We do not retreat from reality, we rediscover it. As long as the story lingers in our mind, the real things are more themselves… By dipping them in myth we see them more clearly. — C. S. Lewis
How do you prefer to take in and process new information about the world? Do you seek out facts, stories, or experiences? Probably you find yourself using a combination of these avenues into reality. And then, perhaps, you find a quiet place to sort through them.
I know a place where no one ever goes;
There’s peace and quiet, beauty and repose.
It’s hidden in a valley, beside a mountain stream,
And lying there beside the stream, I find that I can dream
Only of things of beauty to the eye:
snow-peaked mountains tow’ring to the sky.
Now I know that God has made this place for me.
— a song I learned at Girl Scout camp long ago
My brother was grilling on the back porch last night. While the aroma of smoke penetrated my thoughts, my daughter’s boyfriend asked me, “When was the last time you were camping?”
Two years ago.
I miss that kind of hideaway opportunity. The simple reality of sky, water, earth, and fire helps me see all the storylines that I have crafted about life in a much clearer light. What is essential floats to the surface and becomes like the reflection of heaven. What is clunky and artificial sinks like dead weight in the silt bottom.
We are looking for happiness and running after it in such a way that creates anger, fear and discrimination. So when you attend a retreat, you have a chance to look at the deep roots of this pollution of the collective energy that is unwholesome. — Thich Nhat Hahn
Retreats, hideaways, sanctuaries — safe places for reflection, introspection, and soul work — are important to cultivate. They can be far away, across oceans of distance or as close as the inside of your own eyelids.
This post is dedicated to the men of the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Corvallis, who are on retreat this weekend. Take care of yourselves, friends. From the inside out.
Adult Coming of Age is a Unitarian Universalist program designed to help each participant examine who they are at this unique moment in time, look back at the people and events that have shaped them in meaningful ways, and clarify the values, priorities, sacrifices, and gifts that will shape this season of life.
As spiritual beings evolving in a physical world, we are never done becoming who we mean to be, and the Coming of Age program for adults honors that at every age, we are crossing thresholds, seeking clarity, and held by circles of support.
My first homework assignment in the class is to create and share some kind of art that demonstrates my reflection on this question: “What animal are you at this stage of your adult life?”
Early in my blogging life, in 2011, I created a post about my favorite animal. Since blogging, photography, and poetry are my creative expressions, I decided to blend them in a tribute to the animal who has inspired me throughout my life and especially at this stage.
“Nature’s great masterpeece…the only harmlesse great thing.” – John Donne
Elephants may well be my icon of choice for ancient grace. I’ve felt an affinity for them since childhood. I slept with a plush, stuffed Babar for years. He had a tattered felt crown that was especially soft against my cheek. I loved him until he literally fell apart, and then I bought a stuffed “lelepani” at the Mauna Kea Beach Hotel when I was ten. My wicker laundry hamper was even shaped like an elephant. But my favorite childhood elephant was a real one, named Bobo, who lived at the Lincoln Park zoo. I met him while he was still a baby in the zoo nursery. I could pet him right over the little wall of his enclosure, and I visited him frequently after my Art Institute class on Saturday mornings. My father snapped this photo.
Bobo moved to the big elephant house in 1974, while I was away at Girl Scout camp, and my mother sent me newspaper clippings of the event.
I’ve been reading about elephants more in depth since then. I’ve always been in awe of their intelligence and social sensibility. The way that they communicate and support each other has been documented extensively. They mourn their dead and protect each other. Both female groups and bulls maintain social ties with others of their sex. The female herds accept the leadership of a matriarch, who is grandmother, aunt, or mother of the others, and she decides when and where the herd moves on a daily and seasonal basis. These are the warm, fuzzy facts about elephants. In a book called Elephant Destiny: Biography of an Endangered Species in Africa by Martin Meredith, I read the painful and horrid facts about their history as a species. Their systematic decimation from Roman times to the present is a shocking example of human brutality. In articles in National Geographic and Smithsonian you can read about the ongoing war with poachers who trespass on national park land for the opportunity to sell tusks on the black market. Armed with semi-automatic weapons and axes to hack the ivory from the animal’s skull, they leave behind a devastating scene of carnage that the rest of the herd internalizes, exhibiting increasing fear and mournfulness.
At this stage in my life, I feel kinship with elephant matriarchs. Remarkably, elephants continue to grow physically throughout their lifetimes. Raising a family, grieving deaths, and seeking scarce resources while avoiding the dangers of human predators resonates with my lived experience as a human mother. I aspire to be a wise, evolving matriarch.
The Matriarch – by Priscilla Galasso
Great, gray folds surround a wet eye fringed with Long, dusty lashes not yet moistened by her tears.
She sways ponderously, rhythmically swinging her sensitive, seeking trunk.
Her huge head, heavy with memories and maps Surges forward with each tremendous tiptoe.
Surrounded by sisters and children, She journeys through perilous wilderness, Ever growing, ever onward, Ever mindful of the needs of her kin.
I have an extensive collection of elephantalia, gifts and heirlooms I have acquired over the years. One day, I would love to be able to photograph an elephant in the wild.
We met in High School. He was 17; I was 15. He was my first love and the love of my life. All of the songs about first love come to mind: the awakening, the thrill, the thought that no one could ever have felt this powerfully in love before…and yet, of course, so many have. The absolute certainty that this is THE ONE!! We were so young, so hormonal, so smitten, so carefree.
photo by my brother, Dave
I was 21 when we married. I was 22 when we had our first child…28 when we had our fourth and last.
It was only a few months after I took this photo that my husband had his first heart surgery. He was 31. I am so grateful that we had more time to raise our family, to grow up together, to become strong and passionate and faithful.
We got 16 more years. When he died, he was 47 and I was 45.
And now, I’ve been without him for more than 17 years. Those are the numbers, the chronology. But ‘saudade’ is about the feeling. It is about the tapestry of visual memories, of the sound of his glorious tenor voice in song, of feelings I cannot imagine ever having again, of the trust I gave him and the identity I built around him. All of these things I miss. I will feel forever nostalgic, forever bereft, and forever grateful for knowing him. I long for my husband with all that I am, physically, mentally, spiritually. And he is out of reach, yet somehow always accessible inside. Perhaps this is what this foreign word translates to in my own life.
I thank Egidio for introducing me to this word and for the opportunity to introduce Jim to all of you. May you enjoy your longing as something that helps you know that you love.
Lens-Artists are starting a periodic series of retrospective challenges. This week, Ann-Christine is reaching back to revisit “Creativity”. Click HERE to view my original post on that theme.
So, once again, creativity inspires more creativity, like a series of mirrors.
I can’t say that I’m a painter, except that last month I helped paint the interior of a preschool. I used a roller and a 4-inch brush. I did exactly as I was told, with very little creativity.
Sometimes I will try hard to do a craft. Again, I follow directions and try to copy the example. The results are routinely unremarkable.
I am more adventurous with music and dance and often improvise. I love the freedom of expression I’ve gained after decades of practice and years of aging to the point of no longer trying to impress. Maybe that’s something the very young, the very old, and the very confident can get away with.
Once upon a time, I gave dinner parties. I’ve never been a good cook, but I can follow a recipe. What I really enjoyed as a creative exercise was setting the stage!
My daughter Susan is a very good artist. She took me to an open studio bar once for a Mother’s Day gift. We had a blast, and I got to keep all the art.
At a healthy, creative restaurant and store in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, I came across this re-purposed cigarette vending machine that was selling original artwork the size of a pack of cigarettes. I’d never seen anything like it before or since.
No one creates in a vacuum. We are all influenced, we all use shared resources. We are co-creators or collaborators, really. I’m most proud of the contribution I made to creating four wonderful human beings. They are all stunning, vibrant, living works of art. I’m proud of the work I do each day to try to create meaning. I’ve scrapped much of that work, but I keep at it. The exhibit that is my Life is a work in progress. I’m grateful for the opportunity to engage in the process that Einstein called “intelligence having fun”.
“To see a world in a grain of sand And a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour…” – from Auguries of Innocence by William Blake
Calypso bulbosa, or Fairy Slipper orchid
Wildflowers are beginning to bloom in Oregon. When I first discovered that there are species of orchids native to this area, I was delighted and astonished. I felt privileged to live in a place that contained such exotic beauty!
Trillium
“…The wild deer wandering here and there Keeps the human soul from care…” – more of Auguries
The wild life that is natural, undominated or shaped by humans, is what keeps me sane these days in a world that is often wild in another way – unrestrained and violent. I have been fortunate enough to have visited wilderness areas around the country, and I contribute to protecting them. The portion of my blog dedicated to those stories and photos can be found HERE. I find the wisdom of the Wild to be one of the best teachers. Those Spiritual Lessons from Nature can be found HERE on my blog. If you care to explore those links, I would be honored, dear Reader. In the meantime, I’ve been given permission to post five more images on this Challenge, so here are some of my Wild favorites.
Wild Geese by Mary Oliver You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things.
Thanks to Egidio for this worthy challenge that has inspired the sharing of so many beautiful images! Please visit his post HERE.
“If you can’t fly then run, if you can’t run then walk, if you can’t walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.
There’s something incredibly bold about a toddler. If you’ve ever seen the pure joy on a youngster’s face when they’re beginning to walk, it might surprise you. They’ve fallen down a million times, but still the prospect of being upright and moving forward is so compelling that they are happy to try again. Maybe it’s the exhilaration of satisfying a primal urge; maybe it’s the encouraging smiles and excitement from a care-giver. Being able to do what the grown-ups (or slightly more grown up) are doing is a huge accomplishment, and it is so thrilling to know you belong. With the proper footwear, you feel invincible. Mud puddles aren’t hazards, they’re opportunities.
“Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Perhaps there’s an element of play in boldness as well, a courageous experimenting. Toddlers who are given permission to play boldly learn quickly. As we get older, we’re expected to mitigate risks, be more efficient, fail less. I feel the constraint in my body. Perhaps I will strap on my bright green boots of invincibility today and stride out on muddy paths to stomp in some puddles. There are mountains to climb, hard rocky roads to traverse, wrongs to be set right.
Thanks to Sofia for this challenge: a worthy theme to ponder. Do visit her site for more inspiring, bold images.
“Ring the bells that still can ring Forget your perfect offering There is a crack, a crack in everything That’s how the light gets in” – Leonard Cohen, Anthem
“The perfect is the enemy of the good.” – Italian proverb
“We asked for signs The signs were sent The birth betrayed The marriage spent Yeah, and the widowhood Of every government Signs for all to see
I can’t run no more With that lawless crowd While the killers in high places Say their prayers out loud But they’ve summoned, they’ve summoned up A thundercloud They’re going to hear from me” – Anthem, cont’d
My country is suffering and divided. There is a crack, deep and wide, in our governing system. So many people have forgotten the good that was intended by the democracy we tried to create. It is terrifying to contemplate a future with an aspiring dictator. I’m hoping that our vote next week is a bell that can still ring for justice, for freedom, for government of the people, by the people, for the people.
There is a Japanese art called “kintsugi” where broken pottery is mended with gold, filling the cracks, drawing the pieces back together. Its spiritual significance is that if we choose to embrace our struggles and repair ourselves with the precious metal of love, we can become more beautiful for having been broken. My friend uses this idea in her garden, where she mends broken glass with small, colorful chips. Her garden is a riot of colors – dahlias, vegetables, and ornaments. Many of her decorations have become cracked and worn over time, left to the elements.
I spent this last week at my friend’s house, caring for her dog Bodhi, while she traveled.
Bodhi is an older rescue dog. She has only one eye, with a cataract. She doesn’t hear very well, and she is currently battling bladder stones. She becomes very anxious when she is left alone. Even with these imperfections, she is a sweet presence of love, always wanting to be beside me, stretched out in the sunlight on the warm carpet, and even more thrilled when she is allowed to jump onto the bed with me.
All week long, I have been thinking of the lyrics of Cohen’s Anthem. I have been thinking of “The Gifts of Imperfection” (a book by Brené Brown); I have been pondering the state of the Union. I have been willfully ringing the bells that still sound in my community: justice, equity, transformation, pluralism, interdependence, and generosity. And I have been trying to pour Love into every crack, every heart, every word, every action I engage with. I do this with faith that the Light will pour in.
May it be so! Thank you, Ritva, for this beautiful inspiration!
“She would only point out the salvation that was latent in his own soul, and in the soul of every man. Only connect! That was her whole sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer. Only connect, and the beast and the monk, robbed of the isolation that is life to either, will die.” – E.M. Forster, Howard’s End
My mother, a Radcliffe English major, used to quote Forster often. “Only connect!” she’d say, referring to a variety of ways that she’d joined thoughts and anecdotes and facts and trivia. I was mystified by this reference for a long time. I wrote a poem about her once, comparing this practice with my visual memory of her pairing up socks while sorting laundry. Helpfully, a Google search has led me to a new interpretation of that quote. The connection of prose and poetry, of head and heart, of physical, sexual, spiritual and intellectual energy alluded to in Forster’s novel reminds me of the theme in the 1927 film Metropolis – the intersection of industry and humanity.
I searched my recent photos to find illustrations of this concept. I quickly realized that I’d set my aspirations pretty high. I’m reaching for artistic expression that mirrors sweeping novels and ground-breaking cinema in my amateur snapshots! Well, let’s embrace that absurdity. Why not?
I finally came across a display of Love Locks on this pier on the Mississippi River in New Orleans. Here’s an AI generated summary of this cultural phenomenon (nodding to John’s challenge of last week): “Love locks, or padlocks of love, are a way for couples to symbolize their love by attaching them to a public fixture, such as a bridge, fence, or statue. The locks are often engraved with the couple’s names or initials, and sometimes the date, and the key is thrown away to symbolize their unbreakable bond. The tradition is thought to have originated in Serbia over a century ago when a young woman named Nada died of heartbreak after her lover was unfaithful. Inspired by her tragedy, local women began attaching padlocks to bridges with their names and those of their loved ones. The poet Desanka Maksimović later memorialized the story in a poem that helped spread the practice around the world. Today, love locks can be found in many cities: Paris, Cologne, Malta, Mount Huangshan.”
How do you anchor passion and hope? How do you create loving connection that endures in this technological age?
I find a precious connection in this moment between my sister and my son-in-love. It depicts two different generations connecting face to face, while his cell phone is idling in his hand.
This modern world can be overwhelmingly distorted and fragmented, filled with hard angles that force our soft bodies into tight spaces. How do we live in connection with all this, in right relationships where we are good for and good with the world around us?
Donna at Wind Kisses initiated this wonderful online connection between us Lens-Artists. Do go visit her post HERE for beautifully illustrated and intricate connections in Italy, Greece, and Turkey.
“For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn.” – a six-word story attributed to Ernest Hemingway.
Actually, the shoes in the photo above were worn, by my son. Then for years and years they hung from the rear-view mirror of my late husband’s car, until they became quite faded and dry. Now they reside in the Welsh dresser left to me by my grandmother.
“Josh lassos the sun for Daena.” – ala Jimmy Stewart in Frank Capra’s It’s A Wonderful Life.
“Life itself is the most wonderful fairy tale.” – Hans Christian Andersen
“Tell me the facts and I’ll learn. Tell me the truth and I’ll believe. But tell me a story and it will live in my heart forever.” – Native American Proverb
How marvelous to embrace the photographer’s role as storyteller with this week’s Lens-Artists challenge! I’m grateful to Ann-Christine for suggesting it and posting marvelous examples on her site. Click HERE to visit and learn how to participate.
“Careful the tale you tell, that is the spell. Children will listen…” – Stephen Sondheim (died November 26, 2021, aged 91)
(Reblogging from 2012. Today would be Alice’s 61st birthday, but she will be forever 20 years old.)
Blue eyes. That was one thing that made her unique among 4 sisters. She had our father’s eyes. She was the shortest among us; I believe I grew to have at least a half an inch over her. But that took a while. Since she was 3 years older, I trailed behind her most of my life. I definitely didn’t mind following in her footsteps. I adored her. She was the sweet sister, the kind one, the one who loved children and animals and had friends. She somehow spanned the gap between being a nerd and being popular. Not that she wasn’t picked on early in grade school. We all were, and she was very sensitive to it. When she was 10, she ran away from a boy who was chasing her down the sidewalk. He caught up to her and managed to grab the back of her coat hood. He yanked her down hard, and she fell backwards onto the sidewalk, hitting her head and fracturing her skull. The boy was sent to military school, and Alice recovered amid cards and gifts and angels surrounding her bed.
She started dating first among us, though she wasn’t the oldest. I wanted to learn how this “boyfriend” business worked, so I watched her very closely, sometimes through the living room drapery while she was on the porch kissing her date goodnight.She modeled how to be affectionate in the midst of a distinctly cerebral family, shy about demonstrating emotion. She gave me my first pet name: Golden Girl or Goldie, and then the one that stuck in my family, PG or sometimes Peej. By the time I was 16, we were very close friends as well as sisters. She invited me to spend Spring Break with her at college, and enjoyed “showing me off”. She told me that the boys were noticing me and that she’d need to protect me. I was thrilled!
Alice and Mike in Los Gatos, summer 1979
We spent that summer at home together in California. I introduced her to my new boyfriend, who eventually became my husband. She begged our parents to allow me to be her passenger on a road trip back to campus at the end of the summer. She had just bought a car, and although I couldn’t drive, I could keep her company, sing with her along the way, and be her companion. The road trip wasa travel adventure flavored with freedom, sisterly love, and the sense of confidence and brand new responsibility. We flopped the first night in a fleabag motel in the same bed. She woke earlier than I and told me as I roused and stretched how sweet I looked cuddling the stuffed bunny my boyfriend had bought me. Then we stayed with her friends in Colorado. Our next day’s journey was to go through the heartland of the country and hopefully, if we made good time, get to Chicago for the night. We never made it.
Nebraska is flat and boring. We’d been driving for 6 hours. I was reclined and dozing when we began to drift off the fast lane, going 80 mph. Alice over-corrected, and we flipped. She had disconnected her shoulder strap, and flopped around, hitting her head on pavement through the open window. Her fragile, gentle head, with two blue eyes. She was dead by the time we came to rest in the ditch.
Life is an experience, a journey of unexpected and unimagined happening, a verb in motion, not a noun. Alice was in motion, at 20, and may be even now…somewhere, in some form. I still taste her sweetness floating near me from time to time.
