Autumn has crept in on us with chilly tendrils and longer nights, morning cold in our nostrils and frost on the windshield. Although I've seen the occasional tenacious daisy or aster, or relentless yellow tansy, the flowers have surrendered to the greater strength in their roots for the next six months, and as the trees tuck themselves inward, they reward us with a last eye-feast of color, the inverse of spring.
However reluctantly, now we let go of our flower gardens and short sleeves, long outdoor evenings and the assumption of a sunny weekend. New gifts lie in store now, as we take stock of what to carry on into winter and what to pare away. We think toward holidays, having enough warm clothing, and playing in the snow. But our roots are important, too--the season's cycles are a way of recognizing that we have our own, although usually not so clearly defined. We are growing things, and our different seasons--of success, drudgery, elation, challenge, barely making it, and contentment--each serve their purpose toward our development, if we choose, in the greater, grander picture of our individual journeys.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
two medicine lake
Clarity, I've decided, is a condition which is always present; sometimes it's just that it's temporarily out of reach, beyond circumstances and mind clutter. When I can't get to a place like this crisp glacial lake, which I visited in Glacier Park, to restore my connection with it, I can look at the photo instead, and be reminded.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
study in gold
Expect the unexpected--words to live by, in a way. Only when we're in a state of readiness, when we're able to be flexible with our lives and reactions, can we really handle the curves well. No matter how many tantrums we might throw, or how much pouting we do, things will not be as we want them to be just because we want them to be. Acceptance and agility are among the most practical virtues we can acquire.
Slowing down helps. When we slow down, we're able to have more of our attention, our mental and physical energy, available in the moment, with what's happening right now, or about to. And the wonderful byproduct of slowing down is an increased awareness of the quality of life around us. Details, small beauties, messages that could be missed or opportunities lost. Or just a nice photograph, upon noticing the way a group of grasses blends a variety of shapes and textures and shades of gold.
To live in our heads, ahead of ourselves and behind ourselves, is to divorce ourselves from our senses, from being able to experience what's really happening in the moment. I know, because I am an expert at this, and have missed out on too much of my life as a result.
But I took this picture, which I like. So I must be doing something right.
Slowing down helps. When we slow down, we're able to have more of our attention, our mental and physical energy, available in the moment, with what's happening right now, or about to. And the wonderful byproduct of slowing down is an increased awareness of the quality of life around us. Details, small beauties, messages that could be missed or opportunities lost. Or just a nice photograph, upon noticing the way a group of grasses blends a variety of shapes and textures and shades of gold.
To live in our heads, ahead of ourselves and behind ourselves, is to divorce ourselves from our senses, from being able to experience what's really happening in the moment. I know, because I am an expert at this, and have missed out on too much of my life as a result.
But I took this picture, which I like. So I must be doing something right.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Rainbow on the falls
Rainbows have been popping up all over the place lately. Over the falls, in the sky, over the mountains, in the desert, and in three states: Montana, Idaho, and Washington. It's rainbow season.
It's remarkable how fragile humans are, and how easily swayed. Events in our lives and in the world send currents through us, and we cannot be completely immune because we are feeling beings, and because, at some level, conscious or not, we understand that everything is connected. "No man is an island", "ask not for whom the bell tolls", etc.
But however we may be affected by the sad or tragic events we are witness to--earthquake and flood victims, civil strife in Africa, the plight of missing children--there are those very simple occurrences that bring us joy, as well. And rainbows are a prime example.
Everyone, with the odd exception I suppose, loves a rainbow. Something as simple, as accidental, as the way light hits water vapor brings people outside with cameras, brings them to their windows pointing, turns faces upward with smiles. We pause to enjoy it, a moment of beauty. We feel awe.
Of course, scientific fact can rarely measure up to the stock we're willing to invest in what we want something to mean. A rainbow may be light refraction, but what it really is to us is magic. Promise, ever since the Bible. A pot of gold, a bridge to heaven, a natural wonder. The human soul craves beauty and hope, to keep itself whole and innocent through the times of heartbreak. I believe a single rainbow possesses more healing power than an entire apothecary of medicines.
Find the simple moments of beauty in your life. Soak them in, fill up on them, let them move you. You're bound to walk away a happier person, and better fortified for whatever life may bring.
It's remarkable how fragile humans are, and how easily swayed. Events in our lives and in the world send currents through us, and we cannot be completely immune because we are feeling beings, and because, at some level, conscious or not, we understand that everything is connected. "No man is an island", "ask not for whom the bell tolls", etc.
But however we may be affected by the sad or tragic events we are witness to--earthquake and flood victims, civil strife in Africa, the plight of missing children--there are those very simple occurrences that bring us joy, as well. And rainbows are a prime example.
Everyone, with the odd exception I suppose, loves a rainbow. Something as simple, as accidental, as the way light hits water vapor brings people outside with cameras, brings them to their windows pointing, turns faces upward with smiles. We pause to enjoy it, a moment of beauty. We feel awe.
Of course, scientific fact can rarely measure up to the stock we're willing to invest in what we want something to mean. A rainbow may be light refraction, but what it really is to us is magic. Promise, ever since the Bible. A pot of gold, a bridge to heaven, a natural wonder. The human soul craves beauty and hope, to keep itself whole and innocent through the times of heartbreak. I believe a single rainbow possesses more healing power than an entire apothecary of medicines.
Find the simple moments of beauty in your life. Soak them in, fill up on them, let them move you. You're bound to walk away a happier person, and better fortified for whatever life may bring.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Broken Top mountain
Peaks and valleys, with an occasional magnificent view. That's life, isn't it?
This trail was more magnificent view than anything. Starting at Todd Lake by Mt. Bachelor, in Bend, Oregon, it climbed into the Three Sisters wilderness area. Meadows, woods, and a ridgetop stroll that revealed cracked and snowpatched volcanic peaks in most directions. Butterflies, wildflowers, and scattered pumice stones of red, lavender, gray.
A place like this can really restore perspective. A walk in nature for me is like a chiropractic adjustment of the mind and soul. My head may still be racing during the first mile, and my emotions might still be fuddled up with a grudge or a confusion or an unpleasant encounter. But if I keep walking, the trees and the fragrances and the vistas and the hard-soft earth trail just seem to suck out the bad energy as my feet thud along, and then crack-click-sigh-shrug everything comes back into place and I remember that none of those little things actually matter. In fact, they'll take the life out of me if they can, if I let them. Life is too big, and Love too important, to give power to minor irritations. Let them be, forgive, extract your energy from them and keep going at a steady pace.
That's the better way. The peaks and dips are just peaks and dips. The walking, the Bigness--that's what lasts.
This trail was more magnificent view than anything. Starting at Todd Lake by Mt. Bachelor, in Bend, Oregon, it climbed into the Three Sisters wilderness area. Meadows, woods, and a ridgetop stroll that revealed cracked and snowpatched volcanic peaks in most directions. Butterflies, wildflowers, and scattered pumice stones of red, lavender, gray.
A place like this can really restore perspective. A walk in nature for me is like a chiropractic adjustment of the mind and soul. My head may still be racing during the first mile, and my emotions might still be fuddled up with a grudge or a confusion or an unpleasant encounter. But if I keep walking, the trees and the fragrances and the vistas and the hard-soft earth trail just seem to suck out the bad energy as my feet thud along, and then crack-click-sigh-shrug everything comes back into place and I remember that none of those little things actually matter. In fact, they'll take the life out of me if they can, if I let them. Life is too big, and Love too important, to give power to minor irritations. Let them be, forgive, extract your energy from them and keep going at a steady pace.
That's the better way. The peaks and dips are just peaks and dips. The walking, the Bigness--that's what lasts.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Lily bloom
The particular beauty of my balcony garden exists in its variety. I find endless joy in watering and nurturing the blooms there, watching pots and baskets spill over with color and exuberant growth. It's a little wild, and certainly the most decorated porch in the apartment complex. But it's also now a sanctuary, a private space, a habitat for visitors like hummingbirds and fuzzy bees. It has vibrance and color and magic and purpose, a far cry from the skeletal blank space it was before. It has life.
But I find I have the same "problem" with my little gardens as I do in my life beyond the balcony: lack of focus. In late winter, in early spring, even as I begin potting and planting, I tell myself that I will design the garden--carefully choose the color palette and textures; provide for some calming green foliage to complement the flowers and break up busyness; grow primarily those plants that I've always had a particular love for. And then I go to the nursery, and I see flower after flower that inspires me, and I see beautiful plants that do not go well together but that I can't resist, and I am impulsively overcome with a desire for a brightly colorful and uncontrolled spill of a flower garden gone wild, and that's what I get. Which is not bad; it just means I've yet again lost both sight of my goal and patience, and just given in to whatever caught my fancy in the moment. The result is a bunch of flowers that I love, but a space that has no grounding.
There is something to be said for impulsiveness and imagination, and allowing for spontaneous creativity and passion. But I believe a signature quality of a successful life is being able to "weed out" some of those options that look appealing, but which will ultimately be short-lived. If our energy is moving out to everything we might possibly like all at once, there's precious little left to pool toward a single, more powerful direction.
This will remain my goal, on my own behalf. In the meantime, I will enjoy my flowers, and their endearingly bright chaos.
But I find I have the same "problem" with my little gardens as I do in my life beyond the balcony: lack of focus. In late winter, in early spring, even as I begin potting and planting, I tell myself that I will design the garden--carefully choose the color palette and textures; provide for some calming green foliage to complement the flowers and break up busyness; grow primarily those plants that I've always had a particular love for. And then I go to the nursery, and I see flower after flower that inspires me, and I see beautiful plants that do not go well together but that I can't resist, and I am impulsively overcome with a desire for a brightly colorful and uncontrolled spill of a flower garden gone wild, and that's what I get. Which is not bad; it just means I've yet again lost both sight of my goal and patience, and just given in to whatever caught my fancy in the moment. The result is a bunch of flowers that I love, but a space that has no grounding.
There is something to be said for impulsiveness and imagination, and allowing for spontaneous creativity and passion. But I believe a signature quality of a successful life is being able to "weed out" some of those options that look appealing, but which will ultimately be short-lived. If our energy is moving out to everything we might possibly like all at once, there's precious little left to pool toward a single, more powerful direction.
This will remain my goal, on my own behalf. In the meantime, I will enjoy my flowers, and their endearingly bright chaos.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Big Fisher ridge trail
Paths are among my favorite images. I love seeing them, inviting the urge to explore, to discover, to find out. I love walking them, especially if they are in nature and someplace as beautiful as this. I find that walking a path helps put me back on mine--it's practice, in a way, for putting one foot in front of the other and remembering there's an adventure ahead, and choices about which way I go, and that I have some power over that. When I stop being distracted, and keep my eyes on the path I want, any number of good things can happen. I might actually get where I'd like to be.
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