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Hold my hand and we'll go down to the water's edge,
to the seam that joins land and sea, and one world to another.
I'll show you where the wild fennel grows into it's own small forest,
parted only by the warm sea air. And you and I, as we stand with our faces upturned will begin to see how the dried flowers become stars, constellations, against the sky.
We will watch how the light fades from the landscape, even as it is entering our hearts.
"Where nature goes to create stars and galaxies . . . you and I go to create ourselves."
- Deepak Chopra
I went to visit my best friend over easter. I saw so many beautiful things. Baby swans and
braided rivers that filled my heart.
It rained and rained and rained
and we drank cups of tea and
measured the distance we had come, the lessons learnt, the wisdom we now had that was so hard won. And we were grateful for all of it, even the dark places. And for each other, still walking together into the light, after all these years.
I've tried to write this post so many times. I upload this picture, and then I stare at the screen and no words come. I listen and am greeted with silence. I leave and try again the next day, and the next and the next . . .
Some times the things I have to tell you fit into no category. Like how I have been reading about the buddhist idea of no birth and no death. To illustrate this point the buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh talks about a piece of paper, "When I touch the paper, I touch the tree, the forest, because I know deep inside there is the existence of the tree, the forest. Right? I also touch the sunshine. Even at midnight touching the sheet of paper, I touch sunshine. Because sunshine is another element that has made up the paper. Another nonpaper element. Without sunshine, no tree can grow. So touching the paper, I touch the sunshine. I touch the cloud. There is a cloud floating in this sheet of paper. You don't have to be a poet to see the cloud. Because without a cloud, there would be no rain and no forest could grow. So the cloud is in there. The trees are in there. The sunshine, the minerals from the earth, the earth itself, time, space, people, insects - everything in the cosmos seems to be existing in this sheet of paper. It is very important to see that a sheet of paper is made of - only of - nonpaper elements. Our body is like that also."
I don't know why it seems important to realise a cloud floats in every piece of paper. I just like knowing it's there.
The last butterfly has flown away. Yesterday after three days of rain and freezing cold weather, the sun finally appeared. Relieved I took her out into the light where she sat on my finger for many long minutes watching me with her velvety round black eyes. And then she was gone, beginning her "brief visit to this unbearably lovely place," as Elizabeth Lesser calls our wild blue planet.
So now you see what I mean. I have nothing to say. Nothing, and everything, all at once.
I've been hanging out with tiny Miss Olive this afternoon. I took some pictures of her for her Mum, who is a friend of mine. Kind of made me a little nastalgic for the days when I used to do little people's portraits.
Because, sometimes you don't need words.
Laura has the most wonderful post today about an art form which uses newspaper articles. Basically you just select the words you want and black out the rest. So of course I had to make one! (Sorry, you will probably have to click on the image in order to read the words.)
She also has a link to this article by the artist Austin Kleon. What I loved the most about this article was the fact that Austin said "Don't wait until you know who you are to make things." I know who I am (I think!) but I don't always feel sure of what my 'true' medium is. I've wondered about this so much over the years. I love so many different types of art. But this idea of starting anyway, regardless of there being no obvious path, really inspires me. And as Austin says, "It’s in the act of making things that we figure out who we are," or what kind of art we 'should' be making. I said to Laura that in my experience it's so much less painful to make art, even bad art, than to suppress it. Not making art used to make me feel like my soul was dying. What could be worse than that?
So dive in and make whatever is in your he(art). Even if it's the worst art the world's ever seen. If you never give up you will improve, and best of all, you will find your way.
"People say that what we're all seeking is a meaning for life.
I don't think that's what we're really seeking.
I think that what we're seeking is an experience of being alive,
so that we actually feel the rapture . . ."
- Joseph Campbell
"The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don't go back to sleep."
- Rumi
I've been planting snow peas
and picking tomatoes.
I've been lying in the sun with the butterfly who hatched today.
They don't seem to mind being close to me. Dean wonders if it's because they've been listening to our voices while they've been in their cocoons. (We have them inside while they're in the chrysalis stage.)
And I've been admiring the twigs and pods my four year old niece collected for me. My parents have a walnut orchard, and I've been helping them pick the walnuts up which is a mammoth job when there are 12 acres of them. One night when I limped to the car in the dark, stiff from hours in the orchard, I spotted these twigs on the bonnet of my car and laughed. I knew it would be Olivia who put them there. And what I love so much about this, is that she remembered which were my favourite twigs without being told, and gathered them for me. She is the child who turns up with a dead butterfly in her outstretched hand to show me, the one who says, "We must be kind to little creatures," the one who lies on the floor under a chair for many minutes, inspecting a ladybird who has crept into my house. I hope she keeps the wonder.
