Swirly Girl

Filtering

[Taken in Tokyo earlier this year.]

This is a typical Tokyo view, where each of the signs stacked vertically is for a different shop or business.  Views like this are everywhere throughout the city; they go on for miles, as far as the eye can see.  As sprawling as Tokyo is, I always get the feeling that their main goal as a society is to utilize every inch of space available.  Tokyo feels endless, whether looking down a single street like the one pictured above or seeing it from the top of one of its many skyscrapers.  It goes on and on.  But it feels orderly, and there is beauty all around, from the manhole covers to the department store windows.

I think it says a lot about a city, community and a person to see how they utilize their space - whether physical, emotional or temporal.  Are there empty spaces that invite quiet reflection?  Does it feel organized or haphazard?  Energetic and lively or tense and abrasive? 

Life, finally, feels like it has slowed down to a more manageable pace.  Our house is cleared out of guests and roommates, all my major projects for the year are complete, and even though I know the holidays will bring their own brand of busy-ness, I can look at my time between now and the end of the year and see...emptiness.  A wide open expanse.  Nothingness. 

Just as I've purged piles of material objects out of my house and studio since September, it is now time to pay attention to the nagging questions, the thorns, the irritations, the issues I haven't dealt with and the reflections on what felt right this year, what felt comfortable, and what no longer fits.  My studio has been pared down to just the essentials - and I even sold my car, a daring maneuver in Los Angeles - and it is time to go through the same exercise within my heart and mind.

"Look within!... The secret is inside you."  ~Hui-neng

Listening to Rain

[Stormy afternoon in Hilton Head, South Carolina.  Taken last weekend.]

I am still catching up on things after a long weekend away in South Carolina, where the main staple was not a specific vegetable or dish, but simply FRIED.  And can I say?  Fried = good, which means it's a good thing I don't have easy access to the fried green tomatoes, fried chicken, hush puppies, fried shrimp and peanut butter pie (not fried, but just as addicting) I indulged in all weekend long. 

I had not been in that part of the country in many years, not since I moved from Athens, Georgia after finishing graduate school and moving to Santa Barbara.  We flew into Atlanta and drove to Hilton Head for a wedding, and every moment of the weekend was dripping in nostalgia.  Not only did I spend three years in Athens, but I also spent three formative years in Jacksonville, North Carolina - 3rd, 4th & 5th grades - where I spent hours and hours on the beach every summer.  Everything from the roadside signs for boiled peanuts to the crooked wooden fences along the beach sparked a memory, or if not an intact memory, a feeling that washed through me in an instant, and disappeared just as quickly.  It sometimes felt like the scent of french fries at the beach was just beyond my reach, and the quiet of all the nights I spent working late as a grad student were close enough to touch.  All these moments brushed past me like shy moths; the minute I'd turn to get a closer look they were off, making me wonder if they were ever really there in the first place.

Unlearning

It is now Day Three of my re-entry back into my "normal" life Post-Squam, and I am still getting things back in order, unpacking, doing laundry, downloading photos, etc.  The week has felt easy and slow, with naps and movies on the couch, a feat that doesn't come easily to me no matter how tired I am.  My tendency is always to push farther, to say to myself, "I'll just do this one more thing and then I'll take a break," only to find a handful of other "one more things" waiting in the wings for my attention.  Like those annoying drivers who cut in line when lanes merge, these little tasks usually push themselves forward and win out, causing the time I thought I'd have on the couch with my magazine or crossword puzzle to evaporate without my realizing it.

But this week I am committed to shifting this intensity down a notch.  The summer was an exercise in movement and discipline, when I got so much done in three months I felt slightly inhuman.  I became one of those people who was "super super busy", which isn't a crime against humanity, but isn't who I want to be on a full-time basis.  So this week is my week to set a different intention, and to let the mile long list of ideas and inspirations in my head do something I don't usually let them do:  Sit there.  And do nothing.

At least for a little while.

I woke up this morning when it was still dark, and when I looked at the clock it said 5:48am.  My first thought was, "Great!  I'll get a head start on the day!" but then remembered my intention and crawled back into bed.  These are the kind of moments I am having this week, where I am consciously pulling away from the mindset I was in until the morning I left for Squam.  I am trying to unlearn the habits that ruled my life from June to September, reminding myself over and over again that I don't have to get everything done today, and if some of my ideas remain ideas and nothing more the world won't collapse.  My intention is to create a softer flow in my life - to find the gentlest current, slip in quietly, and let it carry me like a leaf beneath the trees of Big Sur.

“You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
What the river says, that is what I say.”

~William Stafford

{For more musings on this subject, visit my latest post over at In the Wish Studio!}

Lighter

[My uniform at Squam last year; my uniform at Squam this year.]

It has been a week, I tell you.

Good.  Intense.  Prayer-full.

So much of everything.

My husband and I saw "Julie and Julia" last night, and I was weepy throughout the entire movie.  I had read and heard that the Julia part was much more fun and interesting than the Julie side of the story, but I found every inch of the movie just lovely.  After what might have been my most hectic summer yet, I walked out of the movie realizing I have, in many ways, forgotten to keep the joy in everything I do.  Julia Childs loved eating, loved cooking, and followed that love fearlessly; learning more about her journey and the ripple of joy and inspiration she created helped me see how far I've strayed from that...lightness.  It was the exact reminder I needed at precisely the right moment.

During this same 24-hour period, I also got inspired by Marisa who has, I believe, started a movement.  In the midst of having to tie up all the loose ends for my journey to Squam Art Workshops next week, I could not wait a single moment to do a massive household purge.  This created two carloads to Goodwill and a total re-arrangement of my studio.  I am now sitting at my desk with a whole new perspective, literally, feeling like I can board that plane to New Hampshire with...less.  Less clutter in my home, my studio, my mind, and my heart.  For as I've released boxes and bags of material items, the end of the summer has also provided me with a number of opportunities to release unhealthy stories, patterns, habits, and feelings.

As I said, it has been a week.

But the trash has been cleared, perspectives shifted, so much of what I have and know moved around, passed along, or maybe just slightly adjusted.  And in 48 hours I'll be on my way to the magic gathering in the forest that is Squam Art Workshops...feeling light.

"Courage is the power to let go of the familiar."  ~Raymond Lindquist

What Are Your Prayers Today?

[Kyoto, Japan :: September 2007]

[Kyoto, Japan :: September 2007]

[Tokyo, Japan :: July 2005]

On the grounds of temples in Japan, there are structures that hold small panels of balsa wood, paper, or colorful items like above.  Visitors can pay a small fee to write a personal prayer on one of these items and leave it at the temple.  I was fascinated by these collections of wishes, dreams, fears and hopes.  What stories do they hold?  How many of these prayers were answered?

"Courage is fear that has said its prayers."  ~Dorothy Bernard

My Job

[Plumeria :: Taken last week in Kauai, Hawaii]

It is not an easy thing to describe feelings, philosophies and ideas with mere words.  How often has it been said that "words can't express" x or y - that "words aren't enough"or "can't convey" what we hold in our hearts?  As I was thinking about all the different stories I would be bringing back home with me from a journey to a beautiful island where I drank sunshine, spent hours in the ocean, and felt love oozing from my pores every minute, this phrase kept coming up.  As I collected ideas, they came to me in bits and pieces like broken coral and seashells along the shores of Kauai.  When I picked them up to consider where they might take me when I got back home, I kept thinking about how difficult it would be to describe the texture and feel of my emotions, epiphanies and transformations.  But after reading the first short story in Bruno Schulz's The Street of Crocodiles and Other Stories, and nearly fainting over the way he turned words into a paintbrush, creating an image of a basket of fruit and vegetables like I've never experienced, I realized so much was possible, so much could, in fact, be expressed, explained and brought to life with words.  And that this is my job...this is my task now that I am back home at my keyboard, stories spilling out of my suitcase, still strewn all over the floor, having left a trail of scattered letters and images and thoughts all over my house.  It is my job to figure this out, and decide how to piece together all of these elements in way that leaves no doubt in the reader's mind what kind of joy swirled through my veins this week, and how it managed to seep through my skin in the first place.  That is my job, that is my task, to not just move beyond the "words can't express" roadblock, but take a sledgehammer to it, smash it to bits and find the way to create a connection between myself and whoever reads my stories, whereby the reader reads my unique arrangement of words and simply says, "Yes, I see."

"On those luminous mornings Adela returned from the market, like Pomona emerging from the flames of the day, spilling from her basket the colorful beauty of the sun - the shiny pink cherries full of juice under their transparent skins, the mysterious black morellos that smelled so much better than they tasted, apricots in whose golden pulp lay the core of long afternoons.  And next to that pure poetry of fruit, she unloaded sides of meat with their keyboard of ribs swollen with energy and strength, and seaweeds of vegetables like dead octopuses and squids - the raw material of meals with a yet undefined taste, the vegetative and terrestrial ingredients of dinner, exuding a wild and rustic smell."  -Bruno Schulz

Leaving

[Plumeria in Kauai, Hawaii :: Taken in 2005]

I am headed off to watch two beautiful, creative souls join their lives together on a beach across the Pacific.  The last time I was in Kauai I went swimming with a group of giant turtles in crystal clear water.  I hope they're in the mood for some company again this week.

Longings

To sleep.  For a year.

To remember the sound of the birds chirping outside my window right now and the way the barest hint of a breeze felt like velvet.

To be grateful for all of it, even what feels prickly.

To harness the energy I shared with a woman named Tanya and a woman named Jill last night, moments that reminded me why I do what I do.  Those moments - they are all that matter, they are what I will remember when I am old and tired and soaring over the landscape of my memories.  By then that terrain might be uneven, with sinkholes and gaps and unfamiliar buildings, but those moments - they will stand tall like beacons in the night.

To trust that we are all doing our best, and that we all want to be acknowledged for this.

That all the joy and confidence that burst through people's hearts this week at Squam Art Workshops continues to expand, evolve and sink deeper into their bones.  The world needs this light; it is what makes the earth sparkle like stars from the heavens. 

To keep my heart open and soft.

To follow the path of my negative triggers to their source - to face the things that unsettle me the most at their root - and do whatever needs to be done to come through that journey with an open, compassionate heart, especially towards myself.  I get so angry at myself for not "getting over" and "working through" things as quickly as I think I should, forgetting that my path to healing will very likely be a journey that never ends.

To remember what is true and real and beautiful in this world - the joy of sharing a meal with my friends, the way my skin tingles after a day in the sun, the comfort of a soft pillow at the end of a day of hard work.

To always be gracious and kind.

To know my limits; to recognize the difference between those I need to honor and those I need to move beyond.

To accept a gift when it is offered to me.

To celebrate the extraordinary garden of light, love, color and creativity that came into bloom this week, a week that I got to spend with old friends, new friends and three happy dogs.

To remember that I will always have friends with whom I can pick up where we left off as if not a day has gone by no matter how much time has passed since our last visit.

To go home and begin the work of my next book.

To look into my husband's eyes.  To see the goodness in his heart, and acknowledge it every day.

To be quiet when I need to be.

To accept when those I am close to are hurting, struggling, and frustrated without feeling the need to immediately fix it.  To simply sit with them and hold a space for their tears, their anger, their rawness.

To hold those moments when someone has done that for me close to my heart, and remember that it is OK to be taken care of now and then.

That everyone I shared a moment, a hug, many days and bits of time with over the past ten days feels safe, content and peaceful at this exact moment. 

That I could take all the glitter and sparkle of this ten-day, four-airplane, two-car rental, 6500+ mile journey, bottle it up, and drink a spoonful of it everyday.  That it may always be my elixir when my heart feels heavy, my body feels tired and my mind feels blank.

That my friends could see what I see when I look at them, that they could know the gratitude I feel for their presence in my life, how proud I am of them, how magnificent I think they are.  That they always know how deeply loved they are, by me and so many others.

To always remember that it isn't about getting on Oprah or selling a certain number of books, about blog statistics or balance sheets.  It is about putting forth truthful, inspiring work and holding up a lantern for those on the path to a meaningful life.

To be still, breathe deeply, and hold my own heart with gentle hands.

The Routine

[Tiny handouts for my book discussion at the Virginia Tech Circle of Excellence Conference]

I am writing this entry ahead of time, knowing it will be posted on the day I speak at an alumni event at Virginia Tech, my alma mater.  This event is one stop among many stops in different parts of the east coast, and I'm all set to go with various flight schedules, car rental reservations, directions, hotel information, and all the other requisite paperwork that goes along with such a journey.  I depart on an insanely early flight in less than 48 hours, and I'm sitting in my studio with a swirl of emotions floating around in my brain.

I always go through these periods before a trip where I regret having made any plans to be away from home for more than two hours.  As passionate as I am about traveling, I also love our home and - cue the sappy love song - love my husband.  In many respects I don't enjoy being away from either for any length of time.  No matter how adventurous or beautiful or fabulous any of my journeys away from home might be, I always have moments of feeling like I'd give anything to be able to go back home right then and there.  I am excited to visit my college campus after many years away and thrilled that I get to enjoy time there with my best friend before I head north to help run the June Squam Art Workshops, but feelings of resistance are also being stirred up.  "Why did I plan this trip anyway?" I ask myself, already looking forward to the day my plane lands back at LAX and I can sleep in my own bed.

It is always this way; this thought pattern always hits me right about now, two to three days before I am scheduled to leave.  But the same way this pattern is reliably melancholic, I know it won't let me down once I arrive at the airport and get through security.  That is always the moment when I feel like my journey has officially begun, and then the excitement begins.  I'll become giddy with anticipation, even knowing how much I'll miss being away from home, and all the anxiety I felt in the days before will melt away, their last bits fading away as my plane heads skyward.

“We are not human beings on a spiritual journey. We are spiritual beings on a human journey.”

~ Stephen R. Covey

Home

[Taken in Tokyo last week.]

"The changing seasons are seen in the beautiful sky and the colorful mountains.  Nature has many messages.  Enjoy this beautiful treasure with care."

~Sentiment on a set of Post-It notes from Japan

I have returned from this latest journey with another list of ideas, and now sit here paralyzed.  Where to begin?  How to prioritize? 

One step at a time.