cradled
by bam
cradled (v.) hold something gently and protectively.
that’s the dictionary doing what it does: defining.
and then we come to the part i always love best, the underpinning of every word, its linguistic DNA, its etymology, its roots reaching back in time, across oceans, deep into the vault of centuries past. and here we read this (from my friends at the online etymology dictionary):
cradle (n.) “baby’s bed,” c.1200, cradel, from Old English cradol “little bed, cot,” from Proto-Germanic *kradulas “basket” (cognates: Old High German kratto, krezzo “basket,” German Krätze “basket carried on the back”). From late 14c. as “device for holding or hoisting.”
in the sixteenth century, circa 1500, the etymologists tell us, the noun slipped into its form as a verb, and that’s how i like it best. to be cradled. to cradle.
i was humming around in my head, coursing the bumps and the vales of my brain, in search of a word that means “what’s keeping me from wafting away.”
“grounded” didn’t work because it sounded like i’d been sent to the doghouse. “tethered” came close, but only if you pictured a space walker tied to a lifeline, the sort that NASA so solidly builds, a lifeline that allows for floating, drinking in the sights of the heavens. literally. “tethered,” if you pictured a leash, did not work.
and then, in that way that sometimes makes you feel there’s an angel plopped on your shoulder, leaning in, whispering words in your ear, suddenly, out of the vapors, “cradled” appeared. and all at once, i felt my shoulders go soft, in that exhale of a way. when you whoosh out your worries and cares, and all’s right with the world, as robert browning once put it (“song from pippa passes”).
and so i am — we are all — being cradled. each and every day. breathing or not. we are cradled in great tender arms that hold us. i particularly love the notion from the german Krätze, “basket carried on the back.” breathe that one in for a moment.
right in here — the past luscious whirling days — i’ve been feeling a wee bit lightheaded, and my heart’s been pounding so hard i worry, as i so often do, that it just might give up the ghost. so, as if my life depended on it this morning, i pulled myself out from under the sheets. and i tiptoed out to the holy cathedral just outside the kitchen door, the one that vaults to the heavens, the one that this morning was lit by a crescent of moon. looked to me, more than anything, like one big eye winking at me. God’s eye?
and all around me, the dawn’s soft cool blanket fluttered, as if on a clothesline. the cardinals, cloaked in scarlet as always, were up and chirping away — it’s fairly hard to beat a cardinal out of bed. the dew glistened. my toes took a bath when i tiptoed across the yard to fill the feeder with seed.
i stood there breathing. feeling the arms wrap around me. winking back at the moon. then, i looked to my old shingled house, melted at the buttery light of the kitchen, glowing. sighed a deep sigh of thanks for the house that never fails to keep me safe.
i stood there for a short little bit, unfurled my morning vespers, felt the soles of my feet sinking soft into the earth that holds us, always holds us. and then i puttered back toward the kitchen, where a lunch box awaited, and upstairs, a growing boy slept.
as i poured my first mug of coffee, i stopped to drink in a clutch of sunflowers that peeked from the old chipped milk pitcher. i thought of the blessed beautiful friend who had scooped up those wide-faced wonders from the farmer’s market. and then i climbed the stairs to wake the sleeping boy.
i pressed my cheek against his, longer than i usually do. i drank him in, my sweet sleeping child. and, as i’d been doing all morning, i leaned; this time, on him. i leaned on all of these wonders — winking moon, chattering bird, morning’s dew pearled, old blessed friend, and miracle child — and fortified myself for the hours to come.
i was cradled.
the cradle is there, always there. if we’re willing to climb to the basket strapped to the back — the glorious, heavenly back — that carries us, even on days when we’re dizzy.
what cradles you? as in what are the wonders that hold you gently, protectively?
Was such a privilege to hear you read your words on Wednesday…a different sense that deepens my reading and reflection. Thank you.
bless your heart. someone told me that there is a special sort of something that comes in hearing an author read her own words. i am so touched that you took the time to be there wednesday night, in the delivery room.
I’m taking a deep breath over here … inhaling your words and all the comfort they bring. Lucky T, with a momma who wakes him in such a gentle, loving way.
When I stepped from Old St. Pat’s on Wednesday, I automatically looked up to the sky, but, alas, too much ambient city light. But still, I knew the stars were there, though I couldn’t see them, kind of like God. And I always think of you, now, when I look at the stars. That’s a sort of cradling. xo
cradled by heaven’s star-stitched blanket, indeed.
(i KNEW you would understand the deep folds nestled in this one….)xoxo
Such a wonderful blog you wrote Barbara…. I agree that whenever I look up now I am going to use that word “cradle”… He’s cradling me in His loving care..
I wish so much I was able to be at your book reading and signing, but again, I know you have heard me say this before. I cannot wait for my copy to come 🙂
I found myself doing the exact same thing this morning. Yes, I still wake my boy, now 17, because it’s the one chance I have that day to hug him and kiss him on the head (when he’s too powerless to resist!). Today I lingered longer than usual, maybe because he’s been sick and trying to power through the week and might need a little extra from his mom (even though he would never, ever admit it). His mom needed it too.
i love the notion of so many mama cheeks leaning on boy cheeks. inhaling our dose of oxygen for whatever lies ahead…..
Barbie, I love you sooooo much. I hope you are basking in the magical evening you created the other night for so many of us. And so pleased that you are enjoying the flowers so much. Me too. xoxoxox, P
love you. love your sunny-faced flowers. they lift my heart every time i glance their way. as do you. xoxoxo forever my angel….
“i tiptoed out to the holy cathedral just outside the kitchen door, the one that vaults to the heavens, the one that this morning was lit by a crescent of moon.”
As if by magic, your words cradle, comfort, and center, then fly off to the highest vaults of heaven.
Has anyone told you lately? You are a bona fide wonderment.
Your words are music, and your song enchants me. Thank you. xoxo
you are a blessing, a path with stars bestrewn, as a matter of fact. and anyone who wants to read true wonderment, please go discover beautiful blessed amy’s http://www.mypathwithstarsbestrewn.com
xoxox
wonder cradles the all of me, every day, every new moment- suspends. it seems my very soul is called upon by wonder- the tiniest strands of filament and webs can and do cradle my spirit. my body- quilts brought out, wrapping me in memories pieced together to warm, feeling as if i am hugged and loved by hands i no longer can see. i will look for cradles today,
thank you…love the “paths” you take us on.
my beloved poet farmer friend, i love the notion you take this to, that the filaments of wonder weave the web that cradles us. i picture it — suddenly i see the web in charlotte’s. i see the finely constructed robin’s nest, or one of the ones that’s deeper-bowled, one whose builder i can’t recall. “wonder cradles me,” and you are my wonder, my true wonder……
(p.s. i STILL don’t have my box of books to send you your very own, with your blessed pages 110 to 113, you shine at the height of summer….)
love, bam
wendell berry weighs in on this soft saturday morning, when winds rustle, a storm blowing in, but not here yet. wendell says it so beautifully i wanted to send this to everyone i love, so i am leaving it here on the table, where you might find it…..(i especially love it through the line “as still, as simply spaced/” but i will let the whole thing unfurl in case you find something especially in the lines that follow…)
The Sorrel Filly
by Wendell Berry
The songs of small birds fade away
into the bushes after sundown,
the air dry, sweet with goldenrod.
Beside the path, suddenly, bright asters
flare in the dusk. The aged voices
of a few crickets thread the silence.
It is a quiet I love, though my life
too often drives me through it deaf.
Busy with costs and losses, I waste
the time I have to be here—a time
blessed beyond my deserts, as I know,
if only I would keep aware. The leaves
rest in the air, perfectly still.
I would like them to rest in my mind
as still, as simply spaced. As I approach,
the sorrel filly looks up from her grazing,
poised there, light on the slope
as a young apple tree. A week ago
I took her away to sell, and failed
to get my price, and brought her home
again. Now in the quiet I stand
and look at her a long time, glad
to have recovered what is lost
in the exchange of something for money.
“The Sorrel Filly” by Wendell Berry, from Collected Poems: 1957-1982. © North Point Press, 1985.
“though my life too often drives me through it deaf.” Too true.
amen, right?? xoxox
this morn’ – all i want to say: “beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,” with all of the word’s inner, hidden meanings…as sewn and sown throughout your sentences…
thank you, bless you, our sunshine….
I am counting blessings. #1: A night of listening to A Dear And Fabulous Author read selected moments from her book and connecting in person with real live “chairs”. #2: I fell into a most magical end to summer in my beloved Michigan retreat this weekend filled with sunsets and lovely friends.
#3: Wound my way back into town by being dropped off downtown to get to an appointment. I wandered through the Lurie Gardens, stopped by the Bean which has a knack for making people impossibly happy, detoured through the Cultural Center and became entranced with World Music moments…and then wandered north to my appointment. I took the el home at sunset and it was just glorious. So I have not seen many stars because of clouds, but clouds make sunsets so very interesting.
Cradling and cracking open the book tomorrow morning to begin fall. Bless every each and one of you.
your cradled week sounds rather heavenly, especially 2 and 3, in which you mix the glorious bucolic with the deeply urban, but always take time to reach for the heavens. rattling home on the “el” at sunset sounds like the perfect end punctuation for the week. and bless you for making #1 so deeply heavenly magical.
love,
b.
As always you spark connections of moments that occur on my path so…this morning on my early morning walk, it occurred to me that I have this lovely app on my phone that Mike shared with me this summer. It is called Sky Guide. I think it is free. You open it, point to the sky and it tells you the stars you see and the ones we can’t see because of ambient light. It is lovely and now I know that the star to the south and bit east was really Jupiter. It would be a good predawn companion. Then I came home to prepare for the busy first full day of fall and this poem found me before I walked out the door and it pretty well frames how I am anticipating Fall. So for all in the virtual chairs…blessings on the new season.
The Place I Want To Get Back To ~ Mary Oliver
The place I want to get back to
is where
in the pinewoods
in the moments between
the darkness
and first light
two deer
came walking down the hill
and when they saw me
they said to each other, okay,
this one is okay,
let’s see who she is
and why she is sitting
on the ground like that,
so quiet, as if
asleep, or in a dream,
but, anyway, harmless;
and so they came
on their slender legs
and gazed upon me
not unlike the way
I go out to the dunes and look
and look and look
into the faces of the flowers;
and then one of them leaned forward
and nuzzled my hand, and what can my life
bring to me that could exceed
that brief moment?
For twenty years
I have gone every day to the same woods,
not waiting, exactly, just lingering.
Such gifts, bestowed,
can’t be repeated.
If you want to talk about this
come to visit. I live in the house
near the corner, which I have named
Gratitude.
So beautiful, thanks, lamcal. My soul just took a deep breath.
mine, too. xoxoxo
Me, too. Every time I wander through those words.
I shared my Sky app with my 7 and 8 year old Sunday Schoolers. We were talking about Abraham and promises made and kept, and also about the evidence of things not seen. It’s a handy app for life.
you all are making me want to at least check out sky app, though i tend to drag my feets on all things that don’t come on paper…..but i love the context, notherbarb, in which you introduced it…..evidence of things not seen……