We Are Each Other's Keepers

Every week, as I go through my daily routines, I have a continual thought running in the back of my mind: what will this week's collage be about? What is at the top of my mind? What am I mulling about? How can I put it into visual terms and make it interesting?

This is the sixth year I've been doing these collages every week, and so perhaps it is not a surprise that certain thoughts and themes come up repeatedly. This week, I've been preoccupied with my ongoing cough, which seems to be the result of a terrible summer cold that has jump-started my asthma again. Well, I'm sick of talking about my problems with coughing, and I hate the thought of being an aging lady who has nothing better to do than complain about my health. And I've made collages about this subject before.

So I thought I would do a collage about my bedroom, as I'm quite pleased with the artwork I've put up. But again, I have done several collages on the subject already. See this, this, this, this, and this.

Realizing this, I felt stuck. Wouldn't I just be boring people? And that, I noticed, roused a strong reluctance in me to get started on doing something this week.

That thought triggered the memory of another conversation I had this week. I was moaning to Pat Wrede about my struggles with the book I'm attempting to write, the sequel to Emerald House Rising. "The things I struggle with the most in writing are twofold: I have a difficult time coming up with a plot. I just have such a hard time figuring out what happens next.

And I get stuck because of the paralyzing fear that I am boring people, because I have nothing interesting to say."

As I struggled with the decision over what my collage should be about this week, I recognized (again) that this is a significant neurosis of mine. I was so dreadfully wounded years ago when my best friend of twenty-five years cut me entirely from her life. In her last conversation with me, she made it clear that she had become weary of listening to what I had to say about my life.

Even now, sixteen years out, I still haven't entirely gotten over it.

Here is the artwork I have purchased that I love so much: a tree (you know my affinity for trees) that is a static silhouette on the wall that somehow gives an impression of movement:



I stared at that tree and I thought about the fear of boring people, and of things that come up over and over again--and then I saw the connection. This tree is an embodiment of autumn: the leaves are blowing away in the wind. Soon, all the leaves will be gone. And the winter will come and the tree will become quiescent, and then the leaves will bud out again.

As I contemplated that, my fears seemed absurd. Who would be so nonsensical as to say that because spring comes around every year, it is meaningless? Is that not what nature does? What life does? Is that not the nature of reality itself?

Suddenly, a verse from Ecclesiastes 1:9 came into my mind: "That which hath been is that which shall be; and that which hath been done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.

I am entering the last third of my life--looking at retirement and moving toward the ending where I will have to sum it all up. What has my life meant? Does it matter that things come up over and over again? I have always taken such comfort from ritual (St. Lucia Day, washing my face with dew every May Day, eating strawberries every July 6, holiday gatherings with my family), and what is ritual, after all, but things that repeat?

This, as I said, is an inner neurosis. But because I am aware of it, I challenge it in my mind when it starts to oppress me, and I will not let it overcome me.

Yes, things come up again and again. But that does not mean that my life is meaningless, or that my thoughts are not of interest to others. There is comfort and wisdom that may be gained from seeing things with new eyes, even as they recur. And I need not be self-conscious about that.

Here is this week's collage:

Image description: An artistic rendering of a tree made out of wood, blown by the wind. Birds and windblown leaves give an impression of movement. The tree is silhouetted against the sun in a sunset-colored sky.

Under the Sun



Click on the links to see the 2025, 2024, 2023, 2022 and 2021 52 Card Project galleries.