The Bay Area Film Society's (BAFS) movie season is begun! Thus far we've seen two interesting, entertaining, and thought-provoking films that, left to our own devices, we would never have viewed or, for that matter, even heard about.
The BAFS was formed in winter 1997 by a group of dedicated film lovers. It continues due to the efforts of volunteers committed to bringing alternative and foreign films to the Chequamegon Bay area. Films show fall through early spring because summer in the Northland is too beautiful, busy, and short for potential viewers to take time out from hiking, kayaking, boating, picnicing, farming, gardening, wood gathering, and tourist-serving to sit inside.
Several years ago BAFS initiated the annual Big Water Film Festival which shows popular and unknown films alongside presentation and discussion sessions with writers and directors. This year's Big Water runs November 5-7 and highlights Airplane! (30 years after its initial release), Into Temptation (sold out shows in Minneapolis) and Feed the Fish (sold out shows at Milwaukee's Film Fest), and much more....
This year's season began with documentaries: No Impact Man and last night's The Parking Lot Movie. No Impact Man follows the sustainable, low carbon adventures of Colin Beavan and his wife and young daughter. Beavan decided to produce no trash for one year and adopted a "green" lifestyle: no TV, no cars, buses or subway travel, no eating out, no coffee, no meat, no food from more than 150 miles away, no using the elevator, no electricity, no toilet paper.
Here in the North Woods of Wisconsin these endeavors are commonplace. Nearby neighbors live: 1) in a tent in the middle of the woods, 2) in a yurt in the middle of the woods, 3) in a straw bale house with a cistern to collect rain water, 4) in a log house with a solar panel for electricity, a pump outside for water, a wood stove for heat, and an outhouse for a bathroom, and 5) in a house without running water (which the owners determined they don't need).
But Beavan did it the hard(er) way ... while living in a ninth floor apartment in Manhattan! See his website (http://www.noimpactproject.org/) and blog (http://noimpactman.typepad.com/) for more information.
It's clear from the movie that 43-year-old Beavan had a core group of supportive friends and that he and his family learned a tremendous amount about living sustainably and sharing a closer connection with each other and their environment. Still, Beavan received many derogatory, critical comments on his blog as he detailed his efforts and the film showed the frustration and desperation of his wife as she tried to adopt her husband's temporary choice of lifestyle.
By the end of the film the question on the jacket of the DVD remains: Can you save the planet without driving your family crazy? Which raises yet another question ... Are we--the American public as well as the citizens of the world--willing to change our lifestyles in order to put less stress upon our Earth and her limited resources? Obviously, as demonstrated by Beavan and his family, it will not be easy but it may also be incredibly satisfying and rewarding.
Last night's Parking Lot Movie (http://www.theparkinglotmovie.com/) was yet another insightful commentary on our society. It dives deeply into the attitudes and beliefs of a group of men employed as parking lot attendants at a surface lot in Charlottesville, Virginia. Filled with interviews of current and former employees and the parking lot owner as well as footage of the day-to-day antics and conundrums of this interesting and eclectic group of men, the viewers soon witness evidence of the underlying theme of this film as articulated in its subtitle: It's not just a parking lot. It's a battle with humanity.
The most blatent and appalling aspect of this film was the inherent classism that underlies American society. As one parking lot attendant acknowledged, We're lower than taxidermists (an interesting comment as I'm currently reading a book about taxidermists, Still Life: Adventures in Taxidermy by Melissa Milgrom which challenges the attitude that taxidermy is a reviled and freakish profession).
Other insights and philosophies are readily expressed by these men who have all the time in the world to think about and consider their lot while they wait for cars and the people who drive them to exit and pay their fee. The attendants soon discover that they can easily peg (though hopefully, not always correctly) the personality and behaviors of the drivers of particular models of cars. All attendants seem to hold disdain for SUVs and their inhabitants and agree (I'm using literary license here), The bigger the car, the bigger the asshole.
Again and again, we see drivers who abuse their gatekeepers. Either the drivers refuse to pay out right, drive away without paying, decide they should pay less than required, or simply ignore or disregard the person who stands at their window waiting for money. The attendants are the first to say that the overwhelming attitude of people using parking lots is this: These guys are ignorant; they don't deserve any respect. Sadly, that's often the manner in which they are treated.
Thankfully, this film provides a more holistic view of parking lot attendants and many of these men freely admit that their time working as an attendant was an important part of their growth and human development. They begin to realize that no matter how disrespectfully they're treated it does no good to respond in like manner. Eventually attendants either leave the job or determine that they have to be the bigger man and take the abuse while responding with kindness, humor, and the recognition that it isn't up to them to mete out punishment for bad behavior ... their disrespectful patrons will earn their just desserts in the Universe's own good time.
The final scene of this film is priceless. The attendants dress in costume and perform a rap music video-style conclusion that illustrates the importance of humor, creativity, play, and plain old fun when one lives on the edge of a money and appearance is everything mainstream culture. The humanness and humaneness of these documentary stars is extraordinary, inspiring, and affirming.
That you, BAFS, for your charming, eclectic, and life-affirming selection of movies that inspire me to be a better, more thoughtful human being. That's what I'd call great art!
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Persistence Extraordinaire
Stubbornly persist, and you will find that the limits of your stubbornness go well beyond the stubbornness of your limits. -- Robert BraultThese inspirational words arrived in my morning email from DailyGood. Good went on to highlight the story of Brian Smith, a California college student majoring in music. Smith lost financial aid and student loans then subsequently became homeless. The committed songster (he performs opera, gospel, and jazz, among other genres) didn't give up. He slept in the practice rooms of his music department while he maintained a 3.65 GPA!
Remember that old saw "life is hard and then you die"? Too often too many of us get caught up in our own seeming struggles and hardships. I say seeming here because our minds can convince us of limitations and build imaginary barriers even where none exist. Rick Hanson and Richard Mendius discuss this phenomenon in their book, Buddha's Brain (p. 41):
Negative events generally have more impact that positive ones. For example, it's easy to acquire feelings of learned helplessness from a few failures, but hard to undo those feelings, even with many successes (Seligman, 2006).I can easily identify innumerable examples of personal persistence and perseverance by others. In the 2006 movie, The Pursuit of Happyness, Chris Gardner, a San Francisco salesman dreamed of becoming a stockbroker on Wall Street. As he moved toward--and achieved!--career success he and his young son often lived on the edge and were sometimes homeless. (This movie was based on a true story.)
Several nights back Frances and I watched another real life story set to film: Temple Grandin. This 2010 HBO movie highlights Grandin's commitment to make a difference in the world even though she herself struggles with autism. Thanks to the support of her mother who refused to institutionalize her despite a doctor's recommendation, and an aunt, science teacher, and college roommate who appreciated and encouraged her unusual talents, Grandin singlehandedly changed the institutionalized norms of the cattle industry.
Grandin's unique sensitivities and skills prompted her to earn bachelor, master, and Ph.D. degrees. She turned her understanding of animal behavior (which was amazingly similar to her own) into the design for a more compassionate and efficient system of corrals that reduced the stress of cattle being led to slaughter. Significantly, she pursued these accomplishments despite suffering incredible discrimination and harassment due to this mental condition that reduced her ability to respond to or communicate with the world of humans around her.
Here on the Bayfield Pennisula I am surrounded by neighbors who challenge the status quo and live in close communion with the earth. They live off the electric grid in log cabins with solar panels, straw bale houses with cisterns, and even yurts and tents with wood stoves. Some people, I suppose, would call them crazy for surviving long, cold, and snowy northern Wisconsin winters with one sheet of canvas between their bodies and the elements. But, to me, they are members of a unique breed: those who subbornly persist. As a result, they bestow upon our community a richness and diversity that is a rare and precious gift.
Over the past ten months I've learned tremendous lessons about the advantages of persistence because of a demanding task I took upon myself: Practice T'ai Chi Chih moving meditation daily and write a daily blog about my experiences (see Rooted in Earth, Suspended from Sky at http://www.taichichihmoments.blogspot.com/). Here's what I discovered: I'm happier and more joyful, better able to shift my moods and thoughts to a positive vein, more cognizant of decisions I make day to day, and finely tuned to the changing phases of the woods that surround me.
Sometimes my partner asks me why I practice TCC when I'm exhausted or why I choose to write my blog when I could join her to watch a movie or engage in some other project or adventure. I persist because I feel better but that isn't the only reason. I feel an obligation to my readers and, beyond that, I sense that this TCC practice/blogging experiment is what I need to do even though I do not yet fully understand why.
Stubborn persistence. Yep, I guess I have some of that special character trait running through my blood and calcifying in my bones too. It's a highly prized quality here in Wisconsin's northern woods that keeps us brightly burning through the darkest days and cozily warm during the longest nights.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
The Healing Power of Stories
Why does telling stories, listening to stories, and sharing stories bring hope and meaning to human experience? I ask that question after falling under the spell of storytelling several times over the past few weeks.
On August 20th Frances and I attended a reading at Big Waters Cafe in Bayfield that featured writers published in the Love Stories of the Bay collection. About eight or ten of us--out of the 43 writers included in the book--read that night. And, though I'd previously read the stories in the book, this opportunity to hear each author read their own story using their personal vocabulary, intonation, and nonverbal cues made each story come alive in a new and exciting way.
I wasn't the only person who enjoyed the evening. Plans are now in the works for Love Stories' authors to appear at Stage North this winter. Not only will we read our stories, but our tales will be enhanced with lights, music, action.... More on that event later when details are finalized.
Several Saturdays back during my weekly cooking extravaganza I listened to one of my favorite weekend radio shows, This American Life. I heard the re-broadcast of "American Limbo" (originally aired 2/9/01), a segment about people who felt separated from the world, as if they were living on the outside of American culture looking in. I was captivated by a story about a family of eight that spent seven years evading police and the FBI. Entitled "The Family that Flees Together Trees Together," it described their experiences living in a treehouse and a leaky boat.
Ira Glass, the host, emphasized that, although the family was pursued by authorities because the father grew marijuana, both parents knew the importance of keeping their family together rather than submitting their kids to the foster care system while they served a jail term. And, said Ira, these kids seemed to turn out great.
The perspectives of the youngest son, now 21, were a sad commentary on the effects of TV and radio on the American psyche. He described people as "beasts" and "primitive thinkers" and went on to say that many people didn't understand the difference between right and wrong. He described how mean people can be to one another and explained further: They don't mind eatin' meat, smokin' cigarettes, spillin' motor oil in the water....
I heard and understood this young man's concerns because I, like him, don't watch network television. Being ignorant of the current state of broadcast news and entertainment I'm usually taken aback when I travel to where I have access to television programming. The evening news, for instance, is no longer news but entertainment. And the mainstream fare that fills the evening airwaves teaches, inculcates, and programs its viewers into a false sense of what's normal and acceptable. What's interesting is that these cultural teachings flood the subconscious ... no thought required.
And then ... I heard Kevin Kling tell stories on Minnesota Public Radio. Kevin, a playwright, humorist, author, and storyteller, is a favorite annual performer in Washburn, WI. I feel that I know Kevin even though I've only seen him perform twice at Stage North. Many years ago I attended Kevin's one-man show, 21A, based on his experiences riding the bus between Minneapolis and St. Paul. It was a hilarious portrait of eight or so idiosyncractic characters who shared the same bus ride.
I know Kevin's mother, Dora, who attends my t'ai chi chih classes. Let's just say that Kevin's storytelling abilities have a genetic component because, as Dora tells me when I comment on the similarities between mother and son, This nut does not lie far from the tree. Dora is a funny and entertaining storyteller in her own right and it's obvious that Kevin's skills have been developed and honed over many, many years of writing and performing, performing and writing.
Kevin's stories are autobiographical and describe situations from child- and adulthood that are both humorous and poignant. Anything can serve as subject matter for Kevin's performances from his experience running Grandma's Marathon in Duluth, to the time he and his brother helped Dad paint the house black and orange, to the night he and brother, Steve, stood on the rooftop in the midst of severe weather in search of tornadoes touching down.
Kling ascribes his profession to a conversation with an Ojibway medicine man who told him, You can survive anything if you have a sense of humor and a sense of self. That, my friends, says it all. When we tell each other our stories, we claim our place in this life. And when we hear the stories of others, we discover that our trials and tribulations, our successes, and our frailties are part of a shared human experience. Once again we reclaim our humanity and rediscover that we are all one....
On August 20th Frances and I attended a reading at Big Waters Cafe in Bayfield that featured writers published in the Love Stories of the Bay collection. About eight or ten of us--out of the 43 writers included in the book--read that night. And, though I'd previously read the stories in the book, this opportunity to hear each author read their own story using their personal vocabulary, intonation, and nonverbal cues made each story come alive in a new and exciting way.
I wasn't the only person who enjoyed the evening. Plans are now in the works for Love Stories' authors to appear at Stage North this winter. Not only will we read our stories, but our tales will be enhanced with lights, music, action.... More on that event later when details are finalized.
Several Saturdays back during my weekly cooking extravaganza I listened to one of my favorite weekend radio shows, This American Life. I heard the re-broadcast of "American Limbo" (originally aired 2/9/01), a segment about people who felt separated from the world, as if they were living on the outside of American culture looking in. I was captivated by a story about a family of eight that spent seven years evading police and the FBI. Entitled "The Family that Flees Together Trees Together," it described their experiences living in a treehouse and a leaky boat.
Ira Glass, the host, emphasized that, although the family was pursued by authorities because the father grew marijuana, both parents knew the importance of keeping their family together rather than submitting their kids to the foster care system while they served a jail term. And, said Ira, these kids seemed to turn out great.
The perspectives of the youngest son, now 21, were a sad commentary on the effects of TV and radio on the American psyche. He described people as "beasts" and "primitive thinkers" and went on to say that many people didn't understand the difference between right and wrong. He described how mean people can be to one another and explained further: They don't mind eatin' meat, smokin' cigarettes, spillin' motor oil in the water....
I heard and understood this young man's concerns because I, like him, don't watch network television. Being ignorant of the current state of broadcast news and entertainment I'm usually taken aback when I travel to where I have access to television programming. The evening news, for instance, is no longer news but entertainment. And the mainstream fare that fills the evening airwaves teaches, inculcates, and programs its viewers into a false sense of what's normal and acceptable. What's interesting is that these cultural teachings flood the subconscious ... no thought required.
And then ... I heard Kevin Kling tell stories on Minnesota Public Radio. Kevin, a playwright, humorist, author, and storyteller, is a favorite annual performer in Washburn, WI. I feel that I know Kevin even though I've only seen him perform twice at Stage North. Many years ago I attended Kevin's one-man show, 21A, based on his experiences riding the bus between Minneapolis and St. Paul. It was a hilarious portrait of eight or so idiosyncractic characters who shared the same bus ride.
I know Kevin's mother, Dora, who attends my t'ai chi chih classes. Let's just say that Kevin's storytelling abilities have a genetic component because, as Dora tells me when I comment on the similarities between mother and son, This nut does not lie far from the tree. Dora is a funny and entertaining storyteller in her own right and it's obvious that Kevin's skills have been developed and honed over many, many years of writing and performing, performing and writing.
Kevin's stories are autobiographical and describe situations from child- and adulthood that are both humorous and poignant. Anything can serve as subject matter for Kevin's performances from his experience running Grandma's Marathon in Duluth, to the time he and his brother helped Dad paint the house black and orange, to the night he and brother, Steve, stood on the rooftop in the midst of severe weather in search of tornadoes touching down.
Kling ascribes his profession to a conversation with an Ojibway medicine man who told him, You can survive anything if you have a sense of humor and a sense of self. That, my friends, says it all. When we tell each other our stories, we claim our place in this life. And when we hear the stories of others, we discover that our trials and tribulations, our successes, and our frailties are part of a shared human experience. Once again we reclaim our humanity and rediscover that we are all one....
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Birthday Wishes
August 31, 2010. Today would have been my mother's 84th birthday. Though she's been dead for over five years I continue to celebrate her day of birth each year because finally, belatedly, I realize the vast impact she had--and continues to have--upon my life. With each passing year I become more like my mother or, at least, I'm more willing to acknowledge our similarities.
In honor of Mother's birthday I spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen making a huge batch of spaghetti sauce. I couldn't let those freshly harvested tomatoes go to waste. Those words, I'm sure, came from Mother because she spent hours-days-months-years in the kitchen cooking, baking, canning, and preserving food for her beloved husband and children. I, too, relish my time in the kitchen because--just as she did--I enjoy preparing and eating healthy, delicious, love-infused food.
Tonight, in honor of Mother's birthday and Frances's father's birthday on August 21st, we decided we'll drive to Maggie's restaurant in downtown Bayfield and order dessert. We are our mothers' and our fathers' daughters, after all, and coffee (Frances's and my dad's favorite) and fresh-baked goodies (favorites, perhaps, of both of our parents) will provide the perfect setting with which to honor the memories that linger.
Several nights ago, Frances and I watched The Last Station, a movie about Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy. Prior to his death Tolstoy's wife waged a one-woman battle with her husband, his trusted pupil Chertkov, and their children to prevent Tolstoy from donating royalties from his books to the Russian people. She had no choice, she felt, but to challenge her husband's outrageous act of idealism.
Mrs. Tolstoy, as played by Helen Mirren, expressed herself with words and behaviors that reminded me of another outraged woman in my life ... Mother. Though my mother was never nominated for an academy award, her performances were equally dramatic and memorable.
I'm sure Mother thought that my father's idealistic notions were so far removed from reality that she had no choice but to challenge him. Still, it wasn't until I watched Tolstoy's wife struggle for what she believed was right that I began to wonder whether these two very different women could have been motivated by a similar underlying passion and love.
Happy birthday, Mother ... wherever you are.
In honor of Mother's birthday I spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen making a huge batch of spaghetti sauce. I couldn't let those freshly harvested tomatoes go to waste. Those words, I'm sure, came from Mother because she spent hours-days-months-years in the kitchen cooking, baking, canning, and preserving food for her beloved husband and children. I, too, relish my time in the kitchen because--just as she did--I enjoy preparing and eating healthy, delicious, love-infused food.
Tonight, in honor of Mother's birthday and Frances's father's birthday on August 21st, we decided we'll drive to Maggie's restaurant in downtown Bayfield and order dessert. We are our mothers' and our fathers' daughters, after all, and coffee (Frances's and my dad's favorite) and fresh-baked goodies (favorites, perhaps, of both of our parents) will provide the perfect setting with which to honor the memories that linger.
Several nights ago, Frances and I watched The Last Station, a movie about Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy. Prior to his death Tolstoy's wife waged a one-woman battle with her husband, his trusted pupil Chertkov, and their children to prevent Tolstoy from donating royalties from his books to the Russian people. She had no choice, she felt, but to challenge her husband's outrageous act of idealism.
Mrs. Tolstoy, as played by Helen Mirren, expressed herself with words and behaviors that reminded me of another outraged woman in my life ... Mother. Though my mother was never nominated for an academy award, her performances were equally dramatic and memorable.
I'm sure Mother thought that my father's idealistic notions were so far removed from reality that she had no choice but to challenge him. Still, it wasn't until I watched Tolstoy's wife struggle for what she believed was right that I began to wonder whether these two very different women could have been motivated by a similar underlying passion and love.
Happy birthday, Mother ... wherever you are.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Arbor Day Year 'Round
The month of August drips through my fingertips like an endless, steady rain. Now, three weeks into the month I'm aware that my tales of life in the woods are rushing down the ridges and ravines along with the flow of water. It's time to stanch the flow and tell a story, maybe two....
In mid-August I attended the 25th annual T'ai Chi Chih Teachers' Conference in Nebraska City, Nebraska. The conference was held at Lied Lodge & Conference Center, just a brief walk through the woods to Arbor Day Farm. My travel companions and I arrived a day early in order to explore Arbor Day Farm. It was a marvelous adventure.
I won't lie: my trip to Nebraska overflowed with information, stimulation, and excitation (there was an excess of food, conversation, TCC refinements, and continual energy flow). But our half-day exploration of Arbor Day Farm was a highlight of the trip. For here, in the middle of a hot, muggy day, I found a spot that reminded me of my home in the North Woods of Wisconsin. At Arbor Day Farm trees are a vital part of the landscape and economy. Tourists and visitors travel to this destination to learn more about the key role trees play as they preserve our atmosphere, our natural world, and our daily lives.
Lied Lodge is intimately tied to the mission and principles of Arbor Day Farm. When guests enter the Lodge reception area, they are greeted with a large banner that recites in 12 different languages: Plant trees. Trees are, in fact, an integral part of the architecture and design of this lodge. Tree trunks are planted in guest rooms and hallways; their presence brings the hotel to life and infuses it with an energy that sets it apart from more traditional lodgings.
The walls in the lodge entryway are inscribed with quotes and sayings about trees that travel along the ceiling and down the hallway. These quotes sing the praises of trees and acknowledge the vital role they play in the health and sustainability of our natural world.
Arbor Day Farm continued this theme in a kid-friendly, playful, educational, and instructional way. We climbed a five-story treehouse that placed us high in the canopy of trees and gave us a beyond-human view of our surroundings. This treehouse also contained a pavilion filled with kids' projects that explored the bounty and beauty of nature: a segment of bee hive, skeletons from woodland creatures, and much more.
We walked the woodland trails and joined in explorations that lined the paths: identifying animal prints, ID'ing smells, learning how to recognize a variety of trees, and playing a wooden xylophone in the kids' area. When we returned to our starting point, we enjoyed a fabulous film, "Trees in the Movies," that included visual excerpts from major motion pictures such as Shawshank Redemption, Lord of the Rings and Forest Gump, in which trees played a starring role. Another conference participant told us later that the movie, Avatar, would have greatly expanded this forest feast.
Before leaving Arbor Day Farm we stopped at the greenhouse to pick up our free Colorado Blue Spruce to plant in our own yards. What better way to share the message of Arbor Day Farm than through a tiny seedling that, as it grows, offers shade and oxygen, life, and beauty to our own small piece of the planet?
In mid-August I attended the 25th annual T'ai Chi Chih Teachers' Conference in Nebraska City, Nebraska. The conference was held at Lied Lodge & Conference Center, just a brief walk through the woods to Arbor Day Farm. My travel companions and I arrived a day early in order to explore Arbor Day Farm. It was a marvelous adventure.
I won't lie: my trip to Nebraska overflowed with information, stimulation, and excitation (there was an excess of food, conversation, TCC refinements, and continual energy flow). But our half-day exploration of Arbor Day Farm was a highlight of the trip. For here, in the middle of a hot, muggy day, I found a spot that reminded me of my home in the North Woods of Wisconsin. At Arbor Day Farm trees are a vital part of the landscape and economy. Tourists and visitors travel to this destination to learn more about the key role trees play as they preserve our atmosphere, our natural world, and our daily lives.
Lied Lodge is intimately tied to the mission and principles of Arbor Day Farm. When guests enter the Lodge reception area, they are greeted with a large banner that recites in 12 different languages: Plant trees. Trees are, in fact, an integral part of the architecture and design of this lodge. Tree trunks are planted in guest rooms and hallways; their presence brings the hotel to life and infuses it with an energy that sets it apart from more traditional lodgings.
The walls in the lodge entryway are inscribed with quotes and sayings about trees that travel along the ceiling and down the hallway. These quotes sing the praises of trees and acknowledge the vital role they play in the health and sustainability of our natural world.
Arbor Day Farm continued this theme in a kid-friendly, playful, educational, and instructional way. We climbed a five-story treehouse that placed us high in the canopy of trees and gave us a beyond-human view of our surroundings. This treehouse also contained a pavilion filled with kids' projects that explored the bounty and beauty of nature: a segment of bee hive, skeletons from woodland creatures, and much more.
We walked the woodland trails and joined in explorations that lined the paths: identifying animal prints, ID'ing smells, learning how to recognize a variety of trees, and playing a wooden xylophone in the kids' area. When we returned to our starting point, we enjoyed a fabulous film, "Trees in the Movies," that included visual excerpts from major motion pictures such as Shawshank Redemption, Lord of the Rings and Forest Gump, in which trees played a starring role. Another conference participant told us later that the movie, Avatar, would have greatly expanded this forest feast.
Before leaving Arbor Day Farm we stopped at the greenhouse to pick up our free Colorado Blue Spruce to plant in our own yards. What better way to share the message of Arbor Day Farm than through a tiny seedling that, as it grows, offers shade and oxygen, life, and beauty to our own small piece of the planet?
Saturday, July 31, 2010
For the Love of ... Silence
I wrote the following essay in April 2010 for inclusion in the book, Love Stories of the Bay. Local artist and graphic designer, Ros Nelson, conceptualized this project back in 1994; the book quickly coalesced after Ros invited local residents to join her in this 2010 collaboration.
Over 40 authors contributed to this collection that covers the gamut of life here on the Bayfield Pennisula in Lake Superior: discoveries made during walks in the woods, a 1,700 mile canoe adventure, butterflies, a great blue heron, a first love, a full-moon boat ride, and much, much more.
A portion of the proceeds from Love Stories benefits the Bayfield Regional Conservancy (http://www.brcland.org/), a not-for-profit regional land trust serving Ashland, Bayfield, Douglas, and Sawyer Counties in northwest Wisconsin. Please visit http://www.blurb.com/ to order your copy and to help us preserve the beauty and the spirit of this lovely bit of heaven on earth....
November 2002. From the moment we unloaded our possessions after hauling them up our quarter-mile driveway into deep woods in the Town of Russell near Little Sand Bay National Lakeshore, my partner and I knew that we would call this place home.
While we settled into our house we embraced the silence of our oak-maple-poplar-birch-cedar-hemlock property. After too many years of city living it soothed and comforted us. Aware of our magical surroundings we declined to hook up a television set and gratefully snuggled into the quiet. Soon, however, we grew irritated with the subtle white noise of our modern-day household: hot water heater, propane furnace, wood stove fan, ceiling fan, and refrigerator motor all sounded louder and more distracting than we’d ever realized.
Eventually our hours, days, and weeks quieted. The temperatures dipped below freezing, daylight disappeared, snow blanketed the landscape, and most living creatures—ourselves included—were invited into hibernation, quiet sleep, and peace.
In the midst of this silence I found space for thoughts and feelings, conversations, long hours of reading, for writing and contemplation -- for me. I didn’t take this gift for granted since virtually everyone I knew rush-rush-rushed through their lives at a hectic pace. No time for family. No time for meals together. No time for sleep. No time to breathe.
I continue to live wrapped in the protective cocoon of these woodlands because, true to my introverted nature, I enjoy the quiet, the changing weather patterns, the hidden sprouts that pop through leaf-covered earth in spring, the brilliant hugeness of green that surrounds me during summer, the peaceful drift of color that floats onto my front step as trees shed their leaves in fall, and the pure winter whiteness that drapes itself over house, trees, and driveway during long stretches of winter. Not only do I enjoy the beauty and quiet of nature, I thrive on it.
In this silence I’ve become better acquainted with the neighbors who inhabit this forest with me. I hear the leaf-crunch footsteps of deer as they graze their way close to the south deck of my house. I recognize the thud of a bird hurtling itself unwittingly into one of our glass windows and I rush to comfort it.
One spring before trees were fully leafed out my partner’s and my work-at-home day sparkled with excitement as we watched a wolf and then a black bear saunter along a path that circled our house. Later, during an afternoon break from my computer work, I walked outside and gazed up to view an eagle gliding overhead.
A common spring sound, the putt-putt-putt of male ruffed grouse flapping their wings in courtship, reminds me of my farm girl beginnings; the sound is reminiscent of a tractor starting. If it weren’t for the prevailing silence, I likely wouldn’t notice these sounds that quietly arise from my wooded yard morning ‘til night.
I feel pleased and honored to observe the lives of my nonhuman neighbors. During daily walks my partner and I search a nearby dirt road for tracks left behind the previous evening or during an early morning outing by a variety of winged and four-footed creatures that use this road as their pathway too.
Several years ago we glimpsed an ermine, still dressed in winter white, racing along a downed tree trunk. During a recent spring walk we spied a porcupine at the top of a tree near the marsh chewing its way through a branch it had snapped off.
In late spring 2009 we encountered painted turtles crouched along the dirt roadway near a small stream and wetlands. They laid their eggs next to the road, covered them, and retreated. We never saw the babies that emerged from these eggs but in some small way we felt like doulas urging these mothers on as they birthed a future generation.
Of course, these silent ventures into nature inspire an even greater appreciation for this beautiful natural world that surrounds me. Each spring I welcome the return of ruby-throated hummingbirds. Their miniature bodies and territorial battles provide hours of entertainment as my partner and I eat our breakfast on the deck beneath them and watch and listen as they race, swoop, and buzz around us. Spring also heralds the return of our beloved Eastern phoebes. We’ve come to know them intimately because of the nest they build over our kitchen window where they hatch two broods each summer.
Even though my partner and I pay the monthly mortgage we feel as if this 25-acre plot of earth, sky, and trees here on the Bayfield Peninsula has been gifted to us. Could it be that some special grace placed us here so that we may live each day drenched in peace and silence while we listen to the wind rush through trees, hear the howls of coyotes at dusk, and wake to a precious chorus of birdsong each morning?
Author Deng Ming-Dao captures the essence of silence—and my experience with it here in my woodland home—with these words from his book, 365 Tao, entry 261:
Over 40 authors contributed to this collection that covers the gamut of life here on the Bayfield Pennisula in Lake Superior: discoveries made during walks in the woods, a 1,700 mile canoe adventure, butterflies, a great blue heron, a first love, a full-moon boat ride, and much, much more.
A portion of the proceeds from Love Stories benefits the Bayfield Regional Conservancy (http://www.brcland.org/), a not-for-profit regional land trust serving Ashland, Bayfield, Douglas, and Sawyer Counties in northwest Wisconsin. Please visit http://www.blurb.com/ to order your copy and to help us preserve the beauty and the spirit of this lovely bit of heaven on earth....
November 2002. From the moment we unloaded our possessions after hauling them up our quarter-mile driveway into deep woods in the Town of Russell near Little Sand Bay National Lakeshore, my partner and I knew that we would call this place home.
While we settled into our house we embraced the silence of our oak-maple-poplar-birch-cedar-hemlock property. After too many years of city living it soothed and comforted us. Aware of our magical surroundings we declined to hook up a television set and gratefully snuggled into the quiet. Soon, however, we grew irritated with the subtle white noise of our modern-day household: hot water heater, propane furnace, wood stove fan, ceiling fan, and refrigerator motor all sounded louder and more distracting than we’d ever realized.
Eventually our hours, days, and weeks quieted. The temperatures dipped below freezing, daylight disappeared, snow blanketed the landscape, and most living creatures—ourselves included—were invited into hibernation, quiet sleep, and peace.
In the midst of this silence I found space for thoughts and feelings, conversations, long hours of reading, for writing and contemplation -- for me. I didn’t take this gift for granted since virtually everyone I knew rush-rush-rushed through their lives at a hectic pace. No time for family. No time for meals together. No time for sleep. No time to breathe.
I continue to live wrapped in the protective cocoon of these woodlands because, true to my introverted nature, I enjoy the quiet, the changing weather patterns, the hidden sprouts that pop through leaf-covered earth in spring, the brilliant hugeness of green that surrounds me during summer, the peaceful drift of color that floats onto my front step as trees shed their leaves in fall, and the pure winter whiteness that drapes itself over house, trees, and driveway during long stretches of winter. Not only do I enjoy the beauty and quiet of nature, I thrive on it.
In this silence I’ve become better acquainted with the neighbors who inhabit this forest with me. I hear the leaf-crunch footsteps of deer as they graze their way close to the south deck of my house. I recognize the thud of a bird hurtling itself unwittingly into one of our glass windows and I rush to comfort it.
One spring before trees were fully leafed out my partner’s and my work-at-home day sparkled with excitement as we watched a wolf and then a black bear saunter along a path that circled our house. Later, during an afternoon break from my computer work, I walked outside and gazed up to view an eagle gliding overhead.
A common spring sound, the putt-putt-putt of male ruffed grouse flapping their wings in courtship, reminds me of my farm girl beginnings; the sound is reminiscent of a tractor starting. If it weren’t for the prevailing silence, I likely wouldn’t notice these sounds that quietly arise from my wooded yard morning ‘til night.
I feel pleased and honored to observe the lives of my nonhuman neighbors. During daily walks my partner and I search a nearby dirt road for tracks left behind the previous evening or during an early morning outing by a variety of winged and four-footed creatures that use this road as their pathway too.
Several years ago we glimpsed an ermine, still dressed in winter white, racing along a downed tree trunk. During a recent spring walk we spied a porcupine at the top of a tree near the marsh chewing its way through a branch it had snapped off.
In late spring 2009 we encountered painted turtles crouched along the dirt roadway near a small stream and wetlands. They laid their eggs next to the road, covered them, and retreated. We never saw the babies that emerged from these eggs but in some small way we felt like doulas urging these mothers on as they birthed a future generation.
Of course, these silent ventures into nature inspire an even greater appreciation for this beautiful natural world that surrounds me. Each spring I welcome the return of ruby-throated hummingbirds. Their miniature bodies and territorial battles provide hours of entertainment as my partner and I eat our breakfast on the deck beneath them and watch and listen as they race, swoop, and buzz around us. Spring also heralds the return of our beloved Eastern phoebes. We’ve come to know them intimately because of the nest they build over our kitchen window where they hatch two broods each summer.
Even though my partner and I pay the monthly mortgage we feel as if this 25-acre plot of earth, sky, and trees here on the Bayfield Peninsula has been gifted to us. Could it be that some special grace placed us here so that we may live each day drenched in peace and silence while we listen to the wind rush through trees, hear the howls of coyotes at dusk, and wake to a precious chorus of birdsong each morning?
Author Deng Ming-Dao captures the essence of silence—and my experience with it here in my woodland home—with these words from his book, 365 Tao, entry 261:
Seek silence.
Gladden in silence.
Adore silence….
Once you find deep solitude and calm, there will be a great gladness in your heart. Here finally is the place where you need neither defense nor offense—the place where you can truly be open. There will be bliss, wonder, the awe of attaining something pure and sacred.Hmm. Yes. Shhh.
Friday, July 9, 2010
What I Learned from My Goose ...
Two weeks ago our goose, Lucy, was forceably taken from us. She and her companion, Ander, were swimming in a small pond near the house when a fox (we think) grabbed her, wrestled her to the ground, and began to drag her deep into the forest.
Luckily, I heard Ander's cry of alarm, saw him run hurriedly past the house, and immediately knew that something serious had happened to Lucy. I raced out of the house, ran to the edge of the pond, and glimpsed a portion of Lucy's body as she struggled with her captor in the tall grasses, weeds, and ferns. Instantly I began to clap my hands and yell Lucy's name. As she disappeared I continued into the forest, yelling and clapping as I ran.
Finally, Frances, who had been upstairs, dashed out of the house and joined me in the pursuit. By this point I was frantic. I felt shock and disbelief that this sweet, lovely goose friend who I'd known and lived with for 15 years was headed toward an untimely and painful end. Soon she would be dinner for a creature of the wild. Yet somehow my noise and activism did make a difference.
Frances followed Lucy's trail of feathers into the undergrowth and eventually found Lucy about 50 feet away from the pond, sitting quietly, bleeding, and struggling to breathe. After Frances carried her back to the house we began the difficult job of locating an emergency vet on a Sunday afternoon. After numerous calls we succeeded.
Frances held Lucy on her lap as I drove. After our arrival the vet quickly evaluated Lucy's wounds and suggested that we immediately start injectable antibiotics, anti-inflammatories/pain meds, and fluids under the skin. She also gave Lucy a steroid to help her deal with shock from the episode. Lucy had two major puncture wounds: one under her wing on the left side of her body and the other in her neck had pierced the larnyx. It was unclear whether Lucy would be able to swallow but it seemed that it was worth a try.
For the next week Frances and I served as primary caregivers for Lucy the Goose. We moved her into our porch and slept with her at the foot of our bed. I gave her Reiki energy work to speed her healing process and Frances was the head nurse who bravely injected the drugs and held open the beak as we delivered food and medicines. We started by injecting medications twice daily, then began to syringe baby food and blended vegetables down Lucy's throat. Eventually we gave Lucy oral meds by syringe. Throughout it all Lucy was gentle, uncomplaining, and immensely patient.
As Lucy began to show improvements and gain energy she started to participate more actively in her own self-care. After a follow-up trip to the vet we stopped at Lake Superior hoping to entice her into the lake in order for her to wet her wings and remove the blood that remainded on her body. The lake was too rough and the waves too forceful but the next day Frances constructed a homemade wading pool for Ander and Lucy. After their swim both geese groomed for hours and, as a result, no blood remained.
By Day Four Lucy tried to eat a bit of romaine lettuce. On Day Five she nibbled a bit of cracked corn. When she ate the corn, she honked out a loud, disturbing sound that seemed to indicate that something was stuck in her throat. But she persisted. The next day the honk was less frequent. The day after that there was no sound at all.
Through it all Ander was a patient and supportive partner. It seemed that just by spending time together his actions inspired Lucy to join in eating and grooming activities that she may have shunned if alone. Ander stopped eating much food himself after Lucy's capture and it wasn't until Lucy's appetite and eating increased that Ander's did as well.
Lucy gently groomed her puncture wounds and, after carefully fluffing and arranging her feathers, held her wings slightly puffed out away from her body in order to allow air to circulate into the area of the wound in order to aid in healing. She slept and rested frequently and gradually increased her intake of both food and water.
Today when you look at Ander and Lucy you would have no clue as to the dramatic life and death struggle that occurred a mere two weeks ago. And so it goes....
This is what I need to remember when I have my own major health episode in the days? years? to come: 1) trust others to help with the healing process; 2) be patient with the sometimes aggressive strategies that may be useful as a first step to recovered health; 3) rely on my partner and friends to inspire/encourage/model behaviors that are healthy and healing for me; and 4) prioritize my own needs for rest and my abilities to offer myself nurturing and self-care.
For, as Lucy reminded me, though medicines and health care providers may be key ingredients in my recovery, I am my own healer.
Luckily, I heard Ander's cry of alarm, saw him run hurriedly past the house, and immediately knew that something serious had happened to Lucy. I raced out of the house, ran to the edge of the pond, and glimpsed a portion of Lucy's body as she struggled with her captor in the tall grasses, weeds, and ferns. Instantly I began to clap my hands and yell Lucy's name. As she disappeared I continued into the forest, yelling and clapping as I ran.
Finally, Frances, who had been upstairs, dashed out of the house and joined me in the pursuit. By this point I was frantic. I felt shock and disbelief that this sweet, lovely goose friend who I'd known and lived with for 15 years was headed toward an untimely and painful end. Soon she would be dinner for a creature of the wild. Yet somehow my noise and activism did make a difference.
Frances followed Lucy's trail of feathers into the undergrowth and eventually found Lucy about 50 feet away from the pond, sitting quietly, bleeding, and struggling to breathe. After Frances carried her back to the house we began the difficult job of locating an emergency vet on a Sunday afternoon. After numerous calls we succeeded.
Frances held Lucy on her lap as I drove. After our arrival the vet quickly evaluated Lucy's wounds and suggested that we immediately start injectable antibiotics, anti-inflammatories/pain meds, and fluids under the skin. She also gave Lucy a steroid to help her deal with shock from the episode. Lucy had two major puncture wounds: one under her wing on the left side of her body and the other in her neck had pierced the larnyx. It was unclear whether Lucy would be able to swallow but it seemed that it was worth a try.
For the next week Frances and I served as primary caregivers for Lucy the Goose. We moved her into our porch and slept with her at the foot of our bed. I gave her Reiki energy work to speed her healing process and Frances was the head nurse who bravely injected the drugs and held open the beak as we delivered food and medicines. We started by injecting medications twice daily, then began to syringe baby food and blended vegetables down Lucy's throat. Eventually we gave Lucy oral meds by syringe. Throughout it all Lucy was gentle, uncomplaining, and immensely patient.
As Lucy began to show improvements and gain energy she started to participate more actively in her own self-care. After a follow-up trip to the vet we stopped at Lake Superior hoping to entice her into the lake in order for her to wet her wings and remove the blood that remainded on her body. The lake was too rough and the waves too forceful but the next day Frances constructed a homemade wading pool for Ander and Lucy. After their swim both geese groomed for hours and, as a result, no blood remained.
By Day Four Lucy tried to eat a bit of romaine lettuce. On Day Five she nibbled a bit of cracked corn. When she ate the corn, she honked out a loud, disturbing sound that seemed to indicate that something was stuck in her throat. But she persisted. The next day the honk was less frequent. The day after that there was no sound at all.
Through it all Ander was a patient and supportive partner. It seemed that just by spending time together his actions inspired Lucy to join in eating and grooming activities that she may have shunned if alone. Ander stopped eating much food himself after Lucy's capture and it wasn't until Lucy's appetite and eating increased that Ander's did as well.
Lucy gently groomed her puncture wounds and, after carefully fluffing and arranging her feathers, held her wings slightly puffed out away from her body in order to allow air to circulate into the area of the wound in order to aid in healing. She slept and rested frequently and gradually increased her intake of both food and water.
Today when you look at Ander and Lucy you would have no clue as to the dramatic life and death struggle that occurred a mere two weeks ago. And so it goes....
This is what I need to remember when I have my own major health episode in the days? years? to come: 1) trust others to help with the healing process; 2) be patient with the sometimes aggressive strategies that may be useful as a first step to recovered health; 3) rely on my partner and friends to inspire/encourage/model behaviors that are healthy and healing for me; and 4) prioritize my own needs for rest and my abilities to offer myself nurturing and self-care.
For, as Lucy reminded me, though medicines and health care providers may be key ingredients in my recovery, I am my own healer.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Bite by Byte
Hmmm. I just reread the past four or five entries in Under the Forest Canopy to revisit topics I've addressed over the past several months. I'm surprised--and self-conscious--to discover the length of these entries.
Why? I ask myself. In this era of email, texting, and instant messaging why do I devote hours to my blogging when many people are perfectly happy to pound out a quick entry or text message and then move on with their lives? Why write out full, complete sentences when others are content to employ abbreviations and shorthand?
Since I don't own a Blackberry, cell phone, or other electronic device I'm not privy to the communication style of the day. R u? :-) The previous letters and symbol constitute the extent of my knowledge and understanding of texting terminology. And, I have to admit, it took me months to translate :-) or the more commonly used :) (Did I guess correctly? Are these a sideways version of the old smiley face from my youth?)
I'm beginning to wonder: Is the current mainstream culture too far removed from that of my childhood? Am I growing too old and cynical? Have I joined the generation that clings to the habits and behaviors of the past instead of encouraging myself to expand and grow into the cultural norms of the future?
Perhaps this is who I am: a person who enjoys taking time to think things through, who reads often and extensively, and who plumbs the depths of my thoughts, feelings, and spiritual aspirations. Perhaps it's okay to write long dissertations on the importance of sparks, freedom and exploration, or the need for a deep, abiding connection to the Earth.
Perhaps my blog offers me the opportunity to think and feel things deeply when the world around me ratchets up its speed to an inhuman and inhumane pace. Perhaps no one actually reads this blogging journey. And perhaps it doesn't matter because--just perhaps--this writing is for an audience of one: me.
I had two good, long, in-depth conversations with friends today via phone. Consequently I know there are others in the world who are interested in delving into the depths of the soul. Unfortunately the pace of the world is accelerating so rapidly that it's hard to imagine that many people have space in their lives for anything other than a wild rush to work, appointments, family gatherings, exercise classes, and even, vacations.
Since moving here Under the Forest Canopy time has become my friend. Without a myriad of friends and activities to distract me I prioritize my life around making sure to allow plenty of time for sleep, good food, exercise, and meditation. My life has distilled itself down into a simple formula made popular by various spiritual gurus: Be Here Now (Ram Dass) and The Power of Now (Eckhart Tolle), for starters. I've lived enough years and lived through enough experiences to realize that what really matters is being happy right now in the present moment.
Of course, in some moments coming soon (I hope!) I'll be happy to indulge myself in eating some Stuffed Grape Leaves (Greek Dolmades) that Frances and I made earlier this afternoon. I'll happily live in the moment, bite by bite....
Why? I ask myself. In this era of email, texting, and instant messaging why do I devote hours to my blogging when many people are perfectly happy to pound out a quick entry or text message and then move on with their lives? Why write out full, complete sentences when others are content to employ abbreviations and shorthand?
Since I don't own a Blackberry, cell phone, or other electronic device I'm not privy to the communication style of the day. R u? :-) The previous letters and symbol constitute the extent of my knowledge and understanding of texting terminology. And, I have to admit, it took me months to translate :-) or the more commonly used :) (Did I guess correctly? Are these a sideways version of the old smiley face from my youth?)
I'm beginning to wonder: Is the current mainstream culture too far removed from that of my childhood? Am I growing too old and cynical? Have I joined the generation that clings to the habits and behaviors of the past instead of encouraging myself to expand and grow into the cultural norms of the future?
Perhaps this is who I am: a person who enjoys taking time to think things through, who reads often and extensively, and who plumbs the depths of my thoughts, feelings, and spiritual aspirations. Perhaps it's okay to write long dissertations on the importance of sparks, freedom and exploration, or the need for a deep, abiding connection to the Earth.
Perhaps my blog offers me the opportunity to think and feel things deeply when the world around me ratchets up its speed to an inhuman and inhumane pace. Perhaps no one actually reads this blogging journey. And perhaps it doesn't matter because--just perhaps--this writing is for an audience of one: me.
I had two good, long, in-depth conversations with friends today via phone. Consequently I know there are others in the world who are interested in delving into the depths of the soul. Unfortunately the pace of the world is accelerating so rapidly that it's hard to imagine that many people have space in their lives for anything other than a wild rush to work, appointments, family gatherings, exercise classes, and even, vacations.
Since moving here Under the Forest Canopy time has become my friend. Without a myriad of friends and activities to distract me I prioritize my life around making sure to allow plenty of time for sleep, good food, exercise, and meditation. My life has distilled itself down into a simple formula made popular by various spiritual gurus: Be Here Now (Ram Dass) and The Power of Now (Eckhart Tolle), for starters. I've lived enough years and lived through enough experiences to realize that what really matters is being happy right now in the present moment.
Of course, in some moments coming soon (I hope!) I'll be happy to indulge myself in eating some Stuffed Grape Leaves (Greek Dolmades) that Frances and I made earlier this afternoon. I'll happily live in the moment, bite by bite....
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Lean toward the Light
Speaking of sparks (see previous blog entry dated June 14, 2010) ... I just encountered another one while looking through a book that Frances checked out yesterday from the Bayfield library.
Roberta, the librarian, suggested Frances bring The Flavor Bible home because she thought Steph would enjoy it. She was right, of course. The subtitle reads: The Essential Guide to Culinary Creativity, Based on the Wisdom of America's Most Imaginative Chefs by Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg.
The first page of this book contains a wonderful quote by Albert Schweitzer, printed just below a picture of suspended kitchen utensils: tongs, a slotted spoon, a ladle, and another unknown item dangle above these words as if to say, Words may come first but it is the art of cooking good food that deeply satisfies the hunger of the soul. Said Schweitzer:
A later quote in The Flavor Bible (p. viii) reads:
Back to Phyllis Theroux's book, The Journal Keeper, which I mentioned in my previous blog. I found Theroux's account of her life interesting, compelling, and deeply satisfying. This led to my later query as an on-again, off-again journal-keeper: If Theroux can publish a journal that inspires and motivates her readers, why can't I?
Actually, I am already publishing my virtual journal through a daily T'ai Chi Chih (TCC) blog, Rooted in Earth, Suspended from Sky. I originally intended for this blog to be like a circular New Year's Resolution: I'll write a daily blog if I perform a daily T'ai Chi Chih practice, and I'll commit myself to a regular TCC practice if I write about my practice every day. Amazingly, it works.
Both my T'ai Chi Chih practice and my writing energize and inspire me. Yet I soon discovered that these interlocking commitments accomplish something more: they provide me with a public obligation and commitment that I cannot ignore, I'm encouraged to read inspirational, thought-provoking writing in order to stimulate deeper thoughts and realizations about my practice, and--most days--I look forward to both my TCC practice and my writing!
Theroux's book has been enormously inspiring to me and part of that inspiration is due to the fact that she reveals a writing process and thought process that is similar to my own. In her final chapter she outlines her guidelines for how to keep a journal (pp. 274-75):
Roberta, the librarian, suggested Frances bring The Flavor Bible home because she thought Steph would enjoy it. She was right, of course. The subtitle reads: The Essential Guide to Culinary Creativity, Based on the Wisdom of America's Most Imaginative Chefs by Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg.
The first page of this book contains a wonderful quote by Albert Schweitzer, printed just below a picture of suspended kitchen utensils: tongs, a slotted spoon, a ladle, and another unknown item dangle above these words as if to say, Words may come first but it is the art of cooking good food that deeply satisfies the hunger of the soul. Said Schweitzer:
At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.Too true! Often these creative sparks flash like lightening bugs all around me. If I'm not looking for them, or if I hesitate to instantly capture them for safekeeping, they inevitably float into the darkness and disappear. I've learned this lesson all too well as I've cast about for writing topics and then allowed life events or fear and uncertainty to paralyze my agile mind and its free flow of words or otherwise tame the burning glow of my writing.
A later quote in The Flavor Bible (p. viii) reads:
When we no longer have good cooking in the world, we will have no literature, nor high and sharp intelligence, nor friendly gatherings, nor social harmony.As I've known for years, and as Chef Jehane Benoit (1904-1987) concurs, Good cooking is an art, as well as a form of intense pleasure.... (p. viii)
--Marie-Antoine Careme, Chef (1784-1833)
Back to Phyllis Theroux's book, The Journal Keeper, which I mentioned in my previous blog. I found Theroux's account of her life interesting, compelling, and deeply satisfying. This led to my later query as an on-again, off-again journal-keeper: If Theroux can publish a journal that inspires and motivates her readers, why can't I?
Actually, I am already publishing my virtual journal through a daily T'ai Chi Chih (TCC) blog, Rooted in Earth, Suspended from Sky. I originally intended for this blog to be like a circular New Year's Resolution: I'll write a daily blog if I perform a daily T'ai Chi Chih practice, and I'll commit myself to a regular TCC practice if I write about my practice every day. Amazingly, it works.
Both my T'ai Chi Chih practice and my writing energize and inspire me. Yet I soon discovered that these interlocking commitments accomplish something more: they provide me with a public obligation and commitment that I cannot ignore, I'm encouraged to read inspirational, thought-provoking writing in order to stimulate deeper thoughts and realizations about my practice, and--most days--I look forward to both my TCC practice and my writing!
Theroux's book has been enormously inspiring to me and part of that inspiration is due to the fact that she reveals a writing process and thought process that is similar to my own. In her final chapter she outlines her guidelines for how to keep a journal (pp. 274-75):
.... I am not a fan of those who urge you to dump whatever comes to mind upon the page. No, no, no. Your journal should be a wise friend who helps you create your own enlightenment. Choose what you think has some merit or lasting value, so that when you reread your journal in years to come it continues to nourish you.
Some days I can think of nothing worth writing down. Fortunately, I am not alone. By my chair, I keep a small, revolving collection of essays, spiritual autobiographies, poetry, and other writers' journals to inspire me. When I'm out of fuel, they pull me out of the creek and into a broader, deeper river.... if you want your journal to have any lasting value, for yourself or others, I can only think of one rule to follow: Lean toward the light.I'm leaning, Phyllis, I'm leaning....
Monday, June 14, 2010
I'm Just Walkin'...
Oh, life is an amazing journey! And I’m encouraged to discover that often all it takes is a good book, film, or personal story to spark my excitement and sense of adventure. There’s no doubt that one person’s travelogue can be the take-off point for another person’s leap of faith. And me? I’d happily slip into the shoes of either of those people.
I started a new book several days ago—The Journal Keeper, A Memoir, by Phyllis Theroux—and by page 21 I was at the computer with fingers to the keyboard. This book follows Theroux through six years of her life, 2000-2005. I knew that I’d be intrigued and interested in her story because it’s the story of a writer and details how she frames her life in the context of her thoughts, experiences, words, and inner wisdom.
After I read the following paragraph I closed Theroux's book and scurried into my office:
Today I read an article about Matt Green, a 30-year-old who is walking across the United States from Rockaway Beach, NY to Rockaway Beach, OR. Green quit his job as a civil engineer in NYC and set off across the United States in March with no agenda, no goal (other than to reach the west coast), and one overwhelming desire: to experience the landscape and people along his path with openness and appreciation.
Many curious onlookers have asked Green why? Is he raising money for a favorite cause? Does he hope to win a race or set a new record for the fastest crossing of the U.S. by foot? Either of those reasons they could understand. But Matt’s desires are simpler, less driven by the pursuit of tangible goals and more focused on an inner desire to experience life at its truest, most basic level.
Similar to William Least Heat Moon’s written record of his travels in his book, Blue Highways or John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley, Green is recording his life through the photographs he snaps during his daily adventures on the road. Interestingly, Green provides two reasons for this undertaking on his website, one short, the other long. His long explanation includes a quote from John Steinbeck’s book, Cannery Row, in which Steinbeck describes a character who loses a love and then sets off on a long walking journey across a number of states. When onlookers ask this lonely traveler why he’s walking he truthfully responds that he wanted to:
Though acquaintances have expressed their trepidation about Green putting himself at risk by traveling solo across our broad, diverse nation, he’s not willing to let their doubts and fears stop him. "Playing it safe isn't really that safe," Green concludes. "If you do that, you miss out on a lot of the great things life has to offer.” By quitting his job and leaving friends and relatives behind Green is learning how it feels to be truly free.
For a newspaper article and film clip detailing Green's travels, visit: www.dailygood.org/more.php?n=4137 Better yet, visit Matt's website to view his photographs and track his progress: http://www.imjustwalkin.com/
I started a new book several days ago—The Journal Keeper, A Memoir, by Phyllis Theroux—and by page 21 I was at the computer with fingers to the keyboard. This book follows Theroux through six years of her life, 2000-2005. I knew that I’d be intrigued and interested in her story because it’s the story of a writer and details how she frames her life in the context of her thoughts, experiences, words, and inner wisdom.
After I read the following paragraph I closed Theroux's book and scurried into my office:
We are driven to deliver the truth inside us, no matter what we do to avoid or bury it. How to deliver it is the challenge. It is not just about using our reason although, like a diving board, we must use it to its limit, running to its very end. But then we must leap—like a spark—into the air. It is that spark that illuminates the understanding, makes the heat and the difference. (p. 20)How could I resist Theroux’s argument and invitation to dive into my own writing, my own story, my own truth?
Today I read an article about Matt Green, a 30-year-old who is walking across the United States from Rockaway Beach, NY to Rockaway Beach, OR. Green quit his job as a civil engineer in NYC and set off across the United States in March with no agenda, no goal (other than to reach the west coast), and one overwhelming desire: to experience the landscape and people along his path with openness and appreciation.
Many curious onlookers have asked Green why? Is he raising money for a favorite cause? Does he hope to win a race or set a new record for the fastest crossing of the U.S. by foot? Either of those reasons they could understand. But Matt’s desires are simpler, less driven by the pursuit of tangible goals and more focused on an inner desire to experience life at its truest, most basic level.
Similar to William Least Heat Moon’s written record of his travels in his book, Blue Highways or John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley, Green is recording his life through the photographs he snaps during his daily adventures on the road. Interestingly, Green provides two reasons for this undertaking on his website, one short, the other long. His long explanation includes a quote from John Steinbeck’s book, Cannery Row, in which Steinbeck describes a character who loses a love and then sets off on a long walking journey across a number of states. When onlookers ask this lonely traveler why he’s walking he truthfully responds that he wanted to:
… see the country, smell the ground and look at grass and birds and trees, to savor the country, and there was no other way to do it save on foot. And people didn’t like him for telling the truth. They scowled, or shook and tapped their heads, they laughed as though they knew it was a lie and they appreciated a liar. And some, afraid for their daughters or their pigs, told him to move on, to get going, just not to stop near their place if he knew what was good for him.Green doesn’t require a reason for undertaking his cross-country walking tour, his motivation is a desire to experience life as it unfolds by watching the landscape as it flows around him at three miles per hour, footstep-by-footstep. Each evening Green stops at a farmhouse along his path and asks if he can pitch his tent in the homeowners’ yard. This request elevates his experience even more because, by relying on the goodness and generosity of others, Green creates community, builds understanding, and links the united states together in one long chain of communication and connection.
And so he stopped trying to tell the truth. He said he was doing it on a bet—that he stood to win a hundred dollars. Everyone liked him then and believed him.
Though acquaintances have expressed their trepidation about Green putting himself at risk by traveling solo across our broad, diverse nation, he’s not willing to let their doubts and fears stop him. "Playing it safe isn't really that safe," Green concludes. "If you do that, you miss out on a lot of the great things life has to offer.” By quitting his job and leaving friends and relatives behind Green is learning how it feels to be truly free.
For a newspaper article and film clip detailing Green's travels, visit: www.dailygood.org/more.php?n=4137 Better yet, visit Matt's website to view his photographs and track his progress: http://www.imjustwalkin.com/
Friday, May 7, 2010
Deeply Rooted ... Again
So much for Cinco de Mayo. It's Siete de Mayo and right now, at this very moment, a combination of rain and snow are falling upon our roof and into our yard. It makes sense, then, that today I revisit a post I made on December 20 of 2009. In "The Link between Humanity and the Earth" I wrote about several books I was reading at the time, one of which, Deeply Rooted: Unconventional Farmers in the Age of Agribusiness, I quoted.
I mentioned that I would likely carry that book along with me to Baltimore while I visited my sister over Christmas. I didn't. There were just too many items to haul on my back and tote in my hands. I opted for thin, lightweight magazines as carry-ons instead.
I didn't finish reading Deeply Rooted until early March. It wasn't that I didn't like it but, rather, that it touched me deeply and I needed time to soak in the words, thoughts, and feelings of these farmers that Lisa Hamilton profiled. I keep a journal in which I record my thoughts and impressions about books I've read. Here's what I wrote about Hamilton's book:
I mentioned that I would likely carry that book along with me to Baltimore while I visited my sister over Christmas. I didn't. There were just too many items to haul on my back and tote in my hands. I opted for thin, lightweight magazines as carry-ons instead.
I didn't finish reading Deeply Rooted until early March. It wasn't that I didn't like it but, rather, that it touched me deeply and I needed time to soak in the words, thoughts, and feelings of these farmers that Lisa Hamilton profiled. I keep a journal in which I record my thoughts and impressions about books I've read. Here's what I wrote about Hamilton's book:
What a wonderful, encouraging, inspirational, educational, salutational read! Hamilton excels in telling the stories and highlighting the trials and triumphs of three very different farmers from three very different parts of the US: African-American Harry Lewis, a dairyman in Texas; Virgil Trujillo, a tenth-generation rancher in New Mexico; and the Podolls, two white brothers in North Dakota who are breeding new varieties of plants.I felt such gratitude that Lisa Hamilton was willing to take on such an enormous task that I sent her an email of thanks. I visited her website, http://www.lisamhamilton.com/, and wrote, in part:
I loved this book! though it took stamina to read. Truly, it is the story of my father and my father's father. It is the tale of farm families who are so rooted to the Earth, so spiritually sustained by the land that grew them, that they continue to search for ways to stay on that land and outlast--or outwit--the culture of corporate farms that seeks to plow them under.
Hamilton is an excellent writer. She skillfully weaves together these diverse--yet similar--people of the Earth who speak up for a cause greater than money and no less vital than the survival of our Earth, her resources, and the survival of humanity.
Thank you for being a voice for the people in the world who go about their work quietly as they raise our food and tend to the land. Thank you for reminding us that there are still farmers who do their jobs with a strong--dare I say, spiritual--awareness of the Earth that nourishes them (and all of us).I was startled, and yes, surprised to receive an email in response from Lisa Hamilton some five weeks later which made me feel glad that I had taken the time and made the effort to convey my thanks. She concluded her email with these words:
Thank YOU for the work you do in the world, too, for without your words and pictures, your hours of listening and learning, following and questioning, and coming to know the ethics and values of these brave souls, agribusiness and the media might thoroughly convince us that there are no other options left in the world of farming....
I must also tell you that your timing was wonderful--uncanny, even. I received this during a period of muddy thinking, when I had become unclear or unsure of what I was writing about and why. Your words helped remind me that I already knew the answer--I already knew what really mattered to me--I just had to believe in it. So thank you for that!I've read hundreds and hundreds of books over the years and enjoyed and cherished many of them. This was the first time I actually followed through and wrote an author. Lisa's response reminded me that we can all use a good word now and then as we offer our work to the world. I'm happy that my words made a difference to someone whose words made a difference to me! How's that for a "what goes around comes around" moment?
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Mea Culpa
This blog entry has been a long time coming. Yes, my daily T'ai Chi Chih practice and blog have continued unabated but this blog--my initial courageous entry into the world of blogging--has suffered the consequences of my other writing obligations (even when I said I hoped/expected/anticipated that it wouldn't).
I think of Under the Forest Canopy often (in fact, every time I enter blogger.com to post my entry to "Rooted in Earth, Suspended from Sky"). Unfortunately, thoughts don't necessarily mesh with actions and, thus, I'm in the particular spot that I'm in ... acknowledging my lapse in entries here and now, hereunto, and herewith.
Much has happened in the almost-two months of absence from these posts. First and foremost among them, I was diagnosed with heart disease in late March and am currently spending much of my available time focusing on my health first and foremost. In addition to my regular daily T'ai Chi Chih moving meditation practice I now walk daily for one-half to one hour.
I've also extensively modified my diet due to high cholesterol counts and now eat mainly vegetarian foods (i.e., beans and rice) with occasional ventures into chicken and fish territory. As one of my long-time friends who has lived most of his life as a vegetarian counseled me: "Steph, become one with your bowl of rice." (Thanks, Doug.) I'm also trying a variety of new supplements to help regulate cholesterol levels as I am highly adverse to taking pharmaceuticals.
I recently wrote an article entitled "For the Love of ... Silence" that is scheduled to appear in a new book due out near the end of May as a fundraiser for the Bayfield Regional Conservancy. Its tentative title is "Love Stories of the Bay" and it should be available through blurb.com in short order.
Per the editor/coordinator of this effort, Ros Nelson, there are 40 authors and 115 pages of stories that range from love stories about people, Lake Superior, animals, a sense of place, the loss of love, children, friends, and more. I'm anxious to hold this precious little gem in my hands as Frances took the photo that accompanies my story and I know there are many talented writers and artists in this area who likely took part in this wonderful venture....
So, yes, I'm back ... in the saddle, at the wheel, on the keyboard, and here, under the forest canopy. It's spring and, sure enough, May is bustin' out all over. Birds are returning to our woodland yard, bear are bending over our bird feeder post and vacuuming the sunflower seeds from the ground lying beneath the feeder, the Eastern phoebes have changed the location of their nest from over our kitchen window to the south side of our house over the patio door, and yes ... my friends the ruby-throated hummingbirds should be appearing soon, perhaps even as early as this weekend just in time for Mother's Day.
It is a wonderful time of year because each and every day offers something new: a new bud or blossom, a different migrating bird returning to the feeder, tiny footprints in the dirt, or a vibrant shade of green bursting into view. Spring ... what a blessing to be born anew each and every year.
I think of Under the Forest Canopy often (in fact, every time I enter blogger.com to post my entry to "Rooted in Earth, Suspended from Sky"). Unfortunately, thoughts don't necessarily mesh with actions and, thus, I'm in the particular spot that I'm in ... acknowledging my lapse in entries here and now, hereunto, and herewith.
Much has happened in the almost-two months of absence from these posts. First and foremost among them, I was diagnosed with heart disease in late March and am currently spending much of my available time focusing on my health first and foremost. In addition to my regular daily T'ai Chi Chih moving meditation practice I now walk daily for one-half to one hour.
I've also extensively modified my diet due to high cholesterol counts and now eat mainly vegetarian foods (i.e., beans and rice) with occasional ventures into chicken and fish territory. As one of my long-time friends who has lived most of his life as a vegetarian counseled me: "Steph, become one with your bowl of rice." (Thanks, Doug.) I'm also trying a variety of new supplements to help regulate cholesterol levels as I am highly adverse to taking pharmaceuticals.
I recently wrote an article entitled "For the Love of ... Silence" that is scheduled to appear in a new book due out near the end of May as a fundraiser for the Bayfield Regional Conservancy. Its tentative title is "Love Stories of the Bay" and it should be available through blurb.com in short order.
Per the editor/coordinator of this effort, Ros Nelson, there are 40 authors and 115 pages of stories that range from love stories about people, Lake Superior, animals, a sense of place, the loss of love, children, friends, and more. I'm anxious to hold this precious little gem in my hands as Frances took the photo that accompanies my story and I know there are many talented writers and artists in this area who likely took part in this wonderful venture....
So, yes, I'm back ... in the saddle, at the wheel, on the keyboard, and here, under the forest canopy. It's spring and, sure enough, May is bustin' out all over. Birds are returning to our woodland yard, bear are bending over our bird feeder post and vacuuming the sunflower seeds from the ground lying beneath the feeder, the Eastern phoebes have changed the location of their nest from over our kitchen window to the south side of our house over the patio door, and yes ... my friends the ruby-throated hummingbirds should be appearing soon, perhaps even as early as this weekend just in time for Mother's Day.
It is a wonderful time of year because each and every day offers something new: a new bud or blossom, a different migrating bird returning to the feeder, tiny footprints in the dirt, or a vibrant shade of green bursting into view. Spring ... what a blessing to be born anew each and every year.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Art's Almanac
I admit: When I coulda' shoulda' woulda' been writing my own blog under the forest canopy, I was reading someone else's. That person also lives in Bayfield and writes daily entries at http://artsbayfieldalmanac.blogspot.com/. His most-recent entry appeared March 1 and he admitted then that he didn't know whether there would be additional entries until he and his wife, who are visiting family and warmer climes, return to Bayfield near the end of March.
The Art in question is Art Ode, a 73-year-old semi-retired botanical garden and arboretum manager. He now lives in Bayfield, is a volunteer forester for the City, served on the Chamber of Commerce Board of Directors, and helped orchestrate the planting of innumerable daffodils (I'm sure he could tell you the exact number!) for the annual Bayfield in Bloom celebration from mid-May to mid-June.
Art evidentally started his initial blog as a link to the Chamber website. It gave out-of-towners an insiders' view of the local goings-on and included a daily report of the weather as read from various gauges and experienced during his morning dog walks. He also detailed the condition of the lake (as viewed from his home, I guess) and included information from various town events and outings as well as wonderful photos and stories about the condition of regional flora and fauna. Though simple--since life up here is relatively simple--it's brimming with descriptions of daily life in this lakeshore community.
From what I gathered reading through months of entries Art's blog ceased abruptly after his entry (entries?) were edited without any consultation with Art, the blog's author. Perhaps he took offense. I imagine I would have. Our words are, after all, an expression of who we are and what we believe. Art's Bayfield Almanac was birthed around the beginning of this year and, as I realized from reading it, blogs express the unique character of the person who spends time day-after-day before a keyboard laboring over them.... That personality and character doesn't always mesh with or represent our own which is why, in my opinion, it is all the more precious.
It's clear that Art and I have different political views and ideologies. But one thing we do share is a love of the land and its beauty and bounty. The South Shore of Lake Superior is a special place and Art succeeds in capturing its beauty through his words and photos and his willingness to venture into and onto the woods and waters that surround him.
Here are a few tidbits I gleaned from Art's blog: the fog that I described hovering over the lake in my February 21, 2010 entry "Smoke on the Water" from my Rooted in Earth, Suspended from Sky blog is known as "lake smoke." He wrote that this is caused by moisture rising into the frigid atmosphere from warmer water; it later returns to us as lake effect snow.
Since I don't read the local newspapers I also discovered via Art's blog that Ashland, WI now has a Border Patrol office. It's a bit bizarre since this Great Lake Superior provides a tremendously wild, wet, and dangerous buffer between our area and the nearest foreign country, Canada. But now, at least, I can consider myself an informed citizen.
Art describes several curmudgeons who inhabit the area and expresses delight in the fact that they have no fear of being themselves and, as a result, the City of Bayfield and the entire area are all the better for it. I have a feeling that Art would be proud to include himself among their number and I'd venture a guess that he's well on his way to joining their ranks. Take a gander at http://artsbayfieldalmanac.blogspot.com/. I highly recommend it.
The Art in question is Art Ode, a 73-year-old semi-retired botanical garden and arboretum manager. He now lives in Bayfield, is a volunteer forester for the City, served on the Chamber of Commerce Board of Directors, and helped orchestrate the planting of innumerable daffodils (I'm sure he could tell you the exact number!) for the annual Bayfield in Bloom celebration from mid-May to mid-June.
Art evidentally started his initial blog as a link to the Chamber website. It gave out-of-towners an insiders' view of the local goings-on and included a daily report of the weather as read from various gauges and experienced during his morning dog walks. He also detailed the condition of the lake (as viewed from his home, I guess) and included information from various town events and outings as well as wonderful photos and stories about the condition of regional flora and fauna. Though simple--since life up here is relatively simple--it's brimming with descriptions of daily life in this lakeshore community.
From what I gathered reading through months of entries Art's blog ceased abruptly after his entry (entries?) were edited without any consultation with Art, the blog's author. Perhaps he took offense. I imagine I would have. Our words are, after all, an expression of who we are and what we believe. Art's Bayfield Almanac was birthed around the beginning of this year and, as I realized from reading it, blogs express the unique character of the person who spends time day-after-day before a keyboard laboring over them.... That personality and character doesn't always mesh with or represent our own which is why, in my opinion, it is all the more precious.
It's clear that Art and I have different political views and ideologies. But one thing we do share is a love of the land and its beauty and bounty. The South Shore of Lake Superior is a special place and Art succeeds in capturing its beauty through his words and photos and his willingness to venture into and onto the woods and waters that surround him.
Here are a few tidbits I gleaned from Art's blog: the fog that I described hovering over the lake in my February 21, 2010 entry "Smoke on the Water" from my Rooted in Earth, Suspended from Sky blog is known as "lake smoke." He wrote that this is caused by moisture rising into the frigid atmosphere from warmer water; it later returns to us as lake effect snow.
Since I don't read the local newspapers I also discovered via Art's blog that Ashland, WI now has a Border Patrol office. It's a bit bizarre since this Great Lake Superior provides a tremendously wild, wet, and dangerous buffer between our area and the nearest foreign country, Canada. But now, at least, I can consider myself an informed citizen.
Art describes several curmudgeons who inhabit the area and expresses delight in the fact that they have no fear of being themselves and, as a result, the City of Bayfield and the entire area are all the better for it. I have a feeling that Art would be proud to include himself among their number and I'd venture a guess that he's well on his way to joining their ranks. Take a gander at http://artsbayfieldalmanac.blogspot.com/. I highly recommend it.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Smoke on the Water and Fire in the Sky
I watch a double sunrise this morning. First, a pink ball of light rises over the horizon and ascends into a narrow strand of clouds and then a circle of shining white light emerges from the clouds that hover just above the edges of the Earth.
After the initial pink sunrise a stream of light lays itself down across Lake Superior's water and ice (it looks as though there may be both from my view out the living room window) and gleams straight toward me. I'm reminded of Frances's and my trip to Central America last winter when we watched sun risings over a warm water Caribbean Sea.
I continue to move through TCC practice as the sun rises ... a pure white circle of light with a rose pink aura around it. Near the end of practice I glimpse the lake again. This time there is no ice, no water. It looks like a thick fog or smoke covers its surface; clouds in the sky, clouds in the water. (Did the heat of the sun meeting the coolness of the lake's surface cause this reaction?) It reminds me of Deep Purple's song released in 1972 (am I dating myself?), Smoke on the Water.
My movements are less carefree today, more stiff and crinkled. But it feels good to emerge from sleep into wakefulness with the sun brightening the way....
I'm watching my t'an t'ien more these days ... literally. Since I tell my students to lead with their t'an t'ien and Sr. Antonia reiterated this command over and over again at the TCC retreat, I'm noticing how t'an t'ien leads me forward and back, up and down.
Justin Stone teaches that you can tell how relaxed a TCC practitioner is in their practice by how relaxed they are in their wrists and waist. I'm struck by how much waist/t'an t'ien motion there is even in the simplest of movements, Bird Flaps its Wings, for example.
How does your t'an t'ien move? How much does your t'an t'ien move? Watch it ... and be surprised.
After the initial pink sunrise a stream of light lays itself down across Lake Superior's water and ice (it looks as though there may be both from my view out the living room window) and gleams straight toward me. I'm reminded of Frances's and my trip to Central America last winter when we watched sun risings over a warm water Caribbean Sea.
I continue to move through TCC practice as the sun rises ... a pure white circle of light with a rose pink aura around it. Near the end of practice I glimpse the lake again. This time there is no ice, no water. It looks like a thick fog or smoke covers its surface; clouds in the sky, clouds in the water. (Did the heat of the sun meeting the coolness of the lake's surface cause this reaction?) It reminds me of Deep Purple's song released in 1972 (am I dating myself?), Smoke on the Water.
My movements are less carefree today, more stiff and crinkled. But it feels good to emerge from sleep into wakefulness with the sun brightening the way....
I'm watching my t'an t'ien more these days ... literally. Since I tell my students to lead with their t'an t'ien and Sr. Antonia reiterated this command over and over again at the TCC retreat, I'm noticing how t'an t'ien leads me forward and back, up and down.
Justin Stone teaches that you can tell how relaxed a TCC practitioner is in their practice by how relaxed they are in their wrists and waist. I'm struck by how much waist/t'an t'ien motion there is even in the simplest of movements, Bird Flaps its Wings, for example.
How does your t'an t'ien move? How much does your t'an t'ien move? Watch it ... and be surprised.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Ahh, the Great Big (Scary) Outdoors....
The cat and dog raced furiously up the drive. Namaste, excited to have a tiny companion that could almost keep up with him, sped forward with a smile on his face. Chiripa--butt bouncing up and down--raced the dog more from fear and uncertainty than because she wanted to participate in the thrill of a chase. Namaste circled back when it was clear that he had the lead and the cat hovered near us, unsure and insecure. Where was she anyway?
After we reached the house and returned Chiripa to her safe spot on the porch and Namaste to the house's inner sanctums Frances and I retrieved our snowshoes for a walk through the woods. Finally, abandoned several days in a row, Namaste refused to re-enter the house and insisted that he be included in our snowshoe adventure. He took the lead along our well-tromped path past the goose barn and into the woods.
The first day Namaste followed his nose--and probably his good sense--and led us along the shortest route, a nice circle into the woods to a nearby clearing and then back to the driveway and our house. The next day he began from the same starting point but decided to take a left when the path forked. That day we ventured further into the woods until Namaste indicated that it was time to backtrack. Did the smell of coyotes or other creatures convince him that his decision was the wisest choice?
The following day we snowshoed even further into the woods with Namaste dashing far ahead until--again--he suddenly and unaccountably decided that it was time to reverse direction. Each day when we returned to the house, Chiripa waited patiently for us in the porch or, occasionally, zipped back out the door to join us in the driveway for a brief round of exploration.
Though the great outdoors is a fascinating and marvelous place for a sweet young thing it is also fraught with danger. Frances carries Chiripa outside almost daily now as she invites the kitten to experience, and become familiar with, the abundant sights, sounds, and smells that emanate from the woods. Chiripa isn't buying Frances's on-the-shoulder sales job. Often she heads straight for the underside of one of our cars where she waits and watches in semi-safety.
Each day, though, Chiripa quakes a little less, looks a little farther, and explores a little more. Ahh, the exciting life and daily learnings of a three-month old (according to Hill's Guide for Lifelong Health, in kitten years that's equivalent to a nine year old human). Frances and I find ourselves repeating a common refrain: Oh, she's growing up so fast....
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Que Sera, Sera ...
Today contains two holidays rolled into one: Valentine's Day and the Chinese New Year (Year of the Tiger). Still, I began my day thinking about Mother. National Public Radio aired an interview on Weekend Edition Sunday with screenwriter and director, Doug McGrath, who recently wrote a New York Times article about Doris Day. Of course, Day’s name brought Mother to mind.
I certainly remember watching Doris Day movies back in the ‘60s. Surprisingly, when I looked Day up on the internet I found that she starred in 39 films, performed 650 songs, received one Academy Award nomination, received Golden Globe and Grammy awards and, as of 2009, was the top-ranking female box office star of all time (Wikipedia).
Today, for the first time in my life, I realized that Mother and Dad likely exerted equal influence over me when it came to my love of music, dance, literature, films, and art. Until now, though, I’d attributed my love of the arts to Dad. Dad read us stories, played classical music on the record player on Sunday afternoons, and read plenty of books himself.
But it was Mom who talked to me about movies and popular film stars; Mom who sang me snippets from some of her best-loved songs; Mom who picked me up from choir, duet, trio, small group, and orchestra practices; and Mom who signed me up for dance classes and who drove me to those lessons week after week for seven uninterrupted years. Mother couldn't hide how deeply moved she was by song lyrics and movie storylines ... nor did she try.
When I asked Mother some question about the future, she’d look at me and sing one of Doris Day’s most well-loved songs:
The fact that Mother sang her answer to me was a great un- and underappreciated gift. Today I sing these same lines over and over to myself as I hold memories of Mother in my mind. The combined wisdom and showmanship of songwriter, Ray Evans; singer, Doris Day; and one of my first unheralded teachers and philosophers--Mother--still sings true: Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be.
I certainly remember watching Doris Day movies back in the ‘60s. Surprisingly, when I looked Day up on the internet I found that she starred in 39 films, performed 650 songs, received one Academy Award nomination, received Golden Globe and Grammy awards and, as of 2009, was the top-ranking female box office star of all time (Wikipedia).
Today, for the first time in my life, I realized that Mother and Dad likely exerted equal influence over me when it came to my love of music, dance, literature, films, and art. Until now, though, I’d attributed my love of the arts to Dad. Dad read us stories, played classical music on the record player on Sunday afternoons, and read plenty of books himself.
But it was Mom who talked to me about movies and popular film stars; Mom who sang me snippets from some of her best-loved songs; Mom who picked me up from choir, duet, trio, small group, and orchestra practices; and Mom who signed me up for dance classes and who drove me to those lessons week after week for seven uninterrupted years. Mother couldn't hide how deeply moved she was by song lyrics and movie storylines ... nor did she try.
When I asked Mother some question about the future, she’d look at me and sing one of Doris Day’s most well-loved songs:
When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother, ‘What will I be?
Will I be pretty, will I be rich?’
Here’s what she said to me
‘Que sera, seraIt wasn’t what I wanted to hear from Mother but now, years later it’s what I remember. (I wonder whether she asked her own mother questions about an unknown future too.)
Whatever will be, will be
The future’s not ours to see
Que sera, sera
What will be, will be.’
The fact that Mother sang her answer to me was a great un- and underappreciated gift. Today I sing these same lines over and over to myself as I hold memories of Mother in my mind. The combined wisdom and showmanship of songwriter, Ray Evans; singer, Doris Day; and one of my first unheralded teachers and philosophers--Mother--still sings true: Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Going Deeper ... into T'ai Chi Chih Practice
I attended a T’ai Chi Chih Practice and Retreat at the Benedictine Center in St. Paul, Sewing the Seeds of T’ai Chi Chih: *Compassion *Loving Kindness *Grounding *Letting Go, with Sr. Antonia, TCC guide, on January 28-31, 2010. It was--in a word--fabulous!
I traveled to the Twin Cities to refine my movements, to meet Sr. Antonia, to deepen my practice, and to learn how to follow t’an t’ien (my center) more completely as it leads me through my movements (and my life). Thankfully I’ve begun to accomplish these goals and much more….
Sr. Antonia, Justin Stone’s appointed guide, is a lovely addition to the T’ai Chi Chih community. It’s obvious that she lives what she teaches; participants experienced first-hand the ways in which the depth of Sr. Antonia’s own practice (along with her prayer life, scriptural healing, Dances of Universal Peace, and other practices) allows her to maintain a loving, accepting, compassionate, and playful presence with those she meets.
I emerged from the middle of the woods to travel to the big city for this event and, I admit, I was overwhelmed and over-stimulated by the abundance of activities and the numbers of new people I met. By Friday night my head throbbed ... I was exhausted. The next day I asked fellow teachers and students for aspirin and received much more; Ibuprofin and a qigong healing session yielded immediate benefits.
Due to my headache and tiredness I’d missed Sr. Antonia’s Chinese brush painting session Friday night. When I mentioned my absence the next day, Sister volunteered to teach me one-on-one after lunch.
Chinese brush painting is similar to t’ai chi chih and, I imagine, the reverse is true also. Both practices require practitioners to soften and let go. I focused on relaxing and breathing deeply as I moved the brush along the paper and … it helped! I completed enough bamboo paintings to attend Saturday night’s session and make two of my paintings into cards and one painting into a framed piece of art! That’s a huge accomplishment for me as my artistic abilities are severely limited when it comes to brush and paint, pencil and paper, clay, or other art mediums.
There was much to embrace and experience; finding a new friend in my roommate, rediscovering an old student, reconnecting with other teachers, meeting new students filled with energy and excitement about this wonderful t’ai chi chih practice that we share, watching an incredible movie—twice!—that included an excerpt with Sr. Antonia (On the Road Home: A Spiritual Journey Guided by Remarkable Women), eating healthy food, engaging in wonderful conversations, revisiting old memories….
Another teacher and I—both accredited in October 1996—recounted our final presentations during our 1996 teacher training. These presentations are a personal mix of movement and words that complete the final requirements of the accreditation process. The night before my presentation one of Frances’s and my goats died. I was devastated. When I stepped in front of the group and began to talk about t’ai chi chih, I started to cry.
Afterward our teacher/trainer congratulated me on how well I’d done. It was a perfect demonstration of the power of t’ai chi chih practice, he said, because once I started to move it was obvious how quickly and easily the form brought me back to my center.
The other teacher recalled his own final presentation. His preparation—and the 3x5 index cards he held—helped him begin but, suddenly and unexpectedly, he froze. Total silence. He simply couldn’t go on. A previously accredited teacher stood up, handed him a glass of water and asked, “Honey, do you want a drink?” After several sips he continued his talk without incident.
One of the highlights of this retreat: our final morning practice of the Healing Sounds. Afterwards we positioned five chairs in the center of our circle and offered each other energy as the remaining 24 of us practiced the Healing Sounds repeatedly in order to permit every individual to sit in the center of the circle and draw in the energy of the Chi.
What an incredible experience! Near the end of my “sit” time I felt myself sinking, sinking, sinking. My breath flowed out of my body until I had no desire left to inhale. Then I sensed a cord extending down from my tailbone and into the Earth. It felt as if my fellow practitioners were helping me root more deeply. Subsequently no pain remained in my body; I was clear, calm, at peace.
I feel tremendous gratitude to those in the t'ai chi chih teachers' community who keep this practice alive and who invite the rest of us to continually go deeper. As t'ai chi chih's creator, Justin Stone, reminds us:
I traveled to the Twin Cities to refine my movements, to meet Sr. Antonia, to deepen my practice, and to learn how to follow t’an t’ien (my center) more completely as it leads me through my movements (and my life). Thankfully I’ve begun to accomplish these goals and much more….
Sr. Antonia, Justin Stone’s appointed guide, is a lovely addition to the T’ai Chi Chih community. It’s obvious that she lives what she teaches; participants experienced first-hand the ways in which the depth of Sr. Antonia’s own practice (along with her prayer life, scriptural healing, Dances of Universal Peace, and other practices) allows her to maintain a loving, accepting, compassionate, and playful presence with those she meets.
I emerged from the middle of the woods to travel to the big city for this event and, I admit, I was overwhelmed and over-stimulated by the abundance of activities and the numbers of new people I met. By Friday night my head throbbed ... I was exhausted. The next day I asked fellow teachers and students for aspirin and received much more; Ibuprofin and a qigong healing session yielded immediate benefits.
Due to my headache and tiredness I’d missed Sr. Antonia’s Chinese brush painting session Friday night. When I mentioned my absence the next day, Sister volunteered to teach me one-on-one after lunch.
Chinese brush painting is similar to t’ai chi chih and, I imagine, the reverse is true also. Both practices require practitioners to soften and let go. I focused on relaxing and breathing deeply as I moved the brush along the paper and … it helped! I completed enough bamboo paintings to attend Saturday night’s session and make two of my paintings into cards and one painting into a framed piece of art! That’s a huge accomplishment for me as my artistic abilities are severely limited when it comes to brush and paint, pencil and paper, clay, or other art mediums.
There was much to embrace and experience; finding a new friend in my roommate, rediscovering an old student, reconnecting with other teachers, meeting new students filled with energy and excitement about this wonderful t’ai chi chih practice that we share, watching an incredible movie—twice!—that included an excerpt with Sr. Antonia (On the Road Home: A Spiritual Journey Guided by Remarkable Women), eating healthy food, engaging in wonderful conversations, revisiting old memories….
Another teacher and I—both accredited in October 1996—recounted our final presentations during our 1996 teacher training. These presentations are a personal mix of movement and words that complete the final requirements of the accreditation process. The night before my presentation one of Frances’s and my goats died. I was devastated. When I stepped in front of the group and began to talk about t’ai chi chih, I started to cry.
Afterward our teacher/trainer congratulated me on how well I’d done. It was a perfect demonstration of the power of t’ai chi chih practice, he said, because once I started to move it was obvious how quickly and easily the form brought me back to my center.
The other teacher recalled his own final presentation. His preparation—and the 3x5 index cards he held—helped him begin but, suddenly and unexpectedly, he froze. Total silence. He simply couldn’t go on. A previously accredited teacher stood up, handed him a glass of water and asked, “Honey, do you want a drink?” After several sips he continued his talk without incident.
One of the highlights of this retreat: our final morning practice of the Healing Sounds. Afterwards we positioned five chairs in the center of our circle and offered each other energy as the remaining 24 of us practiced the Healing Sounds repeatedly in order to permit every individual to sit in the center of the circle and draw in the energy of the Chi.
What an incredible experience! Near the end of my “sit” time I felt myself sinking, sinking, sinking. My breath flowed out of my body until I had no desire left to inhale. Then I sensed a cord extending down from my tailbone and into the Earth. It felt as if my fellow practitioners were helping me root more deeply. Subsequently no pain remained in my body; I was clear, calm, at peace.
I feel tremendous gratitude to those in the t'ai chi chih teachers' community who keep this practice alive and who invite the rest of us to continually go deeper. As t'ai chi chih's creator, Justin Stone, reminds us:
T'ai Chi Chih becomes a way of life. It is true that the gentle movements of T'ai Chi Chih form a moving meditation and an exercise of great efficiency--exercising the inner organs and promoting healing--but eventually it goes beyond these and permeates the life-style of the practitioner. We do not all see the same world, which is a reflection of ourselves. With the accumulation of Chi (Vital Force) through T'ai Chi Chih practice, permanent changes in the metabolism and the thinking process take place and renewed energy conditions the whole way of life. Just as the thought conditions the Vital Force, so does the flow of this Chi, this Intrinsic Energy, condition the way of thinking. As these changes occur we get in touch with ourselves and the world we see begins to change....From: Spiritual Odyssey by Justin Stone, p. 23
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Mi Chica Chiripa
She lies on my lap as I write. Asleep. Now she stretches backward … falling from chair towards earth. I catch her one-handed and pull her back onto my lap where she wakes and begins to paw the sky, bite her tail, and then … my arm. Ears flatten onto her head and I lower her to the floor. Enough.
Chiripa, a/k/a Stroke of Good Luck, came into our lives unexpectedly. But, then again, maybe she didn’t. Not really. The week before her appearance on January 5, 2010, I’d talked to my sister and a friend about whether I was ready to add a new cat to the household. Was I finished grieving the death of my previous cat, Hiziki?
The weekend prior to Chiripa’s arrival we experienced a fire in our oven due to hardworking mice that carried dog food across the kitchen from dog bowl to inner stove. (See post-fire extinguisher evidence below.) We needed a mouser!
Also, weirdly, the day before we met Chiripa at the Vet Hospital I checked out a book from the library, Mew is for Murder. I wasn’t sure why I chose it. I scanned it first then walked away. Later I returned and carried the book to the check-out desk.
The mystery featured a woman writer who still mourned the death of her cat companion. At an opportune moment, though, she rescued a young kitten…. The plot seemed vaguely familiar.
During Chiripa’s first few days with us I read the book and resonated with the author’s descriptions of kitten behavior. I observed our own little six-week-old displaying strangely familiar behaviors to those of the kitten in the book. And, just like Theda Krakow and her little charge, Musetta, I could feel myself falling under the spell of Chiripa.
Frances and Chiripa:
This little kitten is unbridled joy. She leaps, dashes, and dances across floors and carpeting and climbs, stretches, and scratches her way up chairs, couch, and bed. In extreme play mode she hurdles herself sideways across the floor; her butt end insists on leading the way.
Chiripa's teeny white body is splashed with dramatically positioned black spots on nose, chin, over each eye, on the top of her head extending into each ear, on the back of her rear legs, on her bottom, and along her entire tail. Long white hairs grow out from the black tail and a tiny white tip—reminiscent of a piece of fuzz—graces the very end.
Do I sound like a new mom? I don’t carry photos in my wallet but I do have a few digital shots handy….
We couldn’t be happier with our new little babe who is—once again—sleeping in my lap as I type at my keyboard…. Sorry, folks, our camera skills are still developing (we don't think the flash is working). We'll try again later.
Chiripa, a/k/a Stroke of Good Luck, came into our lives unexpectedly. But, then again, maybe she didn’t. Not really. The week before her appearance on January 5, 2010, I’d talked to my sister and a friend about whether I was ready to add a new cat to the household. Was I finished grieving the death of my previous cat, Hiziki?
The weekend prior to Chiripa’s arrival we experienced a fire in our oven due to hardworking mice that carried dog food across the kitchen from dog bowl to inner stove. (See post-fire extinguisher evidence below.) We needed a mouser!
Also, weirdly, the day before we met Chiripa at the Vet Hospital I checked out a book from the library, Mew is for Murder. I wasn’t sure why I chose it. I scanned it first then walked away. Later I returned and carried the book to the check-out desk.
The mystery featured a woman writer who still mourned the death of her cat companion. At an opportune moment, though, she rescued a young kitten…. The plot seemed vaguely familiar.
During Chiripa’s first few days with us I read the book and resonated with the author’s descriptions of kitten behavior. I observed our own little six-week-old displaying strangely familiar behaviors to those of the kitten in the book. And, just like Theda Krakow and her little charge, Musetta, I could feel myself falling under the spell of Chiripa.
Frances and Chiripa:
Chiripa's teeny white body is splashed with dramatically positioned black spots on nose, chin, over each eye, on the top of her head extending into each ear, on the back of her rear legs, on her bottom, and along her entire tail. Long white hairs grow out from the black tail and a tiny white tip—reminiscent of a piece of fuzz—graces the very end.
We couldn’t be happier with our new little babe who is—once again—sleeping in my lap as I type at my keyboard…. Sorry, folks, our camera skills are still developing (we don't think the flash is working). We'll try again later.
Give me one wild word* ...
Have a Little Faith, Mitch Albom
Anger: Wisdom for Cooling the Flames, Thich Nhat Hanh
Finding Beauty in a Broken World, Terry Tempest Williams
Recently I’ve engaged myself in a book free-for-all. I read whenever I can squeeze in a moment, an hour, a day …
I’m reminded of my childhood when—after carrying armloads of books out of the library—I realized that there were so many good books in the world there was absolutely no way I could read them all. A literary variation on the theme: “So many women, so little time….”
Last week I finished Mitch Albom’s Have a Little Faith. Albom’s earlier book, Tuesdays with Morrie, was the bestselling memoir of all time. I loved Morrie. And … I have to say that I loved this book too. Albom is an inspiring writer. He chooses topics—people—that he comes to know in an intimate and endearing way. He then renders his conversations and interactions with these people in words that create lasting, poignant, and powerful pictures.
Faith is the story of Albom’s journey to learn more about the Jewish faith of his boyhood as he comes to understand the faith of two men of God: Albert Lewis and Henry Covington. Lewis, the rabbi of the synagogue Albom attended in his youth, asks Albom to give the eulogy at his funeral. Thus begins an eight year friendship between the two men though, at first, Albom thought that he was merely getting to know his rabbi better in order to write his eulogy.
Albom juxtaposes this friendship with his growing connection with Covington, an African-American pastor in Detroit. Covington formed I am My Brother’s Keeper Ministry following his personal struggles with drug dealing, drug addiction, and, finally, prison.
Initially Albom distrusted Covington’s morals and motivations. As he wrote articles about Covington’s work feeding and housing the homeless and spent more time at Covington’s church, Albom discovered that Covington was as faithful and faith-filled as his own rabbi. Both men were immensely generous and compassionate. Both men built their lives based on trust and faith in a higher power beyond their comprehension.
Miraculously—and perhaps because Albom is also forthcoming about his own struggles with religion and faith—Albom’s book builds a community of readers on their own individual journeys of faith. Albom’s personal faith in the power of good in the world grows as his own heart opens and his preconceptions and misapprehensions fade.
Albom's book shows that faith dwells in all of us regardless of our religion, race, background, or experience. Have a Little Faith is a small book with a large message about the importance of faith, hope, love, and compassion. Albom's profiles of Lewis and Covington—along with Albom’s honest portrayal of his own struggles with faith—teach us about the power of compassion, acceptance, and loving service to others.
I’m currently reading Thich Nhat Hanh’s book, Anger. This Buddhist monk and Vietnamese refugee writes with amazing simplicity about Buddhist principles and practices designed to bring more compassion into our lives. Hanh believes we can all become kinder, gentler, more compassionate people using a few simple tools such as slowing down, breathing, mindfully walking and eating, deep listening, and loving communication.
Hanh’s teachings on how to handle anger are simple and—perhaps for some—simply weird. Still, I find his words comforting and encouraging. We can become kinder, more open human beings if we’re willing to examine some of the most fundamental aspects of our lives: the food we eat, the liquids we drink, the breath we breathe, and the time we take to chew our food and contemplate our inner suffering.
Our anger, Hanh writes, is like our own baby who we must care for with compassion and love. When we become better acquainted with our suffering, we are more able to heal it.
Just begun … Terry Tempest Williams’ book, Finding Beauty in a Broken World. This book is composed of three essay-topics: learning how to create mosaics in Ravenna, Italy; observing prairie dogs on the brink of extinction; and building a war memorial in a small village in Rwanda. Though different in theme and intent, in each essay and the book as a whole, Williams works to create a better, more beautiful world out of the broken pieces she finds.
*From Terry Tempest Williams' introduction to her book, Finding Beauty in a Broken World
Anger: Wisdom for Cooling the Flames, Thich Nhat Hanh
Finding Beauty in a Broken World, Terry Tempest Williams
Recently I’ve engaged myself in a book free-for-all. I read whenever I can squeeze in a moment, an hour, a day …
I’m reminded of my childhood when—after carrying armloads of books out of the library—I realized that there were so many good books in the world there was absolutely no way I could read them all. A literary variation on the theme: “So many women, so little time….”
Last week I finished Mitch Albom’s Have a Little Faith. Albom’s earlier book, Tuesdays with Morrie, was the bestselling memoir of all time. I loved Morrie. And … I have to say that I loved this book too. Albom is an inspiring writer. He chooses topics—people—that he comes to know in an intimate and endearing way. He then renders his conversations and interactions with these people in words that create lasting, poignant, and powerful pictures.
Faith is the story of Albom’s journey to learn more about the Jewish faith of his boyhood as he comes to understand the faith of two men of God: Albert Lewis and Henry Covington. Lewis, the rabbi of the synagogue Albom attended in his youth, asks Albom to give the eulogy at his funeral. Thus begins an eight year friendship between the two men though, at first, Albom thought that he was merely getting to know his rabbi better in order to write his eulogy.
Albom juxtaposes this friendship with his growing connection with Covington, an African-American pastor in Detroit. Covington formed I am My Brother’s Keeper Ministry following his personal struggles with drug dealing, drug addiction, and, finally, prison.
Initially Albom distrusted Covington’s morals and motivations. As he wrote articles about Covington’s work feeding and housing the homeless and spent more time at Covington’s church, Albom discovered that Covington was as faithful and faith-filled as his own rabbi. Both men were immensely generous and compassionate. Both men built their lives based on trust and faith in a higher power beyond their comprehension.
Miraculously—and perhaps because Albom is also forthcoming about his own struggles with religion and faith—Albom’s book builds a community of readers on their own individual journeys of faith. Albom’s personal faith in the power of good in the world grows as his own heart opens and his preconceptions and misapprehensions fade.
Albom's book shows that faith dwells in all of us regardless of our religion, race, background, or experience. Have a Little Faith is a small book with a large message about the importance of faith, hope, love, and compassion. Albom's profiles of Lewis and Covington—along with Albom’s honest portrayal of his own struggles with faith—teach us about the power of compassion, acceptance, and loving service to others.
I’m currently reading Thich Nhat Hanh’s book, Anger. This Buddhist monk and Vietnamese refugee writes with amazing simplicity about Buddhist principles and practices designed to bring more compassion into our lives. Hanh believes we can all become kinder, gentler, more compassionate people using a few simple tools such as slowing down, breathing, mindfully walking and eating, deep listening, and loving communication.
Hanh’s teachings on how to handle anger are simple and—perhaps for some—simply weird. Still, I find his words comforting and encouraging. We can become kinder, more open human beings if we’re willing to examine some of the most fundamental aspects of our lives: the food we eat, the liquids we drink, the breath we breathe, and the time we take to chew our food and contemplate our inner suffering.
Our anger, Hanh writes, is like our own baby who we must care for with compassion and love. When we become better acquainted with our suffering, we are more able to heal it.
Just begun … Terry Tempest Williams’ book, Finding Beauty in a Broken World. This book is composed of three essay-topics: learning how to create mosaics in Ravenna, Italy; observing prairie dogs on the brink of extinction; and building a war memorial in a small village in Rwanda. Though different in theme and intent, in each essay and the book as a whole, Williams works to create a better, more beautiful world out of the broken pieces she finds.
*From Terry Tempest Williams' introduction to her book, Finding Beauty in a Broken World
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Living Simply ... Simply Living
I thoroughly enjoyed Christmas in Baltimore and my subsequent visit with friends in Minneapolis. It was great fun to visit the National Aquarium, the Minneapolis Institute of Arts (MIA), Whole Foods, Half Price Books, a variety of restaurants, and more. Still, by the time I returned home to the woods I was overwhelmed by the too-muchness of it all....
Now that I've lived in the woods for seven years I've adopted a simpler lifestyle out of necessity and choice. I love that simplicity. Here I live frugally. I find my entertainment and nurturance in the woods and waters that surround me. I visit the library frequently. I spend my money locally when possible.
I discovered--or remembered--when I ventured out from under my forest canopy that cities are typically filled with endless stimulation, unending noise, constant marketing/advertising, and a multitude of opportunities to buy-buy-buy. In Minneapolis, for example, I filled my days with a trip to a movie theater to see Invictus, an afternoon at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts to view their exhibit from the Louvre in Paris, and a breakfast, lunch and dinner with three different friends. In addition I watched TV (my home television is only used to view DVDs and videos) and shopped at a coop, bookstore, and bread store.
By the end of my travels I longed for the peace and quiet of my woodland home. While visiting over this holiday season I often thought about Frances's and my trip to Central America last winter. We spent our Christmas at Cerros Beach Resort in northern Belize just across the border from Mexico. On Christmas Day we traveled with one of our hosts to several local families' homes to deliver toys to their children. Three of the children lived with a chronic, undiagnosed health condition that crippled their bodies and left their parents filled with despair.
Frances and I then celebrated the beginning of 2009 in Placencia, Belize. There we were surrounded by local people who lived simple lives out of necessity. People rode bikes or travelled by bus. Some bikers balanced ladders on their shoulders as they rode. Others carried children or groceries.
My observations from two consecutive years of traveling over the Christmas/New Year holiday?
Our world is desperately out of balance. All of us--Americans first and foremost--must learn to live more sustainably in order to cope with climate change, famines, energy and water shortages, economic downturns, job loss, and more. I'm reminded of a comment about the movie Avatar. The writer said that we must stop blaming corporations for despoiling our natural world. First, this person suggested, we need to look at ourselves and accept responsibility for our own insatiable appetites for more things at cheaper prices.
Duane Elgin led the way toward a simpler life over 30 years ago with his book, Voluntary Simplicity. Today he continues to encourage: Live a life in which you determine what's important and "enough" for you and discard the rest. He challenges us to choose to live "in a way that is outwardly simple and inwardly rich."
There are many resources available for those of us who wish to create balance in our lives. Unfortunately, American advertising is a well-oiled machine ... and an efficient and effective one at that. We often don't realize when we're being directed to spend money on unnecessary items (one example, the circuitous route we followed through the National Aquarium in Baltimore required us to navigate through food areas in order to move from exhibit to exhibit).
Like me, you may have to step back from life as it is to realize the extent to which media outlets bombard you with must-haves and ultimately determine the cultural norms by which you live. To learn how to do more with less go to Elgin's website at http://www.simpleliving.net/ or visit http://www.choosingvoluntarysimplicity.com/. (Thanks to my friend, Doug, for modeling this lifestyle many long years ago.)
Now that I've lived in the woods for seven years I've adopted a simpler lifestyle out of necessity and choice. I love that simplicity. Here I live frugally. I find my entertainment and nurturance in the woods and waters that surround me. I visit the library frequently. I spend my money locally when possible.
I discovered--or remembered--when I ventured out from under my forest canopy that cities are typically filled with endless stimulation, unending noise, constant marketing/advertising, and a multitude of opportunities to buy-buy-buy. In Minneapolis, for example, I filled my days with a trip to a movie theater to see Invictus, an afternoon at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts to view their exhibit from the Louvre in Paris, and a breakfast, lunch and dinner with three different friends. In addition I watched TV (my home television is only used to view DVDs and videos) and shopped at a coop, bookstore, and bread store.
By the end of my travels I longed for the peace and quiet of my woodland home. While visiting over this holiday season I often thought about Frances's and my trip to Central America last winter. We spent our Christmas at Cerros Beach Resort in northern Belize just across the border from Mexico. On Christmas Day we traveled with one of our hosts to several local families' homes to deliver toys to their children. Three of the children lived with a chronic, undiagnosed health condition that crippled their bodies and left their parents filled with despair.
Frances and I then celebrated the beginning of 2009 in Placencia, Belize. There we were surrounded by local people who lived simple lives out of necessity. People rode bikes or travelled by bus. Some bikers balanced ladders on their shoulders as they rode. Others carried children or groceries.
My observations from two consecutive years of traveling over the Christmas/New Year holiday?
Our world is desperately out of balance. All of us--Americans first and foremost--must learn to live more sustainably in order to cope with climate change, famines, energy and water shortages, economic downturns, job loss, and more. I'm reminded of a comment about the movie Avatar. The writer said that we must stop blaming corporations for despoiling our natural world. First, this person suggested, we need to look at ourselves and accept responsibility for our own insatiable appetites for more things at cheaper prices.
Duane Elgin led the way toward a simpler life over 30 years ago with his book, Voluntary Simplicity. Today he continues to encourage: Live a life in which you determine what's important and "enough" for you and discard the rest. He challenges us to choose to live "in a way that is outwardly simple and inwardly rich."
There are many resources available for those of us who wish to create balance in our lives. Unfortunately, American advertising is a well-oiled machine ... and an efficient and effective one at that. We often don't realize when we're being directed to spend money on unnecessary items (one example, the circuitous route we followed through the National Aquarium in Baltimore required us to navigate through food areas in order to move from exhibit to exhibit).
Like me, you may have to step back from life as it is to realize the extent to which media outlets bombard you with must-haves and ultimately determine the cultural norms by which you live. To learn how to do more with less go to Elgin's website at http://www.simpleliving.net/ or visit http://www.choosingvoluntarysimplicity.com/. (Thanks to my friend, Doug, for modeling this lifestyle many long years ago.)
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