See What Is
This photo of Dad and Mom is bitter-sweet. I wanted to
capture them in a flattering light. In truth, however, they smile infrequently
now. Many tears of sorrow and frustration have been shed. I think of my mother as
being in a type of cocoon. When she emerges at last—glittery and glorious—her
smile will be genuine and bright! It is heartbreaking to witness someone you
love suffering dreadfully. Yet, all too often, this is exactly what we are
expected to do.
I am deeply grateful to both my parents for their love,
courage, and hard work. They have given much—not only to support their large
family, but to the community through many years of volunteer work. Perhaps the
closest thing that conveys what we
truly are is touchingly expressed in the children’s book The Giving Tree—to give altruistically until we are physically no
more. For now, our gentleness and generosity toward each other, and all living
things, is vital. In fact, it may be all
that truly matters.
Show Up
Although this fiery autumn in Ontario has done its best to affect me, I
find myself somewhat immune to its urgings and in much need of reprieve. The
duality and duplicity of 2014 has wearied me. Also, Mercury is in
retrograde and that’s not good for anyone. Fact.
If things have taken on a dark and ominous slant, let me
encourage you with two things that garnered my attention today. The first is a
book that I came across called The Sense of Wonder by Rachel Carson (the author of Silent Spring). A spark for dying embers. She writes, “Those who
contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure
as long as life lasts.” Oh I hope so, Ms. Carson! Have you ever sadly pondered (to the point of panic) if your very essence is worthless? Then with perfect
timing from the cosmos encounter something that validates your heartfelt endeavours?
This intimate book with its natural photographs did that for me today. I love
it so much that I may just put it beneath my pillow tonight.
And lastly, a
rousing quotation by writer Isabel Allende posted by a local abstract artist that I admire:
“Show up, show up, show up, and after a while the muse shows up, too.” In other
words, don’t give up! Never give up. Keep doing what you love and have faith
that it’s right and good.
Simple Pleasures
shaking leaves transport me to the seaside
August insects make love in the tall grass
the high romance of flowers in bloom
sunlight dancing on water, leaves, and
in the highlights
of her red/gold hair
health restored after weeks of illness
a feeling of lightness and ease
knowing for certain that someone cares
Movie Night
I’ve been contemplating the role of the surrogate partner in the film The Sessions for weeks. Helen Hunt gives a compelling performance as a therapist that goes all the way with her clients out of
compassion, a desire to heal, and a self-declared love of sex. Poet Mark O’Brien, paralyzed after contracting polio as a child,
seeks a sex surrogate to make his dream of exploring his latent sexuality a
reality. The film is based on autobiographical writings by O’Brien. The Sessions is tastefully filmed, poignant,
and guaranteed to make you giggle. I would watch it again in a heartbeat.
This spring I devoured all things Jack Kerouac. It started with the movie On the Road. A film filled with strange moments of seemingly unlikely erotic encounters, drug use, and wild adventures. Or to sum it up nicely: sex, drugs, and jazz. Filmed with the eye of a photographer, On the Road is aesthetically striking. Director Walter Salles did a brilliant job of adapting Kerouac’s book to film. No small undertaking. The film brings believability and humanity to the characters that the book lacks. Actor Sam Riley’s gentle portrayal of Sal Paradise makes him endearing in a way that Kerouac’s writing never accomplishes. (I could fall in love with Sal. An open-minded, attractive French-Canadian writer? Umm... Yes!) Maybe it’s because the film doesn’t stay true to the book that it’s so successful. A point I’m sure hard-core Kerouac fans will find frustrating.
As for the other semi-fictional books that I’ve read by Kerouac (are any of his books true fiction?), my favourites are Big Sur and The Dharma Bums. The Subterraneans leaves one with much to ponder on the nature of men. The dreadful way protagonist Leo Percepied treats his romantic partner Mardou Fox is exasperating! I do appreciate Kerouac’s honesty in his writing. He leaves nothing out. You see how he ticks, which can be wildly unattractive, yet enthralling. Was Kerouac candid in his writing? Or was he merely taking his readers on a long, fantastic ride? Regrettably, we may never know for certain. Alcoholism killed Kerouac prematurely at the age of 47.
Love Liberates
“Love liberates. It doesn’t just hold—that’s ego. Love liberates. It doesn’t bind. Love says, ‘I love you. I love you if you’re in China. I love you if you’re across town. I love you if you’re in Harlem. I love you. I would like to be near you. I’d like to have your arms around me. I’d like to hear your voice in my ear. But that’s not possible now, so I love you. Go.’”
—Maya Angelou
Spring
It was fragrant and soft—the softest air I’d ever known
—and dark,
and mysterious, and buzzing.
—Jack Kerouac
Gratitude
Whatever it is,
I cannot understand it,
although gratitude
stubbornly overcomes me
until I’m reduced to tears.
—Saigyō
Chirpy & Longtail
For a while now, whenever I discover insects or spiders in
the house, I try to release them outdoors. I catch them in a little cardboard
jewellery box that has a lid. It’s surprising, but spiders will jump right into the box when you place it beneath them. Hope decorated the box with green
on the bottom (like grass) and blue on the inside of the lid (like the sky). Maybe
they think that they are free-falling into summer…
I do this because it doesn’t feel right killing things—even bugs, which can be bothersome and creepy. Keeping this in mind, it’s probably not that unusual that Hope’s first pet was a cricket. Or rather, nine crickets. Six of them didn’t make it past two weeks, but two females and a male lasted several months. Chirpy, the male, died earlier this week. We miss him. He sang soothingly (and sometimes piercingly!) all winter long. There is one remaining cricket left. Her name is Longtail. Yesterday, as a treat, we gave her apple slices and brought her tank out into the living room with us so that she wouldn’t be lonely.
Is it possible to love an insect? It’s easy to love cuddly animals like dogs, cats, and bunnies. But insects are different. They never get used to you. They are always skittish. I know it’s possible for the heart to stretch beyond its boundaries though. An expanded heart feels an interconnectedness with even the most unlikely things. Through this openness, intuitive communication and compassion arises.
I do this because it doesn’t feel right killing things—even bugs, which can be bothersome and creepy. Keeping this in mind, it’s probably not that unusual that Hope’s first pet was a cricket. Or rather, nine crickets. Six of them didn’t make it past two weeks, but two females and a male lasted several months. Chirpy, the male, died earlier this week. We miss him. He sang soothingly (and sometimes piercingly!) all winter long. There is one remaining cricket left. Her name is Longtail. Yesterday, as a treat, we gave her apple slices and brought her tank out into the living room with us so that she wouldn’t be lonely.
Is it possible to love an insect? It’s easy to love cuddly animals like dogs, cats, and bunnies. But insects are different. They never get used to you. They are always skittish. I know it’s possible for the heart to stretch beyond its boundaries though. An expanded heart feels an interconnectedness with even the most unlikely things. Through this openness, intuitive communication and compassion arises.
Winter Is Blue
Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself (there’s still a week
to go until spring), but I think I’m going to make it this winter. I hope, dear
reader, you have fared better than me; but if you have not, fear not. Spring
is on its way! I went for a long walk in the woods today (one of the only
places that makes sense to me these days) and it was so delightful. Early
spring cannot be adequately shared in words or photos—it’s about the music of
it all. The dripping, trickling, rushing sounds of snow melting. The slightly
unnerving sound of tall and bare deciduous trees as they move against each
other in the wind. The rustle of pale gold beech leaves that just can’t bear to let
go of their branches. The melodious calls of winter birds that seem just as psyched
that spring is on its way. And the tap, tap, tapping of small woodpeckers that
are eager to snap up all the drowsy, sunbathing insects that emerge on these
warmer days. I love it all.
As I edited the photos from my walk today, I realized with regret that none of them capture what I’m talking about here. They all look wintery and show no signs of spring. Nonetheless, the sky, clouds, and landscape looked beautiful to me. As for all the other things mentioned, you will just have to trust me.
Hopeful Signs
Before you get all weirded out by the little dots on this
leaf, it’s useful to know that they are filled with refreshing lemon scent. All
you need to do is crush the leaves to release it. This plant is in my kitchen
window and its leaves look hopeful to me as temperatures here have been about
-20°C all week.
Something exciting happened yesterday morning. I drove through a rainbow. (Let that sink in for a moment.) It was around 8:30 a.m. and sunlight was refracting on ice crystals in the frigid air creating a sundog in the street where I was driving. Amazing! I drove around the block three times to experience it again and again. It’s like chasing fog though, as soon as you get close to it, it gets fainter. Still, as I got up close, I could actually see the light hitting the ice crystals causing them to sparkle and act as mini prisms. One of the benefits of extreme cold temperatures (in case you couldn’t think of one) and a magical way to start the day! As an added bonus, when I was coming home from my volunteer job today, Hope and I spotted another sundog (in the sky this time). Rainbows are definitely a good sign. What could it mean?
Something exciting happened yesterday morning. I drove through a rainbow. (Let that sink in for a moment.) It was around 8:30 a.m. and sunlight was refracting on ice crystals in the frigid air creating a sundog in the street where I was driving. Amazing! I drove around the block three times to experience it again and again. It’s like chasing fog though, as soon as you get close to it, it gets fainter. Still, as I got up close, I could actually see the light hitting the ice crystals causing them to sparkle and act as mini prisms. One of the benefits of extreme cold temperatures (in case you couldn’t think of one) and a magical way to start the day! As an added bonus, when I was coming home from my volunteer job today, Hope and I spotted another sundog (in the sky this time). Rainbows are definitely a good sign. What could it mean?
All in a Dream
Massey Hall is a magical place. I
saw Neil Young perform last night for an imperative cause. My cheeks were in
high colour and I kept feeling like I was going to cry. Why? Because I love him
and I can’t stand the thought of losing him.
Neil Young is an amazing man. Musician (guitarist, pianist, organist, harp player, etc.), performer, writer, inventor, environmental activist… The list goes on. Genius might be the right word. I adore him. Am I making that clear?
What a night! The audience was energized and receptive. If you have the CD Live at Massey Hall 1971, you might get the idea of what it was like to be there with Neil in 2014. Highlights for me were hearing “On the Way Home” and “Helpless” back-to-back, “Old Man,” “A Man Needs a Maid,” “Ohio,” and “Heart of [freaking] Gold”!!
The evening ended with the perfect encore: “Comes a
Time” (one of the only Neil Young songs that I can play comfortably on the
uke) and “Long May You Run”(I love the little nod to the Beach Boys in
that song: “Caroline, No”). I realize that I’m practically naming the entire
set list. Truly though, I loved it all. What a treat! Whenever I think of
complaining about anything for the next while I’m going to remember that I saw
Neil Young at Massey Hall and know that dreams really do come true. The song
that’s in my mind this morning though is “After the Gold Rush.” Neil revised
the lyrics last night to “Look at Mother Nature on the run / in the 21st century.” With the tar sands issue in Alberta and recent
talk of recruiting astronauts for a mission to Mars, the song seems chillingly premonitory.
Because I didn’t get to sleep until after 2:00 a.m. last night (I was too wired!), I briefly considered driving my daughter to school this morning. Remembering the message last night though, we bundled up and walked instead with the sun in our eyes, crunching ice underfoot, and beautiful music in my mind.
“All in a dream, all in a dream / the loading had begun / They were flying Mother Nature’s silver seed / to a new home in the sun.”
Neil Young is an amazing man. Musician (guitarist, pianist, organist, harp player, etc.), performer, writer, inventor, environmental activist… The list goes on. Genius might be the right word. I adore him. Am I making that clear?
What a night! The audience was energized and receptive. If you have the CD Live at Massey Hall 1971, you might get the idea of what it was like to be there with Neil in 2014. Highlights for me were hearing “On the Way Home” and “Helpless” back-to-back, “Old Man,” “A Man Needs a Maid,” “Ohio,” and “Heart of [freaking] Gold”!!
Because I didn’t get to sleep until after 2:00 a.m. last night (I was too wired!), I briefly considered driving my daughter to school this morning. Remembering the message last night though, we bundled up and walked instead with the sun in our eyes, crunching ice underfoot, and beautiful music in my mind.
“All in a dream, all in a dream / the loading had begun / They were flying Mother Nature’s silver seed / to a new home in the sun.”
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