Here there be dragons

May 16, 2013 10 Comments

dragon mapI do not write for a select minority, which means nothing to me, nor for that adulated platonic entity known as “The Masses.” Both are abstractions, so dear to the demagogue, I disbelieve in. I write for myself and for my friends, and I write to ease the passing of time.
Jorge Luis Borges, author’s note to “The Book of Sand”

Writers, artists, inventors, scientists – we all start out as beginners, amateurs, doing what we do because we love doing it so much. If we are writers we send friends copies of our little essays or books; if we are artists we give them pictures for Christmas; if we are inventors or scientists we dream that our little discovery or gizmo will benefit the world. In other words, we start ‘doing’ because we are ‘in love’ by which I mean we are creating in a state of love.

Eventually, the time may be months or years, we start to think about extending our reach, spreading our message, expanding our circle to include more than friends and acquaintances. We measure how many followers the blog has, wonder if we can sell our creative work in a gallery or bookstore, debate whether we should get a patent or partner and start a company. We enter another territory.

None of these things are wrong in themselves but they are like the big blank areas seen on old seafaring maps that read in spidery script, “Here there be dragons.” If we are not careful and alert, we can move from action taken in love to action taken by ego, from action born in creativity to action designed to please others.

In fact, it is almost inevitable that we go into this unknown territory and get lost – at least for a while. It is a very heady sensation to know that something you have done is liked by others – the more the better. And it is normal to want to continue that love affair with the greater public – nothing is sweeter than appreciation. But it is a dangerous affair in which compromises are expected.

One day you may find yourself deciding to write about something that will attract more readers or support a popular viewpoint. Your art may start reflecting the critics’ perspective rather than your own. Your inventions may be designed to please stockholders and bottom lines.

If this is where the detour ended, it might be acceptable to cater to your audiences, but more likely than not, those compromises usually twist or end your originality. The creative muse does not operate from the back seat but must drive herself. I often hear artists, in particular, talk about the muse as a woman and say that she is a hard mistress.

I believe that is true. To really access the creative well, nothing must stand in the way – not audiences, or demographics, or market trends, or stock offerings. Creative people may be criticized for being self-centered or ego-driven, of caring for more about their art form than their families, and to a certain extent that can be true – but it is the nature and the price of the gift.

I think Borges’ words are a good reminder to keep our priorities straight. We must forget our audiences, fame, money and acknowledgement for all of these things can easily pass away leaving us empty and broken. Instead we should spend our creative currency in pleasing ourselves, our friends and easing the passing of time.

Filed under Art, reflections Tagged with , , , , ,

CONVERSATIONS

April 29, 2013 2 Comments

baloonsLittle drops of dew, like small gems, rest along the long blades of grass beneath the tall pine, its heavy limbs stretched out and holding aloft an umbrella of dark green above me. The dewy grass is still slightly drowsy with moon’s rays and not ready for a morning conversation. Just a few feet away the others of its kind lie basking in the morning sun, bellies up, arms wide, wombs open.

Across the field stands the pine who has been calling to me for days now, posing first this way and then the other. She invites me to sketch her and as I resist I note the illumination of her right profile, the dark depths of her core, the tips of her braches so delicately lit. Not tall enough to be a queen, the pine still reigns by virtue of her beauty and self-possession in the grove that is her kingdom.

From the creek a scissors of white arcs steeply upward, then swiftly down again; a snowy egret trailing a great silence in the wake of its shapely wings. Then two geese crest the trees that surround the pond, drop low and fly across the grass. Gliding past, their wings wave hello to me.

At the playground a young father holds a cell phone to his ear while the toddler scrambles in and out of the monkey bar then darts towards the woman with the large German Shepherd walking down the path. While she pulls the rearing dog back on the leash, the father hastily herds the boy back to the swings without missing a beat of his digital conversation.

Later, phone still to his ear, he runs in pursuit of the boy who is toddling after a man down the path that leads to the pond. The father scoops up the child with one arm and carries him, legs kicking, to the picnic table and while the child cries he turns his back and listens intently to the phone.

An elderly man and woman slowly totter by, the wheels of her walker squeak in counterpoint to the tapping of his cane as they debate the dangers and rewards of German sausages. The small dachshund that accompanies them barks to let me know he has noted my presence and is keeping a keen eye on me.

As I fold up my lawn chair and prepare to leave, the spring birds sing the praises of the morning while a young female in chartreuse runs by and hums to the music coming from her iPod.

Filed under reflections Tagged with , , , , , ,

TAGORE’S BIRD

April 25, 2013 2 Comments

Singing the World

Singing the World

Now that the nights are getting warmer, I sleep with my bedroom window open. In the last few days the sound of a bird chirping and singing has crept into my consciousness in the early hours. It was still dark at five o’clock this morning, the moon hanging low near the horizon, when its song began.

I lay in bed and listened, one part of me wanting to return to the amnesia of sleep, the other part ready, like the bird, for the new day. Then I remembered a quote by Rabindranath Tagore: “Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark.”

That, in turn, reminded me of the belief of the Australian aborigines that mankind sang the world into existence. How beautiful an image that is. All of creation, voices raised in song, the ringing vibration of which shakes the ethers into atoms and molecules until they jell into the incredible lattice-like formations of mass and space and energy we call life.

My thoughts return to the bird as its voice is joined by another and for a while the two participate in an oratory and response, echoing each other’s hymn to dawn while the moon silently slips below the horizon and a light pearl gray enters the sky. For a few seconds, in the background, they are joined by the honking of flying geese and the dim roar of a jet headed into the rose-tinted east.

While I make coffee I consider again Tagore and his definition of faith, comparing it to Hebrews 11:1. “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Faith belongs to that empty space in which all that is hangs suspended waiting for the Word to make it real.

What do I have faith in, I wonder. Faith is more than belief because beliefs are decisions of the mind and can change. In what do I have an unshakeable assurance? I must confess that like the bird, I always expect the sun to come up each morning, for every day I have been alive it has happened without exception. So there must be something in faith that is eternal which has nothing unexpected or unpredictable as its condition.

In fact, dawn is a constant feature of my existence which then leads me to wonder if dawn will still occur when I am gone. Is there dawn in heaven – or whatever that state might be called after death; or, is dawn a perpetual condition of this higher consciousness? Is that the much touted light at the end of the tunnel, the ever-spring of existence?

Faith abides in the Eternal, perhaps finds its origin there. When we lose faith, do we not also lose eternity? If we stop singing before the sun comes up, will the day dawn? Is the difference between faith and expectation the certainty of outcome? Does the bird ever sing an uncertain song?

Confidence: con fides – with faith. Faith, fidelity, truth. What do we really have faith in? What do we trust? We would like to think that there are a few select people we can trust, who are faithful. But what we are expect when we trust is that someone will put our interest before their own – and that doesn’t happen very often.

But trust is the bedrock of brotherhood and really, to my mind, the core of any group, from the family to the community to the country. What does serving in the armed forces really teach? The courage to be faithful to the unseen and to each other.

I consider who I trust and then consider if I even trust myself? What is unchanging within me? What is it that I can rely upon? Is there some deep root of truth within that is as certain in its song as Tagore’s bird? Today I will reflect on faith and discover what shores this current will lead me to. It is morning. What shall we sing into existence today?

Tagore

Tagore

Rabindranath Tagore was a polymath who reshaped the literature and music of his native Bengal. He was the first non-European to with the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913.

Filed under reflections Tagged with , , , ,

MUSIC

April 21, 2013 3 Comments

madame butterflyI have never been much of a musician myself but have often been a great ‘appreciator.’ I bought my first record, a 45 rpm, when I was about 13. It was “Blueberry Hill” by Fats Domino. That was followed by “Rock Around the Clock” by Bill Haley and the Comets. So you can see I was a rock ‘n’ roll kid.

In my teen years my bedroom walls were plastered with pictures of Elvis Presley and Ricky Nelson – I couldn’t decide how bad I wanted to be; and as I slid from high school into college my friends and I listened to Peter, Paul and Mary and other folk singers.

When I was in college it was the Beach Boys, the early Beetles and singing groups like the Temptations. Nothing I had heard up to that time prepared me for what came next.

I had an English teacher who was a mentor to me. While not a feminist herself (that movement was a few years in the future) she was intelligent, independent, career-oriented and confident – everything I longed to be.

She was also very cultured; something I might aspire to be but could not claim. She was familiar with art, history, music, literature and had a cosmopolitan outlook. In fact, before making literature her career, she had studied opera at Julliard. The closest I had ever come to ‘serious’ music was the Latin hymns of Sunday mass and Tchaikovsky’s “Nutcracker Suite” at Christmas.

Then one day she loaned me a few albums to listen to. I went home to my studio apartment (which was about 100 square feet) and put the first one on the phonograph (that was when we still used turntables).

A soprano voice, as sharp as a knife and tender as a bird … within a few seconds I was weeping. The words were Italian and I didn’t know what she was saying – but the beauty, the beauty was overwhelming. The song was the “Un bel di,” an aria from the opera Madame Butterfly by Puccini and the singer was Renata Tebaldi.

That was the day I lost my musical virginity and realized the true power of music. The words completely bypassed the thinking mind taking away rational meaning and instead the voice of the heart was heard and what I heard had the sound of Truth and the face of beauty.

Music has always had this capacity to enchant – not only to uplift the soul and soothe the heart but to set armies marching. Over the succeeding years, other musicians and genres and situations have reminded me of music’s power. I cannot listen to “America, the Beautiful and not have a lump in my throat; or Ave Maria sung at Midnight Mass and not feel blessed; or “Yellow Submarine” and not feel joyful.

But even today, when I listen to Un bel di tears come to my eyes because it is so filled with beauty.
Un bel dì: In this, the opera’s most famous aria, Butterfly says that, “one beautiful day”, they will see a puff of smoke on the far horizon. Then a ship will appear and enter the harbor. She will not go down to meet him but will wait on the hill for him to come. After a long time, she will see in the far distance a man beginning the walk out of the city and up the hill. When he arrives, he will call “Butterfly” from a distance, but she will not answer, partly for fun and partly not to die from the excitement of the first meeting. Then he will speak the names he used to call her: “Little one. Dear wife. Orange blossom.”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hCFi1P_KU5o

Filed under reflections Tagged with , , , ,

THE CROSS

March 29, 2013 4 Comments

crossThe circle was probably the first image used by man as a symbol; the second was probably the cross. They say that the vertical line of the cross represents the descent of spirit into matter and that the horizontal crossbar represents the world.

I sometimes hear people criticize the use of the religious cross with Christ hanging on it. Why look at something so cruel, so gruesome? Why focus on his suffering; why not emphasize his resurrection with the empty cross?

Christ on the cross is the symbol for Everyman because everyone who is born at some point experiences pain and death. To me the most human part of the whole story of Christ is when he asks why the Father has forsaken him. After all, hadn’t he done everything right? Hadn’t he been the perfect son? Why did he have to go through this horrible torture and shame?

Don’t we ask that too when we get sick, when we see an innocent child die, when we see the unbelievable suffering in the world today? What did we do to deserve this? Isn’t there some way to change things, to escape, to let this cup pass from our lips? Isn’t the eternal question that Christ asked our question too?

In Christ’s story, he asks the question but he is not answered – at least as far as the Gospels report. Instead, he stops asking why and accepts things as they are; in fact, he embraces his situation when he says, Thy will be done. This is the act of ultimate surrender – a surrender not to death but to Life.

Once we can accept we do not understand the larger picture, that we are not in control of our destiny, once we can accept that our life does not belong to us but that Life/God/All That Is is living through us, once we can surrender, although our bodies may die, we will, as they say, be born to a greater life.

People often wonder if there is life after death and demand proof. At the same time they are unwilling to believe in the story of the resurrection; they are unwilling to believe the stories of saints and those who had near death experiences; they are unwilling to believe in visions. In other words, because they have not experienced the Light themselves, they doubt or deny its existence. But that doesn’t change the truth.

All of us, in our own way, carry a cross and one day we will ask God why we are abandoned and suffering. That is the day when Christ and the saints and prophets and angels will be beside us to help us say Thy will be done and our hearts will be opened. If we humbly ask God’s grace, He cannot deny us.

“ I have finished the work which You have given Me to do. And now, O Father, glorify Me, together with Yourself, with the glory which I had with you before the world was. “ John 17: 4-5

Filed under reflections Tagged with , , , , , ,

POST SCRIPT

March 26, 2013 Leave a comment

cycleIf I write a post for the blog or do some kind of art, I feel I have earned my keep for the day. There is a feeling of satisfaction, of duty done, of requirements fulfilled. On the other hand, when I don’t write or do art, I feel adrift, without purpose. The day seems shallow and pale.

Since February I have been in a painting cycle when art predominates. These periods usually last from six to eight weeks. At the beginning the brush feels clumsy in my hand, the paper is stubborn and the ink indifferent. What is most important at this early stage is to persevere which often means making sloppy, inarticulate pictures and wasting some good paper. It is almost a sacrificial ceremony or rite of passage.

After a day or two or three, the ink and water become more tractable, the paper receptive and the brush responsive. Then the real painting begins and usually continues for several weeks. Of the 50+ pictures produced perhaps five or six are good and I am satisfied.

The third phase of the work is the winding down process which is where I am now. I will have the desire to paint and create but the well is running dry. Slowly the brush starts to falter, the ink to smear and the paper to become cold and isolated. I know it is time to stop but I am reluctant to leave the creative high. I am reluctant to feel I am not earning my keep and so I turn to writing.

All of the words that have been left simmering on the back burners start to heat up and spill over and sputter on the grill of my mind. And so for the next month or two, I will use words rather than images to communicate. One medium is not better than another, one is not easier.

It is in this period before the new cycle takes hold that I am restless and unfocused. While I wait for the words to arrive, I think of a poem I wrote many years ago when I was just learning how to listen to the voice.

AB POSITIVE

I opened a vein
this morning
and bled a poem
all over this clean white sheet
staining it a rich burgundy.

Hot tears
will not remove it
but you can
try ice.

Filed under Art, Poetry, reflections Tagged with , , , , ,

BEING SPECIAL

March 25, 2013 4 Comments

specialI was always a little envious of people who seemed to know where they were going and what they were doing, and what they were meant to do. While I was switching directions from one college major to another, they were taking one step after the other in the same direction. While they had successful careers I was still bumbling along trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. My inability to commit to one career, one direction, one path, made me feel immature.

Then there are all of the famous people who made outstanding careers for themselves; people like the Michael Jordan or Donald Trump or Mother Theresa or Stephen Hawking. They all had distinctive gifts and took them to the limit.

“Why didn’t I get one really big, really special talent?” I asked myself. “Why am I so ordinary? Why am I pulled in so many directions? How am I supposed to know what to do when I have nothing special to offer?

When we compare ourselves to other people we may feel small. Because we feel small we may believe we don’t really have a purpose in life, or at least not one worth pursuing with all of our hearts. We think that what we have to offer is so ordinary that it is not worth much.

I have learned that there is no one born who does not have something special to offer. Just because some of us have highly developed minds or bodies or talents does not mean the rest of us are not special, too. We are mistaking quantity for quality. We think we have to be great or we are nothing at all. But the world’s yardstick cannot measure the value of what we offer.

We do not know God’s plan for this lifetime or have His perspective. We may be here to perform one simple act that will change someone’s life or we may be here to impact millions. One is not “better than” another. That’s why success cannot be defined in material terms.

All of the inner talking that we do within our minds is the activity of the ego – a wily, high effective defense mechanism that developed over the millennia to keep our bodies safe and alive in a dangerous world….

The ego is who we think we are. It shares the intellect’s belief in danger and is always alert to threats. The ego needs to win to feel validated. It is that part of us that feels separate and alone and hence needs to feel special. When the Call to Vocation or Adventure comes, the ego can feel overwhelmed or threatened because it feels a power stronger than itself.

When the Call to Vocation is heard the ego responds with all of the reasons why this is a foolish undertaking, why we can’t do it and shouldn’t even attempt it. It tells us we are not good enough, strong enough, wise enough or brave enough. It tells us this road is too hard, too long, too dangerous. It tells us we will fail, we will not amount to anything, that we will die alone and poor in a dark alley. It cautions us to take the safe, well-lit path that everyone else has taken.

That is just the ego being an ego. Everyone has an ego and all egos have the same purpose – to protect us and keep us alive. It wants us to have a secure, predictable life with a steady paycheck, guaranteed retirement and carefree old age. In the recent past the corporations and collapsing trust and pension funds have shown that this economic security some have been willing to trade their lives for it is illusory at best.

Because the ego likes to be the boss, it will not turn over the reins of decision making easily. It is not necessary to ‘kill’ the ego, deride it or hate it. We can listen to its advice but we don’t have to follow it. What is necessary is to transcend it.

What is really special about each one of us is beyond the range and understanding of the ego. The spirit is too big for the ego to encompass, too wise for it to understand, too courageous for it to trust. The Call of Vocation, the Call to Adventure is the Call of Life asking to be lived fully, deeply, completely.

Except from the Power of Vocation from “Ten Powers: Spiritual Strategies to Transform Your Life & Work” © 2005 Marie Taylor

Filed under reflections Tagged with , , ,

GOLDEN MOMENTS

March 5, 2013 9 Comments

violetsI’m really bad at remembering names and even worse at repeating a story as told. Everything in my world is a paraphrase, it seems. With that caveat, here goes.

A young monk was sitting with his dying Zen master. “How do you feel, master,’ the student asked. “I am thinking of those golden moments of my life when I was truly awake,” the old master replied. “How many can you remember, sire?” “Twenty-five,” the old monk replied and with a sigh added, “Now, my teacher was a really great man and at the end of his life he could remember a whole hour.”

How often are we really ‘awake’? By that I mean how often are we fully alive, alert, non-personal, completely present. We are given a taste of that state periodically. Perhaps it is a dawn or sunset that is so beautiful that all thinking stops and we just see. Maybe it is the near car accident when we spin on an icy patch and time hangs suspended. It can be the sight of a newborn child, the death of a friend, an aria.

The other day I was thinking about the little Zen anecdote and began listing those out-of-time moments I have experienced in my own life. One of the earliest was climbing over a metal pipe fence, going down a steep grassy slope and exploring the small stream that ran alongside the street I walked on my way from school in the second grade.

On that spring day the rushing stream was full from recent rains which gave it a grumbling, rumbling voice. In its headlong rush to the distant river, the stream was swallowed up by the hungry mouth of the large, dark sewer pipe. A frisson of fear shot through me as I imagined myself whisked on that journey. As I scrambled up the bank, I looked across the stream and saw splashes of bright purple in the tall green grass. They were spring violets.

The other moment with violets happened more than twenty years later. One morning my younger son and I went for a walk in the nearby woods. We were strolling through a large open field on the top of a gentle hill. The lake was below, the sun above, the grass still wet with dew.

“Mommy,” I heard him call, and when I turned I saw my four-year old son, his blond hair blowing, a wide smile on his face and in his hand a fistful of wild flowers, running across the spring green grass as thousands of small pale violets were tossed and tumbled in the breeze. For an instant time stopped.

I think it is moments like these we will remember at the end of our lives – along with the ones that are more painful. Below is a poem I wrote many years ago that reminds me of these fleeting moments.

 

Say Not Wait

What is life but the splinters
of golden moments drilled and strung
and mounted in a net woven
by old women sitting in high clouds
chanting forgotten songs to dead heroes.

What is love but a white knight
who goes to distant lands in search
of the fair Elaine who carries the cup
whose lips Christ touched
one starry night before the blood came.

What is desire that we should say
‘wait’ or ‘I can not’ or ‘I am not ready’
because when we do, love slips away
into the forests of time leaving not
a trail for birds to follow anywhere.

So how can we say ‘no’ or ‘stop’
or ‘wait’ to the river that flows on
without ceasing. But reaching up,
let us grab the back of a fin and
slide beneath the waves and taste eternity.

Filed under Poetry, reflections Tagged with , , , , ,

SPRING LANDSCAPE

February 26, 2013 5 Comments

flowering treeInch by inch the sun climbs higher requiring adjustments to the tilt and angle of the cloth fishing hat I wear to shield my eyes from the light. I position my chair beneath the pine and observe the landscape of the park.

The evergreens which have stood faithful through the winter’s frost and rains provide a dark background for the first of the flowering trees whose pink and white blossoms declare the arrival of spring.

The sea gulls, responding to some mysterious seasonal signal, have recently departed leaving the big field flat and empty except for the young girl who sits cross-legged and with head bowed, secretively rolls a joint.

From the naked oak trees, the crows practice cries of indignation in rehearsal for some future occasion when intimidation will be required.

A dark-skinned man pushing a white-haired crone in a wheel chair stops to chat with the bouncing woman with dreadlocks whose big voice carries easily over the pathways.

The creek, still frisky from the weekend’s rain, tumbles over banks and curls around roots in its eagerness to reach the river that will in turn carry it to the great sea beyond where it will, for the first time, encounter the giant migrating whales of legend.

In the distance the fountain on the lake spews jets of water high above the cruising ducks and migrating Canadian geese, the small lake an inn along their silken road north.

The muffled thump of car doors presage the arrival of young mothers with small children and restless dogs who want to walk faster and roam further than allowed.

“Howdy,” I say to the young man walking by whose glittering blue motorcycle helmet has “Pilgrim” stenciled in white. My cowboy welcome throws him off stride and as he slews left to the parking lot I hear the jingle of the metal clips of his leather boots.

Beneath the laughter and the calling birds and the swish of passing cars, the large hands of Silence cradle the park gently as it swings into the afternoon.

Filed under reflections Tagged with ,

WHEEL OF FORTUNE

February 24, 2013 5 Comments

wheel of fortuneThe other day a friend of mine stopped by to show me his new 2013 Dodge Challenger. It sported heated leather seats, keyless ignition, a speedometer that easily climbed to the triple digits and comfort that only an expensive car can offer.

Was this the same man who just a few years ago had struggled through a divorce, job loss and the short sale of his home? It was, and in the interim he has obtained a high paying job he loves and has an active social life.

Life goes in cycles. In the medieval world they called it the Wheel of Fortune. One day you’re up and the next day you’re down. Usually it has little to do with whether you deserve the good/bad fortune – it is the nature of life to go through changes.

I first noticed this in my own life when I was fifteen and my father had died. We lived across the street from the church and on Tuesday morning when I looked out the front door I saw his funeral procession forming. On Wednesday morning when I looked out the front door I saw the hearse drive up bearing the body of the father of a girl I knew at school. I remember thinking, yesterday it was my turn to grieve and today it is her turn.

Everyone has to take their turn experiencing hard times – there are no exceptions, even in the most wealthy, influential, intelligent, gifted families. Loss and sorrow, plenty and joy come to us all at one time or another.

I did not learn the second lesson about the Wheel of Fortune until I was in my thirties. I remember having a drink with friends while we discussed what our plans would be when ‘things settled down.’ By this we meant the time when we had the time and the money and the right circumstances. Something always seemed to be out of sync – we were either having a problem with money or jobs or relationships or creativity or something!

And that was the second lesson – you never get it all at the same time, or if you do it doesn’t last very long. Life, by its changeable nature, is also by nature unstable. We all seek to balance our lives but balance is not a real possibility; instead it is a process that requires continual adjustment.

Nothing that has form will last. Relationships will change or end; jobs will be taken up and left; health will come and go; fortunes will be made and lost. Life, because it is life, is slippery and fluid and malleable, like the pellet of mercury that cannot be grabbed.

We are asking for trouble and heartbreak is we expect life to be other than it is. Life is not meant to be controlled or stable or directed or overcome, it is meant to be experienced and that includes what we call good and what we term bad.

While we can bemoan this unpredictability it is more productive to celebrate it because it means that the bad times do not last forever, what goes up will come down – and go up again. It is a matter of being alert to the times and acting accordance with them. That is part of the great philosophy behind the Chinese classic work, the I Ching, or Book of Changes.

If we can identity what part of the cycle we are in we can accommodate ourselves to the current, take advantage of its direction and be ready when the next period of beneficial forces come into play.

When we can fully realize and understand this principle we remove any reason for despair or depression. Nothing bad lasts forever, – unless we allow it to. Likewise, nothing good lasts forever – so we must be ready for change when it comes. It’s like Joseph’s dream of the seven years of plenty and seven years of famine.

So this morning the sun is shining, the coffee is hot and the bread is in the oven. A day to eat, drink and be merry!

Filed under reflections Tagged with , ,

← Older posts

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 141 other followers

%d bloggers like this: