. The door is through willingness to be vulnerable, to accept your limitation as a structure that supports your soul’s expression.

When I get into my studio, put my hands to work, there is a nearness that happens. The muse, the spirit world, whatever your language is for Presence — it feels so much closer now. It’s as if a voice says now can you hear me? A few weeks ago, when we could still move around, I was on retreat at St Meinrad. I brought driftwood from Costa Rica, the Falls of the Ohio, and the Oregon coast. And old driftwood writing utensils, bits of metal and canvas. Copper and brass nails, brads and scraps. For three days, Brother Martin and I just played. It was as if these strange creatures made themselves. It was odd, only afterwards, to have such bliss in the midst of mayhem. Below is one of our creations:

*Fortune Teller —* Br Martin Erspamer and Laurie Doctor

It’s not that I am free from angst. It’s so poignant to have my 96 year old father cooking for his fatally ill wife — managing some sense of resilience while being isolated from visitors, from the world. HIs doctor appointments for his broken arm cancelled. Everyone has stories to tell. In this crisis, what really matters emerges and becomes so insistent. The best way I have to get through these times is to make something. Make something for someone else, and send it. Imagine that the divine is calling, is behind what is happening, and is hidden within you. Each of you, without exception, has a gift you have been given. Now is the time to dive in. Begin with something simple.

I sent all my students who were meant to be in class with me this week pages from my Dad’s dictionary. I am enjoying seeing what words stand out, what words I don’t know, or ones I have taken for granted, like flower. The page can be kept as one sheet, or made into a small book. What I am including here is the simple way that many of you know, of making a book from one sheet of paper:

One definition of flower is: the highest example of something. This one I made into a book and sent to an artist friend who turned 11 today.

For directions on a sheet of paper that you can print, click here:

This is a simple way to play, to send a gift by mail to someone you want to cheer up. Remember this poem by Tony Hoagland? I cannot do any better than this, in my wish to send a telegram to you, “proclaiming that the kingdom still exists…”

Down near the bottom
of the crossed-out list
of things you have to do today,
between “green thread”
and “broccoli” you find
that you have penciled “sunlight.”
Resting on the page, the word
is beautiful, it touches you
as if you had a friend
and sunlight were a present
he had sent you from some place distant
as this morning — to cheer you up,
and to remind you that,
among your duties, pleasure
is a thing,
that also needs accomplishing
Do you remember?
that time and light are kinds
of love, and love
is no less practical
than a coffee grinder
or a safe spare tire?
Tomorrow you may be utterly
without a clue
but today you get a telegram,
from the heart in exile
proclaiming that the kingdom
still exists,
the king and queen alive,
still speaking to their children,
–to any one among them
who can find the time,
to sit out in the sun and listen.

Laurens van der Post talked about how each person has a “personal destiny.” After thinking about this for a long time I have come to understand personal destiny as doing that which requires the most of you. It is time to turn our attention away from productivity, and to do something for love.

What are you making? I’d love to hear from you.