Thoughts on the Solstice

I have never been one to make a big huge deal out of Christmas. I could name all the reasons, but they are the usual ones; commercialism, expectations, stress....

But for the last few years I decided to mark the winter solstice.

This has become a cherished tradition for me. It is a time for quiet inward reflection in nature at a time when I can feel myself deep in the slumber and stillness of winter.

Today I took a few hours in the forest. It was cold but not bitter, and Sumo was excited for the adventure. As we wandered I thought about myself and life over these last few months, since the end of the summer. Life has presented me with some challenges and some beautiful gifts this season, and I have been grateful to find that I have been able to accept both with a measure of grace and understanding, to remain open even when presented with emotions and thoughts and situations that are difficult or scary to face.

So I walk among the sleeping trees, sliding over the frozen ground and find that I am not desperately wishing for spring. I can accept and embrace this moment. It is winter now. The earth around me is frozen and waiting. I can feel that the energy of renewal is present, and will come to flower in its time.

I leave this solstice with a quote from Rumi.

“The breezes at dawn have secrets to tell you
Don't go back to sleep!
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep!
People are going back and forth 
across the doorsill where the two worlds touch,
The door is round and open
Don't go back to sleep!” 
― Rumi

Finding the Flame

I look out from the construct of my mind onto the constructs of the world; to stately and lasting forms created from the ever-busy factory of the human hand and mind. The physical human world, created to tend to each need, every want or desire that passes through our minds.

In this carefully constructed cage we keep.

I feel my soul strain, my mind beat against these bars. Beginning as a soft slow voice, my heart cries for the wild abandon of the sea, for rocky peaks and the thrill of fear as the sky turns steely green-grey before the coming of a storm.

My nature, carefully cared for in this human world, is sick for the sky.

Cries for the rain with no roof.

The eyes of people passing in the street speak with this same soft voice. We are missing something. Something that once was an indivisible part of us, now a wound that slowly seeps, leaving us drained, confused and disconnected.

We move in a frantic world looking for the source. Many of us carry reminders of our need; tiny tethered wolves, tattooed trees and potted plants. When but to step out into the sun...to walk away from this world into our own light and feed from the primal fire, is all that is needed.

Remembering the flame, I smile at the stately constructs of my human cage.

It cannot hold what is in my heart.

Rilke's Terrible Angels

I was inspired tonight to read some Rilke. It has been a long time since I have dipped into this well, and man, is it a deep one.

Two quotes struck me as I was reading this evening. This is the first.

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.” 
― Rainer Maria Rilke

I am laughing at myself as I try to write something about this quote. I have found that it is against my nature to elaborate on something so elegantly put. So I will leave it as it stands.

The other quote that struck me was this:

“For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terrorwhich we are barely able to endure, and it amazes us so,because it serenely disdains to destroy us.Every angel is terrible.” ― Rainer Maria Rilke, Duino Elegies

This is something that occurs to me again and again in life. At the times I feel most alive, I am struck with the power and awe of simply being here....of the incredible minute detail of this fantastic world...and the stunning fragility of each moment.

Some things may appear constant throughout our lives, but if we draw back and look at the flow and metamorphosis that is the experience of life, then the awful amazing beauty of this huge powerful force can be glimpsed. Then there is that understanding....that this force, which we are not just a part of, but we ARE, "serenely disdains to destroy us."

It really is terrible to consider, and at the same time I find, an endless wellspring of joy and light. There is a freedom that comes from the kind of perspective in both of these quotes. We are free to live, because as long as we are open to the present moment, not only will we be privy to the awe of the world around us, but all the trivial and momentous thoughts and changes and questions and doubts and fears that we live with in our heads each moment of each day...they become powerless. They dissolve like the meaningless smoke that they are. Now. Just be. ;)

Viva Italia!

    Well I am back home after my Italian adventure. It was a lovely trip, and just enough time to take in much of what I wanted to. The weather was beautiful, I got to spend some time in the sun at the beach, do a little shopping and exploration of the historic parts of the towns, and Sumo and I took a hike up into the hills among the terraced olive groves.

    The name of the area where I was is Cinque Terre. It is a protected area where for centuries the people there have farmed in a way that works directly in connection with the land. The vineyards and olive groves are cut into the terrain, making use of the natural curves in the land to preserve and collect rainfall.

    The views of the ocean are stunning. The color of the water is a bright aquamarine, and the rocky coastlines make a beautiful contrast to the soft color of the sea. I discovered that the area is famous also for the poets who have visited and been inspired by these views. The gulf around La Spezia is called the Gulf of Poets for this reason. The area further inland was favored by Monet, and he made many paintings around the ancient villages there. I did not get to see these, but maybe next time...

    For now, here are some of my photos!

Water and Stone

    Today I spent an entire day on the beach. I am in Italy, on the Northern coast. It is not exactly peak season here, so I pretty much had the place to myself.

    I had the plan to make some meditative art....inspired by the land artist Andy Goldsworthy. I took stock of my materials by wandering up and down the beach, taking in the color and the shape of the stones. There is a remarkable variation in the color and texture of the stones here. I can't help but stoop and pick up one after the other that catches my eye.

    Then I had some ideas. I had the thought first to re-create a piece that was made by Goldsworthy. A stone spiral. I spent the next while wandering up and down the beach looking specifically for grey stones with a white line running through them.

    Now, those of you who know me, I am not very good at moving slow. I tend to grab hold of things with a passion and run with it...eyes on the final goal from the very beginning. This was an exercise intended to slow me down. I had to keep reminding myself that there was nothing else to get to today, and if I did nothing but look for stones with a white line running through them, then perfect.

    As I looked, my mind became focused and I found that time released its pressure-hold on me and I gave myself to the moment. I found my stones and created my piece.

    I then had the idea to try my hand at rock stacking. I wanted to use the different colors to highlight my different stacks, so off I went to look for green, black, red, white and grey stones. When my piles were sufficient, I sat down and watched the waves. I was looking for a place to build. My intention was for the finished piece to be highlighted by the waves and close enough for the stones to remain wet from the water (highlighting their color). There was a sandy ridge that the waves just reached from time to time. I sat and counted how many waves touched this spot over a period of 10 minutes or so. I deemed it sufficient for my needs. I started to build.

   
    What was most surprisingly wonderful about this experience was how impermanent it was. Time and time again a wave would come that was just strong enough to topple the structure. I rebuilt. I started the next piece, a wave comes and topples the first. I rebuilt. Each time I rebuilt I learned more about the way to set the stones so that they were stronger for the next time. At one point, I had 4 towers built.

    I started on my fifth and a huge wave came, washing me and all of the stones away like a giant hand. I laughed at this with such a lightness and joy. It was a beautiful thing to see, stones scattered, reclaimed by the forces that had formed them, and my human part, the beauty I had created with these so permanent things existed for a pure moment, then returned to its own form.

    I sat back and watched the waves claim the rest of my work, feeling as though in that very moment I had touched something far greater than myself.

A Day in the Sun

Yesterday was the first time I was able to work in the garden this year. The day was just warm enough, dry and sunny. I am a bit of a lazy gardener at times, and I tend to leave a lot at the end of the season. Last fall was not an exception. I had a lot going on in my life at the end of the summer, and I just could not manage to root out all of the weeds and clean up the mess that had taken root over the summer while I was away. So I left it.

I arrived at the garden and was greeted by a tangle of weeds and overgrown plants and dead forgotten plantings from last year. I did what I always do, and spent a little time taking stock and visiting with this little piece of earth that I had not seen for a whole season. As I wandered I made a mental note of the tasks that needed to be done, and made decisions about the best places to start. I took the time to “arrive” in my place.

Then I got to work. Clearing, pulling, piling the detritus from the last season and clearing space for the new growth. I always find this to be a cathartic experience. After a long winter away from the physical exertion of being out in the garden, I have renewed energy for the work, and a new perspective of the possibilities there. I love how you can attack the dead flower stems and the weeds with a great deal of aggression, removing all that is not green or growing to make way for those tiny green leaves and shoots that appear as you slowly hack away at the dead wood.

As I was working, I was struck by how easy it is to clear away those deeply rooted weeds. Had I tried to clear all of that away in the fall, it would have cost twice the effort, and I would have had to just repeat the process again in the spring to stimulate the new growth. Immediately I drew a parallel to the process of transformation and healing that I have experienced in the last few years.

I recognized as I was clearing this much-loved plot of land, that there is some “clean-up” work that can only be done after the softening effects of time have come into play. Everyone who is going through pain and upheaval hates the phrase “time will heal,” but it is so ubiquitous for the reason that it holds a very deep truth, one that proves itself over and over.

So I worked away in the sun and the crisp air of spring, thinking of all the things that now must fall away from my life, and taking peeks at the new green life that is strongly presenting itself through the rich earth. And I am grateful. For the time, for the new life, for a chance to exist in a new form. 

For a day in the sun with my hands in the dirt.