Close Calls

A black bear and her cubs dart in front of our car as we travel 80 kilometres per hour down the road. Mama and one cub make it to the woods on the other side. Frightened by our fast approach, two other cubs turn back hurriedly from the road. Will they later make a safe crossing and be reunited? I warn oncoming cars by flashing my high beams. I keep going.

At the cottage I take wood from the woodpile and return to the fire pit. Then, there is a thundering crash as though the woodpile has toppled, Jenga style. “What was that?!” you rush over and say. Heading back, we discover a 100 pound tree limb that has fallen directly over the spot where I had—only a moment before—been innocently gathering wood.

We’re driving home and my headlights do a poor job of lighting the darkened road. We’re listening to “Carmina Burana: Introduction” from The Doors soundtrack. There’s something on the road. I swerve to avoid a large raccoon “sleeping” in my lane. I’m grateful that my last words on earth won’t be, “Oh crap!” (This story will be re-enacted with growing enthusiasm well past bedtime and remembered again first thing in the morning. No doubt to be relayed animatedly during sharing time at school.)

You should know that at yoga last Thursday I selected an angel card from a crystal bowl that said, “Angel Michael blesses you with safety.” With all of these close calls yesterday I seriously have to wonder.

Oh, and I found this impressive mushroom that I think might be the psychoactive Amanita muscaria. Which is funny because while I was photographing it I was thinking of that caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland atop a giant mushroom puffing on a hookah encouraging Alice to eat it...

Not a Soul in Sight

Little Gifts

When I held her close, I could feel her heartbeat. 

Her hair smelled of wildflowers and moss.

If Only...

Love You

Winter Is Blue

“Winter is probably going to kill me one of these years.” I wrote these words in an e-mail recently. My friend had written to say that he was feeling blue and I was trying to let him know that he wasn’t alone in his misery. On reflection, my phrasing shocked me in its violence and sincerity. I’ve come to the realization that if I had hibernated every winter since I was 11 years old, I would have saved myself every major emotional trauma that I have ever suffered. From being bullied, fired, and significant break-ups, to discovering that my unborn child had a congenital heart defect that required major heart surgery, winter has fucked me at every turn. If only I were a bear, bat, or bumblebee!

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. 

What Does Your Heart Say?

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:

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.

Free Spirit Spheres, Qualicum Beach, Vancouver Island

Treebones Resort, Big Sur, California

TreeHouse People (Takashi Kobayashi), Hokkaido, Japan

Mahinui Na Lani, on the Big Island of Hawaii
Tree house cedar hot tub ♡

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

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.

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 ~

Girls Rock!

“Chippy Heads West” by Hope Arden, Plasticine

Hope & Chippy

"And Now We Rise"

"Silver Morning"

"Still Be There"

“Split a piece of wood; I am here. 

Lift up the stone, and you will find me there.” 

~ Gospel of Thomas

“She Fled Him” by Gennifer Ciavarra, pen, ink, watercolour, and crayon on paper

There are unknown forces within nature; when we 
give ourselves wholly to her, without reserve, 
she leads them to us; she shows us those forms 
which our watching eyes do not see, which our 
intelligence does not understand or suspect.

~ Auguste Rodin

Positive Change

I’ve been encountering a lot of butterflies, hearts, and snakes recently, 

which symbolizes positive change, love, healing, and transformation. 

Nature speaks to us if we are listening...

I'm Still Learning

So I’ve been pondering my desire to get away from it all. My yearning to live on a remote beach has reached a fever pitch. I talk about it to anyone that will listen. My sister-in-law and I send images of Kauai and New Zealand to each other in enthusiastic e-mail messages. Images of pristine beaches and breath-taking ocean views with not a living soul in sight.

Photo: Graeme Huntr

After walking the shore of a local (lake) beach recently, I was overwhelmed by the crowds and the amount of carelessly discarded garbage—plastic bags, water bottles, coffee cup lids. I wondered, would it be different anywhere else?

What I think it boils down to is resistance to the way things are. Many of us find ourselves in an environment of strip malls, dollar stores, Tim Hortons, and Starbucks. It’s a sea of ugliness. Ranting about it and loathing it is futile though and it only brings negativity to our lives and to those we interact with. We are not at peace.

Sometimes things have to get really bad before they get better. Maybe things are exactly as they need to be for us to wake up spiritually. To remember who and what we truly are. To feel without ceasing the life energy that animates and interconnects us with every living thing on this planet and beyond.

Although it’s true that we can’t get rid of our thoughts/feelings, we can observe them with compassion. Our thoughts and feelings are not who we are. They are like any other function our amazing bodies perform. Just as the lungs breathe and the heart beats, the brain thinks and we feel things according to how we interpret those thoughts. Is this reality? Or are we each creating a world in our own minds?

Perhaps for the first time in my life, my desire to see through this collective illusion is stronger than my despair over the destruction of our planet. With a hopeful heart, I seek the Truth of our existence beyond conventional reason.

Merely looking at the world

around us is immensely different

from seeing it.

~ Frederick Franck

Mystery

Found this little treasure in our garden last night. It’s a vitamin-sized leaf capsule created by an insect. Leaves have been carefully cut and fashioned into a tiny tube. I can only assume it holds an egg. Would love to know what this is! So amazing!!

*Post Update: It’s a leafcutter bee capsule!