Puzzling

There is something about putting a jigsaw puzzle together which appeals to my need for order.  I can actually hear people snickering but it is true—under this chaotic whirling vortex of crazy hair, post-it notes, candy wrappers and children—there is order.  Well at the very least there is the desire for order. 

I’ve never watched the process in which other people do puzzles so perhaps I’m not unique in my technique.  The very first thing that I do is go through the entire box and separate out all of the pieces that have straight edges.  Completing the perimeter is a way of getting a sense of accomplishment early in the process which gives you confidence to go on.  Once you close up all of the sides you also have a better idea of what you are dealing with.  Even though the measurements are written on the box the actual size always comes as a surprise to me. 

The next step differs depending on the puzzle.  If there are several discrete objects which look different enough then I’ll go back to the box and sort by color and set upon putting the different sections together. These are another series of little victories to keep you going, and eventually they all fit together and make sense as a whole.  I was about to go into the process of how I put together a puzzle that looks entirely uniform like the migraine-inducing Where’s Waldo pictures.  But the truth is I would never buy one of those puzzles.  If it all looks the same—if each individual piece lacks individuality—I would quickly grow bored or crazy. 

What if before we are born into this world we are briefly shown our puzzle box?   Maybe we were given a quick glimpse of the completed picture, the dimensions and how many pieces we have to fit in.  Our task is to figure out how to make all of the pieces work. 

Occasionally, when I think of how old I am (almost 44) and I think about how I’ve not lived my life the way I feel it was meant to be lived, panic sets in.  My chest hurts.  I can’t breathe.  My pulse quickens.  I feel overwhelmed and guilty by my failure to waste this precious chance that we are all given at birth.  In life you can’t start by framing out the picture.  That is my problem.  I really want to know where the edges are.  But instead I’ve been fitting together the pieces that are easy to find matches for.  The home with the kids section, work session, life with the boyfriend section, karate section, friends and family section, spiritual work section, and I suppose now the writing section.  I enjoy all of those pieces and do feel they are all accomplishments in their own way—but it does not feel even close to the complete picture yet.  Am I missing entire sections or have I just not figured out how the sections I have are supposed to make a whole?

Wish for the New Year

Sitting on a bench near the top of a mountain sat the Creator.  He was tending a roaring fire.   The light radiating from him burning just a little brighter than the flames.  I had sought him out to ask what blessings I should be passing on to my friends and family for the New Year.  What would be the most useful gift.  He didn't answer right away.  He smiled and picked up a long stick with a marshmallow on the end and put it over the fire.

I watched the marshmallow gently brown over the dancing fire.  He was clearly better at me than making S'mores.  This summer I bought the jumbo sized marshmallows thinking that for kids bigger is better.  But the jumbo marshmallow wouldn't cook through all of the way so the center was cold and too firm and the outside was burned because I was not patient enough to gently roast it and thrust my stick deep into the flames to speed up the process.  The 4 small Hershey bar pieces and 2 graham crackers were over-shaddowed by the unwieldy, messy and awkward jumbo marshmallow.   Now a treat is a treat and we enjoyed them for sure, but still.  When I snapped out of my flashback he had finished putting together two S'mores of the ideal ratio and handed me one.  It was amazing.  Warm, gooey, full of interesting textures and familiar tastes and smells.  In companionable silence we ate and watched the flames.  Although the metaphor for flames dancing is so overused it feels cliche to use it.  But I can't think of any other word to describe them.  For me dancing is the ultimate expression of joy, being one with all of the senses, full of energy.  Honoring life with abandon.


He took a moment to lick the stickiness off of his fingers and then turned to me.

"Send them the wish of playful reverence," he said.   "The way to honor the gift of life is to enjoy it.   Find the balance of ingredients.  Be messy.  Have fun."


Happy New Year!