Perspective
We’re on a planet floating in space
Having an intense love affair with the sun,
moon, and stars.
How crazy is that?!
Just Go Along With It
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| Photo: Tim Bies |
Flames will destroy everything
at the end of the universe.
It may already be destroyed.
A cold cricket cries in the pile of wet leaves.
He wanders back and forth, unable to get past regret.
Go along with it
Stumble in rain,
Walk on alone.
At the end of the trail is a warm cabin with a single fire.
There you may dry out those lonely years.
~ Blue Cliff Record: Zen Echoes
at the end of the universe.
It may already be destroyed.
A cold cricket cries in the pile of wet leaves.
He wanders back and forth, unable to get past regret.
Go along with it
Stumble in rain,
Walk on alone.
At the end of the trail is a warm cabin with a single fire.
There you may dry out those lonely years.
~ Blue Cliff Record: Zen Echoes
Girls Who Wear Glasses
Is this the autumn of my life? I turned 40 this year so I
suppose it is. (If it’s not autumn, it’s most certainly late summer.) Age has never concerned me much but it did this year.
It’s not the number but everything that goes along with midlife—loss of beauty,
fatigue, things just not being the same physically. I equate it to being in the
middle of a vast sea and discovering to your horror that your beloved vessel is
springing leaks! I wonder, spiritually, why we have to go through this process.
Is it just for kicks? To have a little cosmic laugh?
If we are attached to our bodies (bravo if you are not, you must be a Zen master), as we age, we are going to suffer. I was at the park with my daughter a few weeks ago and one of Hope’s schoolmates joined her on the swing. I introduced myself brightly, “Hi, I’m Hope’s mom.” She pumped her legs awkwardly and said, “I know.” “How do you know,” I asked (we had never met). She replied sweetly, “You have the same hair colour.” I smiled, until she added, “Only Hope’s is more shiny.” Ah yes, it happens to all of us. In case you haven’t caught on, this is why shampoo labels boast about enhancing shine. It’s a lie. Only the young have naturally vibrant hair.
In a way, when someone loves you, it validates your
existence. That person not only hears the music that you are creating, but she/he delights
in it. Is this not the most precious gift? And yes, our bodies will fade and
eventually die, but love will endure. A loved one’s gentle voice, the
light in his/her eyes, and all the kind and loving acts that were ever shared are
timeless. This music, this light and love, ripples out endlessly—greeting us on
the flip side where we merge as one in an exquisite dance of eternal love. ~ A pipe
dream? Perhaps. But I think not.
If we are attached to our bodies (bravo if you are not, you must be a Zen master), as we age, we are going to suffer. I was at the park with my daughter a few weeks ago and one of Hope’s schoolmates joined her on the swing. I introduced myself brightly, “Hi, I’m Hope’s mom.” She pumped her legs awkwardly and said, “I know.” “How do you know,” I asked (we had never met). She replied sweetly, “You have the same hair colour.” I smiled, until she added, “Only Hope’s is more shiny.” Ah yes, it happens to all of us. In case you haven’t caught on, this is why shampoo labels boast about enhancing shine. It’s a lie. Only the young have naturally vibrant hair.
Just yesterday, I was wearing my glasses and someone asked
me, “Do you need to wear your glasses all
the time now?” “Only if I want to see” I joked smugly. I hate wearing glasses.
They are uncomfortable and well you know what they say about girls who wear glasses... If only I could wear my sunglasses everywhere. Like Holly Golightly
from Breakfast at Tiffany’s you would
see me around town, at the grocery store perhaps, looking cool and mysterious. You
wouldn’t be able to see the fine lines around my eyes...
Sigh. It’s a sad, sad and humbling feeling to believe that you don’t matter at all. No one takes the time, it seems, to truly see you. The
real you, I mean. But why are we so hurt by this? Every day, magnificent and majestic
trees are cut down. People trample on delicate wildflowers. Wildlife
and insects are killed without a thought. Why do we expect to be treated any
different by those that are clearly blind to intrinsic beauty?
In a way, when someone loves you, it validates your
existence. That person not only hears the music that you are creating, but she/he delights
in it. Is this not the most precious gift? And yes, our bodies will fade and
eventually die, but love will endure. A loved one’s gentle voice, the
light in his/her eyes, and all the kind and loving acts that were ever shared are
timeless. This music, this light and love, ripples out endlessly—greeting us on
the flip side where we merge as one in an exquisite dance of eternal love. ~ A pipe
dream? Perhaps. But I think not.Living in the Trees
“I want to long for nothing—to be desireless. To just
enjoy the gifts of each day. To feel the love that is already present. The warm
sand beneath my feet, the constant rush of the waves, the 1001 interesting
(amazing!) things I encounter in nature, all are food for my soul. How to make
this my living reality and not just a vacation?” (Costa
Rica, June 27, 2013)
Opening up the window, I hear a few lingering crickets singing in the autumn sunshine. A chipmunk springs like a mini kangaroo through the damp leaves. Birds gorge on intoxicating juniper berries and the tart, red-orange berries of the mountain ash tree. On this day, as so many times before, I’m reflecting on how removed we are from nature and how delicious and healing it would be to live closer to the sea and among the trees.
Years ago, I read a book that I can no longer remember the title of; however, in this unnamed book it mentioned The Moon and Sixpence, which is a novel (written by William Somerset Maugham) loosely based on the life of the French artist Paul Gauguin. I hadn’t thought about Gauguin much since I read The Moon and Sixpence, but I read another book recently called Beachcombing at Miramar that makes a reference to Gauguin’s semi-autobiographical book Noa Noa. Naturally, my interest was piqued and I set out to find a copy of Noa Noa. I admire Gauguin, who in his early 40s abandoned everything to follow his heart. For 63 days he sailed to reach his dream: to paint in Tahiti. After shedding his European ways (his clothing even!) and spending some time in an island hut, Gauguin muses:
Opening up the window, I hear a few lingering crickets singing in the autumn sunshine. A chipmunk springs like a mini kangaroo through the damp leaves. Birds gorge on intoxicating juniper berries and the tart, red-orange berries of the mountain ash tree. On this day, as so many times before, I’m reflecting on how removed we are from nature and how delicious and healing it would be to live closer to the sea and among the trees.
Years ago, I read a book that I can no longer remember the title of; however, in this unnamed book it mentioned The Moon and Sixpence, which is a novel (written by William Somerset Maugham) loosely based on the life of the French artist Paul Gauguin. I hadn’t thought about Gauguin much since I read The Moon and Sixpence, but I read another book recently called Beachcombing at Miramar that makes a reference to Gauguin’s semi-autobiographical book Noa Noa. Naturally, my interest was piqued and I set out to find a copy of Noa Noa. I admire Gauguin, who in his early 40s abandoned everything to follow his heart. For 63 days he sailed to reach his dream: to paint in Tahiti. After shedding his European ways (his clothing even!) and spending some time in an island hut, Gauguin muses:
Silence!
I am learning to know the silence of a Tahitian night. In this silence I hear
nothing except the beating of my heart.
But
the rays of the moon play through the bamboo reeds, standing equidistant from
each other before my hut, and reach even to my bed. And these regular intervals
of light suggest a musical instrument to me—the reed-pipe of the ancients,
which was familiar to the Maori, and is called vivo by them. The moon and the bamboo reeds made it assume an exaggerated
form—an instrument that remained silent throughout the day, but that at night
by grace of the moon calls forth in the memory of the dreamer well-loved
melodies. Under this music I fell asleep.
Between
me and the sky there was nothing except the high frail roof of pandanus leaves,
where the lizards have their nests.
I
am far, far away from the prisons that European houses are.
A
Maori hut does not separate man from life, from space, from the infinite. . . .
In many ways, I can relate to
Gauguin. Viewing houses as prisons sounds dramatic but he’s onto something there. When I stayed in a modern villa in Costa
Rica earlier this year, I was resentful of
the fact that at night I was cut off from the stars and night sounds. Patio lights used for security blocked out the night sky and the
steady hum of air conditioning units prevented me from hearing anything wild.
Well, except for the mysterious tapping on the glass of my bedroom patio door every
night just as I was drifting off to
sleep... (After a few nights of fearfully listening from my bed, I eventually
and bravely switched on a flashlight to reveal a small Halloween crab clicking
its claws on the glass!)
Like Gauguin, our domestication repels me. He found a peaceful simplicity in island living that made him feel creative and vibrantly alive. Something in me struggles to break away from conformity but how one accomplishes this completely, I’m still not certain. In the meantime, I’m exploring exciting and different ways of living. Tree houses have become an infatuation of mine. I don’t know anyone personally that lives in a tree house; although, it’s become trendy to vacation in them. For now, maybe that’s a start.
Like Gauguin, our domestication repels me. He found a peaceful simplicity in island living that made him feel creative and vibrantly alive. Something in me struggles to break away from conformity but how one accomplishes this completely, I’m still not certain. In the meantime, I’m exploring exciting and different ways of living. Tree houses have become an infatuation of mine. I don’t know anyone personally that lives in a tree house; although, it’s become trendy to vacation in them. For now, maybe that’s a start.
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Free Spirit Spheres, Qualicum Beach,
Vancouver Island
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Treebones Resort,
Big Sur, California
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TreeHouse People (Takashi Kobayashi),
Hokkaido, Japan
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"Dream Baby Dream" (Suicide Cover) by Bruce Springsteen
The first time I saw Springsteen in concert I was 22 years
old. It was an intimate solo acoustic concert at Massey Hall (The Ghost of Tom
Joad tour). He was beyond charismatic. He revealed that he enjoys a fine bourbon after performing and at one point, he even told an over-zealous and annoying fan to “Fuck off.” It was very cool.
I was on a euphoric high for days after that concert! Springsteen is a poet and
one of the best entertainers I have ever seen.
This video is an accurate visualization of what it’s like to see Bruce Springsteen live. It’s truly transcendent.
This video is an accurate visualization of what it’s like to see Bruce Springsteen live. It’s truly transcendent.
Awaken
“Your vision will become clear only
when you look into your heart.
Who looks outside, dreams.
Who looks inside, awakens.”
~ Carl Jung
Magic Everywhere
I was able to open the window last night to let the
song of the crickets help me drift off to sleep. All August I have enjoyed this
evening music. Cool nights in September forced me to close my bedroom window
and the silence was disquieting with only my thoughts (that seem so loud!) to
listen to. Last night was warmer though and I am grateful. My heart feels open
this time of year. Beauty has a way of doing that. It can move you, if you let
it.
Everyone around me seems to be spinning off in exciting new
directions. I’m watching it all unfold. I wonder what my purpose is. Observing
the mind and whatever emotions come up has become a daily practice. I’ve also
taken an interest in energy work like Qi flow yoga. Daily, I send out loving energy
to loved ones—especially those that I am not in physical contact with. Can they
feel it? I sincerely hope so.
Observing the mind has shown me how little original
content there actually is, which is unsettling. According to the masters, when the chatter
wanes, inspiration will have space to emerge. Even with my dedication to the
process of spiritually awakening, my mind is still confoundedly active! Perhaps
I’m still hanging on to things that I’m unable to surrender to.
Anyway, a couple of songs were in my mind when I was waking up this morning, which I’ve come to trust, foolishly or not, as guidance from the ethereal realm. Both songs are from a mix that I first heard over a year ago. I’m currently listening to more music by these same artists on Grooveshark. Wonderful stuff! Enchanting music as summer fades out and autumn’s brilliance captivates us. ~
Anyway, a couple of songs were in my mind when I was waking up this morning, which I’ve come to trust, foolishly or not, as guidance from the ethereal realm. Both songs are from a mix that I first heard over a year ago. I’m currently listening to more music by these same artists on Grooveshark. Wonderful stuff! Enchanting music as summer fades out and autumn’s brilliance captivates us. ~
Bonus track:
An Omen
“When each day is the same as the next,
it’s because people fail to recognize
it’s because people fail to recognize
the good things that happen in their lives
every day that the sun rises.”
every day that the sun rises.”
~ Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
Badlands
I believe in
the love that you gave me
I believe in the faith that can save me
I believe in the hope and I pray
That some day it may raise me
Above these badlands
~ Bruce Springsteen
I believe in the faith that can save me
I believe in the hope and I pray
That some day it may raise me
Above these badlands
~ Bruce Springsteen
My Love
It never fails to deliver precious gifts in the form of smooth stones, colourful shells, and creatures beyond my imagination. A sardine-like fish washes up on the shore. Its silvery skin glimmers in the morning light. Its eyes plead with me. I gently pick it up and hold it in wonder for a moment before tossing it back to safety.
Ceaselessly, waves approach the shore sounding like distant thunder and recede in an effervescent fizz. Its rhythm soothes and heals my sensitive soul. With a mix of fear and excitement, I wait to feel the push of the wave on my surfboard. By an act of grace or pure luck, I pop up to my feet the first time I try and take a short euphoric ride. Adrenaline and endorphins prevent me from feeling the sting of sand scraping my knees when I fall off. It’s not until later that I see the scratches and deep purple that stains my bruised and tender knees.
Even still, my muscles ache pleasantly. Satiated, my body hums with warmth. At times I am overwhelmed by your beauty and can’t hold back tears. All too soon it’s time to leave and I wonder how I will manage. Must I live out my days knowing that our time together will be, at best, intermittent?
Now that I am gone, do you miss my delicate feet wading in your depths; my loving touch as my fingertips skim your shimmering surface? Do you long for my adoring gaze? Does your heart ache with the loss of my presence? My Love, please tell me, why must we be apart?
Beauty Is an Ache
“Beauty is an ache, a presage.
A glimpse, a longing, and a
bewildering ecstasy.”
~ Beth Powning
The Bat-Poet
“The trouble isn’t making poems, the trouble’s
finding somebody that will listen to them.”
finding somebody that will listen to them.”
~ Randall Jarrell (Illustrations by Maurice Sendak)
Friends?
Looking over our most recent additions to the garden this
morning—butterfly milkweed, heliotrope, dragon’s blood clover, and African daisies—I heard what I thought was a cat padding through the grass. I was kneeling down
and the animal was so close it brushed past my sweater. The encounter was only
a couple of heartbeats. Time enough for my brain to register though that it was
not a large ginger cat, but a fox. The
same radiant fox that pranced past my car earlier this week when I was backing
into my driveway.
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| Illustration: David Lupton |
I am in awe of this creature. It’s agile, graceful, and
seems playful (naïve though I am, it might have been stalking me and at the
last moment decided that I was too big to eat!). Nonetheless, it is quite
something to have a wild animal approach so closely of its own freewill. Pure magic!
To continue the theme of red (passion), we also have multiple
cardinal pairs nesting in the neighbourhood. I’ve become accustomed to their
calls and am often rewarded with flashes of crimson soaring by when I look up after
hearing a distinctive chirp.
There’s been a lot of rain this spring, hence a lot of
complaining. But I love the freshness that the rain brings. The delicate smell
of peonies, lilacs, and mock orange blossoms carries freely on the clean air. Soft
sounds of wind chimes, nesting birds, and leaves dancing in the wind soothe and
calm. Peace is in the air.
~ May the magic that
is always present invigorate and enliven you. With warm thoughts for your
health and happiness, Holly x ~
My Father
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| 1974 |
The rain is making meditative circles in the puddles. The trees are lush and the songbirds high in their branches sing contentedly. As I walk, I’m thinking about my dad and how smooth his face is after he shaves. He always smells so good—like cinnamon. I miss his rough hand holding mine tight. The last time I saw my dad face-to-face we were in the NICU with my newborn daughter. He kissed the top of Hope’s sweet head and told her he loved her. That was seven years ago. It’s been too long.
Searching through old photos, I’m surprised just how few
there are of my dad and me. Regrettably, the ones I do have are faded, at an
odd angle, or blurred. No perfect shot to capture our relationship. No words to
do this either. ~
Walk Away
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| Photo: Andrea Fitzpatrick |
My daughter was hurt yesterday. She was playing on the slide
when a friend crashed into her causing her to hop up a little and
hit her back on the side of the slide. When it comes to physical pain, Hope is
tough and doesn’t cry easily, so when she came running to me in tears I knew it
had to be a hard hit. Her little friend was not concerned in the least that she
had harmed her. Even still, Hope defended her friend declaring that it was an
accident. When the pain eased, Hope went to play again, but puzzlingly her friend
wouldn’t speak to her. It was a painful thing to witness. Hope had done nothing
wrong. She didn’t deserve this treatment. For the next fifteen minutes, I
watched Hope chase after her friend (whom she adores) tearful and trying to talk
and play, but her friend wouldn’t even look at her. She kept running off…
Hope was distressed by this and I did the only thing I
could do. With her little hands in mine, I looked directly into her blue eyes and
assured her that she had done nothing
wrong. However, to my dismay, she cried, “But I feel like I did.”
Why does it always
feel this way when someone we love hurts us? Why do we assume that we’ve done
something to deserve it? Through my daughter’s upsetting experience, I am
reminded how cruel silence can be. How essential it is to not give our power to
others by demanding their love and approval. How do we get to the place where we
are confident in ourselves and not needy of affection? It’s a lifelong learning
curve, I suppose. When we find ourselves chasing after someone, we must stop
and remember that we have no idea why people suddenly close off their hearts.
The onus is left on us to examine why we are reacting so strongly to another’s
behaviour. To see how deep our attachments have become—sometimes so deep
that we forget to honour and respect ourselves.
As I kissed the crescent-shaped bruise on my daughter’s lower
back, I remembered how important it is to know when enough’s enough and to
walk away for the day. We headed home to the comfort of bath time, books, and
peanut butter toast with butter.
Bookstore/Café Yay!
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"Tribute" by Linda Johns, acrylic on paper
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Finding books in this manner gives me a lot of pleasure. The
fact that Hope loves reading as much as I do makes me exceedingly happy. The book I found is called Sharing a Robin’s Life. What an odd and fascinating book! It’s about a woman in Nova Scotia who has a
most unusual relationship with a robin that lives with her in her woodland home.
“Tribute” is a painting by the author, Linda Johns (it is included
as the frontispiece of the book). Enchanting work! There’s a short Life Network bio on Linda’s astonishing and eccentric life on YouTube, as well.
Oh! Hope’s treasured find was a Peanuts book. It’s a 1966 paperback edition in good condition. The
original price was 40 cents! It was marked $3.95, but I asked for a discount
and only ended up paying $2.00. Sharing a Robin’s Life was marked for $1.50, which is a steal in my opinion. Only $3.50 for two wonderful books! You can’t beat that.
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