it is a tough time to travel. at least for me. i feel – well – safer at home these days. tucked into our sweet old house doing our thing.
but we had an opportunity to visit old friends, see new things, experience a different landscape. and we were fortunate enough to be able to take it.
this place we have traveled to – beautiful. another part of this stunning sea to shining sea. we move about airports with thousands of people – all different – with languages and accents and clothing choices and faces all swimming around us. such diversity. we can feel the riches of this melting pot.
and we miss home. where our dogga waits for us and 20 has dinner hot. where our studios and our pillows are. where no make-up and sweats are a default. where we sous-chef and cook side by side in our old kitchen, nourishing not just our bodies but our souls as well.
it doesn’t take new eyes to see it all. but the gentle reminder is always a good thing.
to go and come back.
nothing like it.
“the real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” (marcel proust)
i’m not sure that i can point to the moment when i realized – with every fibre – that the truly holiest moments were not the ones in buildings called churches.
it is a moment for which i am grateful, perspective-arranging and a welcome addition to my secular vocabulary – the word “holy”.
i spent many decades creating the atmosphere in churches where people might tune in to the emotional of faith – that which they could not palpably touch but which they could feel, they could intuit, they could impart to others. through music that i specifically chose – after research, after studying the narrative to be used, and after much listening and evaluating if a piece might touch hearts – open or closed – i shaped the music of services – the everyday and the special holidays, the celebrations of joining together and the inevitable release of people to the next dimension – to freely acknowledge spirit as it flowed and to try to gently grace others with it through music. to try and encourage an openness to the spirit that breathed into the place and maybe into them, into a place inside them where they needed the sweet assurance. whether i was aware if it did or not was not my only measure of success. providing the tenor of possibility and holding space for holy and their experience of holy was my job. there were moments when the last strains of a song or piece of music lingered in the air over the congregation, moments when a choir of singers, paused in a rest between notes sung with dedication and commitment to each other that you could almost see holy in the hush – the sun shining through, its rays touching each person. but over the course of these decades of time spent in these buildings, i was inordinately disappointed – even stunningly – time and again – by the hypocrisy to which i was privy. true faith is as true faith does, holy is as holy does, i was reminded, over and over. disillusionment was – and still is – a repeating theme.
out on the trail, as the clouded sun shined through the winter landscape and reflected onto the river, i could see – once again – how holy turns up in the purest of moments, the simplest, the least contrived. we have been gifted by the universe – and whatever deity we each individually feel or – perhaps – in which we might believe – with the extraordinary: a world full of beautiful.
beautiful is a descriptive word – easily understood as describing something of beauty. and that is all around us. the reaching of people to people in times of abundance and in times of need, kindness to and embracing of our neighbors despite differences, the love between any and all, regardless of anything, nature and its astonishments. our holy is all around us.
for those of you who are invoking your – supposed – religiosity to validate your vote – and your support – for the cruelest chaos that is this new administration, those of you who are spouting righteous religious drivel to prop up your bigotry, i would venture to say you may have missed the point. sheer hypocrisy has taken over your holy.
holy has not only left the building, but it has clearly left your soul.
our sansevieria is called “a perfect houseplant“. it doesn’t require much tending, much light, much water. it is hardy and healthy and has grown immensely since we brought it home, filling the window nook.
it makes me think of my sweet momma, since she is the one who first introduced me to sansevieria – the snake plant. she had several and called them by their scientific name.
our sansevieria seems unconcerned that it is referred to as an “old school succulent“. and, according to the miraclegro website, they are “almost comically easy to grow, so chances are you’ll encounter few problems with them.”
the other day d and i were talking about trends. neither of us is particularly trendy nor aware of the trending trends. we reminisced about growing up with parents who also weren’t trendy and didn’t try to keep up with pop culture. we wondered about whether that was a detriment but decided that it was likely helpful since staying on trend requires a financial investment and real-life artists are generally not in that sort of position.
i’m thinking that we are both sansevieria.
perhaps we all need to be succulent sansevieria. easy to care for, ruthlessly growing despite all odds. we need to be hardy and healthy, comically easy. maybe that will give us the strength we need to prevail through all the chaos and uncertainty we are experiencing.
the one thing that we don’t have in common with our snake plant? the part that reads “chances are you’ll encounter few problems with them.”
it’s our job as artists – and, let’s face it, as humans – to push back on cruelty, on injustice, on betrayal, on marginalization, on stupidity. so…you may encounter a few problems.
yeah, we’re mostly sansevieria. but definitely watch for a few prickly cactus spines thrown in for self-preservation and for the protection of others.
these days – even if you shut your eyes really tight – squeezing your eyelids so that you can see nothing – you cannot block it all out. i’ve tried. it doesn’t work.
like you, well – some of you – i am horrified by the fast and furious devastation – the epitome of meanness and ugliness cast upon us, upon this nation. there are no words to describe it all.
so i open my eyes instead.
and i look for things of beauty. anywhere. everywhere.
the sage green was a balm to the eyes in a landscape mostly brown. the folds of veiny leaves drew me to it – tiny crystals of dew glinting what little light there was on a drearily grey day.
the photo shoot wasn’t prolonged – only six photographs – but each one is somewhat dreamy – this fuzzy plant off-trail in the underbrush was stunning. i was glad to have noticed it. its presence gave me pause – to breathe.
this is the only way i’ll get through all this.
by keeping my eyes open to anything of beauty on or off trail. anything at all. anywhere. everywhere.
but the miso potsticker soup called for it, so game on. we purchased baby bok choy and set about making a big stock pot.
it is a beautiful leafy vegetable, photogenic. and much simpler to use in a recipe than i thought. the new recipe opened up ideas – as we cooked together – for other ingredients we might add, to other recipes we might try. that is the beauty of trying new things. new begets new.
the fewest short months ago, we co-opted the phrase “we’re not going back” made popular by kamala and tim. we both felt passionately about not going back, but instead moving forward, our land and its people becoming a more perfect union, learning more, experiencing more. we were excited about the possibilities that lay in front of us – all of us – excited to think about the potential of a country that had so much potential. like our bok choy joy, we were eager to try new things.
instead, the pall that is settling over this country is everything BUT that. suddenly, we are being thrust backwards, hurled around into the ugliest times that are arriving with each sign of the sharpie. it is beyond incomprehensible to grok why anyone would want this.
as we trimmed the bok choy stem and divided the bundle i thought about all the canned vegetables i had eaten back-in-the-day before frozen vegetables in the days before buying fresh. i don’t think i had ever had fresh asparagus before the early eighties. i had no idea what i had been missing, no idea whatsoever.
cooking with canned asparagus – as I would expect it would be with canned bok choy – is narrow and colorless and bleak. quoting from reddit – “asparagus from a can should be banned as a crime against humanity.” (bellasantiago1975)
co-opting THAT expression now, i’d adapt it to a far greater-reaching, far more ominously perilous outcome than we might imagine: “going back should be banned as a crime against humanity.”
“our forever work is to learn to hold the brutal and beautiful in the same palm.” (suleika jaouad)
i am trying to learn to list to the beautiful. lean into it. curve that way. take that path. abruptly turn, if need be.
in these fraught times, these times of brutal, we are finding how we wake – how we start our day – is crucial. we are fragile, maybe just like you.
and so we watch through the mini blinds, through the screen and storm window, as – out across the deck, reflecting on the sunroom windows, just past the awning over the back door – the sun – rising over the lake – climbs to a place where its rays sneak around houses and gardens and reach out and out, brushing our windows.
and we can see it.
we watch as it intensifies and moves up, up. a tiny gift for us to hold.
and then – as we sip coffee – one of us quietly comments on how truly beautiful it is. and our day is officially started.
dogga has two favorite toys. one is candy cane and the other is snowman. we purchased both of them in december 2017 at festival grocery store – in a bin in the front of the store – each for $1. they are both squeaky toys. and they both still squeak.
this is pretty much a miracle. any other toy – particularly the stuffed ones – has lost its stuffing, lost its head (if it had one), lost all or most of the semblance of what it really is.
but candy cane and snowman have survived. neither have suffered even a nibble off their shape. dogga’s gentleness with these two treasured toys has been unparalleled. he carries these around with him, dropping them by his side in the kitchen or on the rug in the living room or on the bed. he never brings them outside, always dropping them inside by the back door, checking on them or picking them up again as he comes back inside. it would seem that he is protecting them – and their longevity is proof that he – the guardian of these plastic squeakers – has kept them intact. it is completely endearing.
perhaps there is a lesson to be learned.
perhaps we need hold gently that which or who are dear to us. perhaps we should wish to keep them close, to be soft with them, to not harm them or place them in harm’s way, to protect them, to make sure that they still squeak.
siri sent an unsolicited message. good vibes that feel like warm little boosts of joy and confidence are certainly welcome right now. i wonder how she knew.
these are perilous times. i’m not quite sure how to stay balanced or in center. so any little vibe-boost helps.
we’ve turned the salt lamps on in our studios. we have an ampersand in our living room. we exercise regularly. we listen to guided imagery meditation. we cook and eat fresh foods. we get outside. we hike in the woods and along the river. we hug our dogga. we are cleaning out and making space. we feed and watch the birds in our backyard. we study barney aging in the garden. we wear toasty socks and fur-lined boots. we have baselayers on and keep the house cooler. we open the window at night. we have two fig newtons every day. we sip bold coffee from hydroflasks our girl gave us. we have wine – just in case – on the rack our boy gave us. we use moisturizing lotion each morning and night. we try to stay hydrated. we prepare and share dinner at least twice a week with others. we listen to music. we read. we hold hands. we dance – all three of us.
and – even with all that – you can feel it seeping in. the dread. the horror of what has already happened in merely one week. the ill intent.
and so, we reach to others. because together – those of us who find it perilous – these unacceptably cruel, undemocratic, oligarch-led times – we may bring boosts of joy and confidence to one another. at the very least, we will tend to the most elemental bits and pieces of life.
and siri will shower us with good vibes in the middle of it all.
like you, maybe, i woke up on tuesday, sickened. the scourge has impaled the nation and i am stunned beyond belief. though i know we – personally – will be working at keeping on keeping on, the fallout of less than 24 hours was mind-blowing. which i know was the point. shock and awe, as they say.
in the tracks of our future we need to decide just exactly what we wish there. the present tense cannot be that which we leave in our wake, for this twisted leadership’s twisted governing will – most definitely – be the end of humanity as we know it. it is hard to grok this kind of cruelty.
in this time of grieving for our country, our democratic ideals, rights and freedoms on the chopping block to be desecrated, a moral center devoid of morality, the heaviness of depression and dread move in like a thick fog – difficult to see through to the other side. this is stifling, intense, horrible.
and so, maybe, i know how you feel. and sitting in this “collective depression” (john pavlovitz) is necessary – for the moment. we need spend time looking back, looking at now, looking down the road. we need spend time in the middle of it all. there are no easy solutions, i suspect. but each inch of the road forward counts and the tracks we leave will tell the story of our attempt to find balance and peace and goodness. it is the fundamental one-foot-after-another.
even as i write this i know that i don’t know what i’m talking about. not really. i have not lived through such a time. i am – like you – newly embarking on a trek heavy with the baggage of an administration steeped in hatred, retaliation, corruption. to think i know anything about such things is overstating, hyperbole. i – like you – have been mostly fortunate to live – most of my life – in a country with laws, checks and balances, at least a few grains of fairness mixed in. but here we are. and, though 77 million people voted for this maniacal cadre, more did not – through their vote or their silence.
anne frank embraced hope, “i don’t think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains.”
ralph waldo emerson’s words remind, “life is a journey, not a destination.”
when i come out from under the quilt, reopen the blinds and step out, i know that we will consider carefully our path as we go. we will step lightly and intentionally. we’ll not carry the fancy luggage with leather-edged nasty executive orders and gleeful manifestations of greed and malfeasance with us.
we will carry the scroll of our constitution and its good will from here and now to next days and the days after – our tracks will not be shameful indicators of the worst of us nor will they embarrass us. instead, they will be steady and strong and will tell the story of this journey for “whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly” (martin luther king, jr.) and we have a legacy to choose.
reverse threading 