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Weekly Photo Challenge: Inside
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Weekly Photo Challenge: Perspective
Dribble castles, only inches tall
“Photos aren’t objective – they show what we want them to show.” Concepts aren’t objective: they reflect our thinking. Delusions aren’t objective. Our thinking is only our thinking. It is never the whole Truth. Like castles in the sand, permanence is delusion, size is delusion. Shifting perspective is the dance of the cosmos. (see this illustration of the Scale of the Universe) “Solid stone is just sand and water, baby/sand and water and a million years gone by.” (Beth Nielson Chapman – in a song she wrote for her late husband; click here to listen) Listening now, I wonder: what is ‘alone’? What is ‘death’? Listening beyond the end of the song, I hear a cardinal singing outside. I am not alone, and life is all around. That’s what I really want to show.
Weekly Photo Challenge: Threes
This week’s photo challenge is about a grouping of perspectives: the big picture, a relationship, and a detail. I like the idea of shifting points of focus because awareness and depth probably can’t be captured at first glance in any circumstance. Perhaps the way you approach a scene can tell you a lot about yourself. When you go to a party and walk in the door, what grabs your attention first? Do you look at the big picture – how the place is laid out, how crowded it is, what music is playing, what food fragrances are in the air – and get a feeling about it all at once? Do you look for people you know and zero in on them? Are you drawn to particular objects and familiar or quirky things about the decor? If you find yourself spending time exclusively on one aspect, do you want to challenge yourself to turn to the others to see what you might be missing? It might be an exercise in awareness worth looking into. Here is a grouping of shots from my second year hosting the Wiencek family Thanksgiving:
Planet Love
The Bardo Group, which mercifully counts me as a contributing writer and core team member, has invited its visitors to share Valentine’s Day posts in celebration of our love for this awe-inspiring planet. Planet Love has been on my mind for a week now; I’ve scribbled phrases and ideas on scraps of paper at work and engaged in ardent discussions with Steve about it, but until now I haven’t had time to sit down and write. “You don’t have time for the planet!” Steve jokes.
Au contraire. I AM the planet.
I have been thinking about the nature of my Planet Love. It starts with the obvious. Duh! I depend on the planet. I need it desperately – the water, the air, the energy from edible sunshine. Without it, I would die! My survival depends on this environment that birthed me and sustains me every breathing minute. I am an infant, perhaps a parasite, a needy lover hopelessly driven by biology into the thrall of her. She is my EVERYTHING!
But my ego shrinks from this debasing posture. I would much rather be the poetic admirer, the worshipful devotee who praises her and charms her, caressing her with ardent words of love. I would describe her in vivid, pleasurable detail. My senses delight in her. I rub against her textures: sand beneath my feet, bark under my fingertips, meadow grass against my back. I inhale her fragrance: sea air and pine and sulfurous volcano. I taste her bounty and drink in her landscapes, satisfied and still wanting more. I strain toward the whisper of her winds and dance to the rhythm of her tides. Her specific excitements are too numerous and various to be composed. She is more vast than my words. The vaulted roof of the cosmos lifts away, and I am exposed.
Suddenly, I realize that the cosmos is not only endless, it is edgeless. There is no ‘It’ and no ‘Not It’. It is integrated. And here I am. Not ‘I’, not ‘It’. WE. We are. The planet, the cosmos, and me – together. We are. What kind of love is this, without borders? Without egos? Is this perfect love? Perfect love casts out fear. I am not afraid, not of death, not of survival. But I know suffering. We suffer. We suffer desecration. Everywhere the planet is fouled, I am wounded. I am sad. I feel a lover’s pain. I stand with her in this pain and take my vows. We are one. We must be at one. At-one. Atone. Heal. Integrate. Become whole. Forgive my ignorance. Forgive my ego. Forgive my parasitic need. I will love without borders. My life, my time, my energy is cosmos – and I will remember that.
© 2014, essay and photographs, Priscilla Galasso, All rights reserved
Weekly Photo Challenge: Treasure
Treasure: pirate’s booty, artifacts from an ancient tomb, shiny objects stashed in your nest, things you collect and wrap carefully.
I do not think of myself as a materialistic person because I don’t like shopping and buying, but I do have a collection of stuff that I have found or been given. These semi-precious items are housed in special places like shelves, curio cabinets, and glass-fronted cupboards in my home. It’s rather like a museum, which is perfectly appropriate to my interests and personality. (I work at 2 museums.) When I think of my collecting behavior, it probably started with rocks and “glassies” (beach glass) as a kid. As an adult, I collected eggs…a symbol of the Trinity, of life, and nature to me. Now, most of my egg collection is in storage, and I have begun accumulating elephants (mostly from Steve’s Aunt Rosie, who, having a habit as a flea market addict and having identified my taste, seems to present me with additions every time I see her!). Elephants are a symbol of matriarchal wisdom and compassion to me. My first beloved stuffed animal was Babar. I treasure the idea of elephants in the wild and feel great pain at their destruction. I would like to see some in their natural habitat some day.
But there is something that I collect and value even more, I think. I keep them close to me in places where I see them every day: on my computer screen, on my phone screen, on my living room shelves and in great boxes under my bed. They are photographs of my family. I’m guessing this is something that most people on the planet treasure…maybe hidden in a chest, tucked into a scrap of cloth, hanging on a chipping plaster wall or stashed in a suitcase in less technologically developed cultures. In fact, in our “museum inventory”, we have quite a few photographs of complete strangers, gleaned from estates sales – black and white faces in various poses, symbols of human connection. One day I’d like to give them new life in some art form so they might be treasured once again.
Weekly Photo Challenge: Selfie
My sister’s 365-day photo project for her 50th year was all about the selfie. She has a remote device on her camera to make that easier. Her project inspired me to blog, but I am far too shy to face images of myself every day. I do, however, have a couple:
Touch
It seems I can’t really justify a selfie, unless I’m in costume, with another person, or in the shot by accident. Then there’s that other one: I’m hiking, facing the sun, and really happy being myself. I took a picture to remind myself that I like me, which is not something I allow myself very often. Befriending myself for an entire year is something I have yet to work up to. Maybe next birthday…
Weekly Photo Challenge: Object
I met in the street a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, his cloak was out at the elbows, the water passed through his shoes, – and the stars through his soul. – Victor Hugo
Never criticize a man until you’ve walked a mile in his moccasins. – Native American proverb
The shoe that fits one person pinches another; there is no recipe for living that suits all cases. –Carl Jung
What spirit is so empty and blind, that it cannot recognize the fact that the foot is more noble than the shoe, and skin more beautiful than the garment with which it is clothed? – Michelangelo Buonaroti
Back in the days when I was keeping up a profile on OK Cupid, I was prompted to write about my favorite pair of shoes. I imagine the flirtatious fetishists out there were just salivating at the possibilities. I didn’t have to contemplate long before I realized that the footwear that best housed my feet and characterized my soul was my 30 year-old, steel-toed, suede waffle stompers. They had outlasted even my husband by that time. I got them in High School and wore them in on a trip with the Sierra Club. I still have them. They still fit, although I don’t wear them any more. I purchased new hiking boots a couple of years ago, before I went on a 4 week road trip with Steve. They are lighter and more comfortable even then my venerable pair. For a person who hates shopping for clothes or shoes or anything else besides food, the thrill of buying them was unexpected. I’d finally had a Female Consumer Moment!
(I don’t plan to have any more…please stop sending advertisements.)
Around the World in 24 Hours
Milwaukee can be a rather uninspiring place in the dead of winter. Not that the light, feathery, cotton candy snow that piled up overnight wasn’t beautiful. As we walked to the breakfast cafe to meet Steve’s mother, we came up with an alphabetical list of adjectives for this particular day’s precipitation. I don’t want to complain about the temperature hovering around zero degrees Fahrenheit, although it is a favorite local custom. There are much better ways to engage the imagination, and I live in a house which reminds me of this every day.
Scholar & Poet Books is the name of our other roommate. The drafty, old duplex we share rises over 4 levels: basement, first floor, second floor, and attic. She occupies every level and every staircase. She completely fills “my” closet while some of my clothes have languished in suitcases under the bed for 3 years. I am learning to appreciate her presence instead of begrudging her seeming dominance. In fact, I think I am coming around to choosing her company.
After Sunday breakfast with Mom, we returned to her, eager to taste her bounty. Samplings for the day included Irish, French, Argentine, Tibetan and Yiddish. She expands our consciousness, delights our senses and supports our livelihood and our dreams. Her body is an amalgam of tens of thousands of books and CDs with a few hundred other artifacts thrown in. She is library, concert hall and museum. She is introvert heaven.
We started by reading aloud a poem by W. B. Yeats, “A Prayer for My Daughter”, the howling North Atlantic wind of the Irish verses being matched by the Wisconsin bluster that rattled our windows. After delving a bit into Yeats’ biography, Steve then began his daily business of listing our friend’s appendages for sale while I went downstairs to do the dishes and make bread. After lunch, while the loaves baked, we began to discuss our plans to travel to Tibet. Internet research prompted a search through our stacks to find more information on that side of the planet. Steve came down with 6 books of varying relevance. When the bread was safely out of the oven, we went upstairs to watch a DVD, Manon of the Spring, having watched Jean de Florette just weeks before. This emotional tale of French village life transported us visually and linguistically to another world in a simpler century. I tried, unsuccessfully, to pick out the movie’s musical theme on my harmonica before returning to the kitchen to make dinner.
When we’d finished our meal and our wine, we retired to the bedroom to peruse the wall of jewel cases. We settled on a CD of Argentinian folk songs and dances by Suni Paz. In contrast to the Irish ballads we lit upon at first, these undulating rhythms drew us deeper into the sultry passions beneath our awakened senses…
Fueled by a solid Monday morning breakfast, we dove into the business of packaging our sales, accompanied by Moishe Oysher singing Yiddish, bluesy, vaudeville, Hollywood-like tunes. I have no idea what they were about, but his passages of improvised “scatting” made me think of Tevye stomping and shaking around in his barn, pouring out his desires to be a rich man. One of the books we packaged was sent to a Jewish community center in New York; it was a children’s book called Klutzy Boy. It made me laugh.
The anthem of my Alma Mater, Scripps College, starts: “Strong in the strength of all, venturing together, searching, exploring the life of the mind…” In the midst of a Milwaukee winter, this is the antidote to cabin fever. I’m grateful to be shacking up with Scholar & Poet Books.
(author’s note: to browse our inventory listed on A.B.E. Books, click HERE. To visit our eBay Store, click HERE.)
© 2014, essay and photographs, Priscilla Galasso, All rights reserved
Weekly Photo Challenge: Juxtaposition
I love this word: Juxtaposition. I remember that my sister had an art book by this title when we were in High School. It held a special intrigue (maybe also because it contained nudity?). Contrasts are not the same as conflicts. There is a certain harmony or peace about them, like the yin/yang. I like that.
The “veil-ociraptor” on the wedding cake topper represents my daughter Susan, who is celebrating her 29th birthday today. Appropriately, The Bardo Group posted an essay of mine on the subject of “Joy” today as well. I invite you to read it here. Joy in the midst of suffering is the juxtaposition of real lives, I think.
Wordless Wednesday
scillagrace 