“let there be an opening into the quiet that lies beneath the chaos, where you find the peace you did not think possible and see what shimmers within the storm.” (john o’donohue)
i spent a little over a week in ireland. it was lush and magical and filled with a simple richness hard to articulate. we walked along stone walls separating us and sheep. we perched on high cliffs overlooking the atlantic. we cozied in pubs with pick-up music and dark beer. verdant, there was beauty in its countryside and in its people, in its music and its air. clover – just off the side of the trail – in the shade and still polka-dotted with earlier dew – makes me think of this cherished time of years ago.
we’ll have corned beef and cabbage, white potatoes and carrots with 20. and guinness. we’ll sit together around our tiny kitchen table. he’ll tell of his vacation and we’ll tell him of all the stuff he missed back here. and in the sharing, the sipping, the eating, any storms of this time will part – clouds shuffling back, thunder and lightning easing up. and laughter will gurgle up through the cracks, perspective regaining ground. the chaos will stay where it belongs – in the dregs, the dark caves – and quiet peace – in soft voice and raucous laughter – will rise.
and we’ll know that dewy clover and the kitchen table, the shimmering riches of a good meal and good company, untarnished beauty of shared time and simple nature will always lead the way out of chaos.
“99% of people wouldn’t notice that”, he said, “and they’d just keep walking.”
the stranger had stopped where we were. i was off-trail, taking a picture of sun as it glinted off cattails. i was precariously close to the water’s edge, hidden by dried leaves and twigs in the marshy area, but worth it for the photo. d had just given me a hand-up back onto the trail when the stranger stopped.
he asked to see my photographs and i complied. and we all started talking. george spoke from the wisdom of someone close-to-80 as he recounted stories of trails he had recently taken, of people going too fast to SEE anything at all. he told us he was happy we noticed the glowing cattails, happy that we were looking – really looking – as we hiked. he told us that “it” (life) is all about looking and learning, researching, wondering, thinking and looking some more. we agree.
i’m not sure there’s ever been a hike – anywhere – when i haven’t taken at least a few photographs. there’s just so much to see. sometimes, in the middle of our not-knowing, we’ll look things up right away. sometimes, we save that for later.
just a couple days ago – in a truly magical moment – we stopped on the trail, separated from a pond by a bit of woods and grasses.
the red-tailed hawk was still. in the air – suspended on a current, wings curled up – it was absolutely still, hovering in place. though i know hawks are apt to do this as they hunt, this hawk just stayed still as we watched. then it flew a little lower and hovered a little bit more. it never dove down for any prey; it just hovered and then landed in a tree nearby as if to say, “there! that was for you.” it was a gorgeous and spiritual moment. i won’t forget it.
the trail – in both its simplicity and complexity – is a constant reminder for us.
“it’s not about you,” it whispers. “look around. there’s so much to see. it’s all here FOR you.”
the tulip was exquisite. grand and graceful and svelte and without wrinkle. it was stunning – even in its never-blooming. and then…a few days went by. days, in the lives of tulips-in-vases, are years, decades in the lives of humans, i suspect. it held on for many of those days, petals smooth and tightly wound in its bud. and then.
we glanced at it – this vase of flowers on the table – pale pink that had kept us company, had given us pause.
and there, in the place where there had been a tulip, was an orchid.
now, you might argue, that’s not an orchid!
but i would counter that with this: if a tulip – in its next phase – wishes to look somehow like an orchid, wishes to open its petals in an orchid-like ballet – who are we to question it? must the tulip mimic the orchid perfectly? or is the nod to orchid, the bow to that maestro enough?
the orchid, tulip, dandelion theory and study … a categorization of life. are we smack-dab in orchid: highly sensitive, beautiful flowers that need very particular environments to thrive? are we firmly entrenched in dandelion: low-sensitivity, hardy, resilient, adaptable, which can grow virtually anywhere? or are we nestled in tulip: which falls somewhere between the two extremes of the sensitivity scale?
yet i wonder. do we cross over? do we linger in the liminal space between flowers? do we stretch our limbs to touch orchid? do we relax to be dandelions in the breeze?
maybe this tulip wanted a moment to be seen almost as an orchid, to feel almost like an orchid, to experience orchid.
or – maybe – this tulip was part orchid all along.
and i wonder…what i will be in the next phase of life.
of course it is all in the eye of the beholder, as they say. trouble, that is.
and – it is a straight line from this wine label to civil rights leader john lewis. “speak up, speak out, get in the way. get in good trouble, necessary trouble” (“and help redeem the soul of america.)”
“troublemaker is inspired by those early days of pushing boundaries and finding your path. still stirring things up, we here at troublemaker are all about challenging the status quo and embracing the journey of life.” (hope family wines)
speak up. speak out. get in the way. push boundaries. stir things up. challenge the status quo. i’m pretty sure all of those are definitions of ‘artist’. sans “troublemakers” making good and necessary trouble, agenda, inequity, discrimination, duplicity, harassment, violation, and abuse would quash truth, transparency, goodness, loyalty, dedication, work done well.
my big brother used to strum his guitar and sing “somewhere” (“there’s a place for us”). a song from west side story about simmering tolerance, inclusion, the embrace of each other, the elimination of senseless hatred, bullying, and pointed injustice.
yes. there is a place for us. troublemakers. pushing back toxic. stoking up that which is life-giving.
so much to think about. the middle of the night is a mashup festival of thoughts.
sometimes our level of profundity in the night is astounding. we converse and deep dive and solve all the world’s problems, quoting nietzsche and rumi and mary oliver and john muir.
and sometimes, it is less deep, less intense, less – well – anything at all. just random. and one of us – i’m not admitting to being the one – goes on and on, pondering, pondering, pondering – all aloud – convinced the other one of us – again, no pointed fingers here – is actually listening.
meanwhile, the dogga jumps up on the end of the bed – groaning – and yawns, falling into a deep slumber, his paws running, running, running, in dreamland.
sometimes nights are forever.
*****
and, speaking of random…that reminds me of a great 70s song that has nothing to do with this because we are both right here….still, great song!
the front was obvious. the edge was unmistakable. i know there have been other days when it was so, but for some reason – this very week, this very day – it was profound. clear-cut demarcation. dense clouds meeting blue-blue sky – a distinct line.
though often – most days, really – the clouds co-exist with the blue sky, this made the front system – windy, cold, raw, a bit nasty – inordinately clear. there was no doubt where it was and where it wasn’t. this front did not hide in tall cumulonimbus plumes. this front did not pose as puffy cumulus clouds, lurking in wait for opportunity to tower and turn into thunderstorms. this front was what it was. it was not duplicitous.
i must say i appreciated that about this front. it was just so clear, so transparent, honest, if you can attach such an adjective to a weather system. i stopped at a light and grabbed my camera to try and capture the line in the sky. it was a good day to remind myself that lines like this really do exist. nature is straight-forward about its intention. it’s not pretending to be something else.
a front is a front. blue sky is blue sky. a storm is a storm. nothing two-faced about it.
as usual, humans could learn a lot from nature.
“compared with the intense purity and cordiality and beauty of nature, the most delicate refinements and cultures of civilization are gross barbarisms.” (john muir)
sitting at the oyster bar at the milwaukee public market, there was a young couple around the bend of the bar. they started to take selfies and the young woman would glance at the photo, making self-deprecating comments and talking about using a filter. as a selfie-non-believer (mostly because of my age and the wrinkles that don’t lie) i offered to take a few pictures of them from across the bar, saying that photos are always a little softer from a distance. the young woman happily handed me her phone, adding she’d love if i would take a picture – if i knew how to work an iphone. wow. i guess it’s not just selfies that tell my age.
dogga loves to lay in the snow. any chance he gets he will lay down and stay there for as extended a period a time as we allow. his snow-glee is magical and i try to capture it in photos. in an effort to not disturb him, i took this photo through the back screen door. he somehow knew i was there and turned his head to look at me. i snapped his picture and here it is, sans filter.
i suppose there are many things that act as filters these days. material items like fancy cars or trendy clothing or mcmansion homes – all these things set a tone, create a reality whether or not it is reality, whether or not it is truth-telling or belies the actual. people want to be seen in certain ways and will filter themselves with whatever is available to them to be more certain that you see them in the way they wish. the car, the clothes, the house, the red-heeled shoes – they all precede the person. and our society – with its emphasis on materialism and the laddered measure it creates – reinforces and exacerbates this. we are – sometime or other – all guilty of forming opinions before having even an iota of a chance to speak to a person, to sort out a smidge of who they are, to glimpse their soul.
the young couple was lovely. they were clearly enjoying each other’s company and you could see that joy on their faces. it seemed that it might have been early on in their relationship, but they also seemed a bit smitten with each other.
i wondered later how that look – captured on film – wouldn’t be enough and why, with youth and love on their side and in their photograph, they would need a filter.
i started to take another photograph of dogga through the screen door. he got up from his spot and turned toward me. because he is a smartypants with many lessons to teach us, he repeated something he had heard me say once or twice, reminding me that any kind of filter isn’t necessary.
birds are singing at the crack of dawn outside our open-at-least-a-slit window. the bunny is out and about in the backyard and there is a new softly-padded divot under the ornamental grasses where she made her nest last year. bulbs are sprouting and the postal delivery folks are starting to wear shorts. it will soon be spring in wisconsin.
it is tempting to go outside and trim back the grasses, rake all the debris from the gardens, pare down the sedum. to unplug the gutter warming cables, to put away the snow shovels right outside the back door, to drain, clean and refill the pond, to bring out the table and chairs, to consider much-needed replacement rugs for the deck. it is tempting to get ready.
but that would be premature.
and, ultimately, we know better.
so we will wait.
patience – at this time of year – with the sun shining and temperatures ranging from the twenties to the sixties – is most definitely hard to come by. we just have to stoke up and be zen in this liminal time.
but all good things do come in time. and eventually, it all plays out. even if it doesn’t really look that way. what’s that expression…? a watched pot never boils.
and waiting is hard.
but i have watched pots in my life.
and i know – for a fact – that – eventually – they do boil.
daisies were on my shopping list. our daughter was coming into town and i wanted some fresh flowers on our table and in her room. so, daisies are our go-to.
but the pink tulips caught my eye. long slender stems and the palest pink buds, i could feel my whole body slow down gazing at them.
every time i look at them it feels the same way.
the buds never opened. yet, the tulips are still proudly standing tall, ten days later. it is an image of potential. a visceral right-in-front-of-us portrayal of stately beauty. or maybe it’s an image of choice – of taking a different road. these tulips are stunning. and it is not in their blossoming open.
both of us artists, i can tell you there are many, many unopened buds. they stack in corners and in notebooks, in the recesses of our minds, on our laptops. they are pale pink and soft. they are deep-red and fiery. they wait for their moment.
and some buds don’t open. i read those buds may have faced a particularly cold winter, or had too much — or too little — exposure to heat and sunlight. i’d add that they may have had naysayers naysaying at them. they may be competing for sun with other buds, other flowers, other ideas.
or maybe they just like it that way. as buds. standing tall and quiet, emanating peace and tranquility.
every time i have looked at these pink tulips i have thought about their color. i have imagined it on a wall – the palest pink – with white crown moldings and trim. never having had a pink wall, i’ve wondered about how it might feel to be in such a room. i’ve wondered if it might feel the way it feels gazing at these buds.
i’m cheering our tulips on for another few days, maybe even another week. i want to keep them around. they are making me breathe differently. they are giving me pause. they are making me imagine.
and maybe that’s the point. it’s not always about the blossom.
somewhere around 3:30 this morning i really wanted to flip on the cuisinart. i was pining for a good strong cup of coffee. i was awake and i was suddenly hungry and most-definitely coffee-deficient. i laid awake for a few hours, thinking, thinking, thinking, as is not uncommon these days.
and then i got a text. my dear friend was up in the night holding her brand-new one-day-old beautiful baby granddaughter and wrote to me about the joy of the moment. i could feel her amazement. a new little person in the world and it was happening at that moment that jen was gently holding her, swaddled and warm.
i thought about my own children, picturing the last time i saw each of them, hoping they are both sleeping, hoping they know – in a tiny corner of their minds – they are still gently held.
earlier – somewhere around 2:30 or so – i had pestered d and we watched a trail or two. there was some new footage of everest and, though a little rough on the video front, we tuned in. it occurred to me that somewhere out there – high in the cold himalayas – roughly twelve hours ahead – at that moment – there were perhaps porters in the khumbu valley moving supplies into their towns or to market with yaks and – incredibly – on their backs.
and maybe some scientist was out studying volcanoes in indonesia or glacial movement in the arctic.
and there were people in the sierra nevadas dealing with blizzard conditions and avalanches and exorbitant wind and others in texas dealing with unchecked wildfires.
there are people in mexico city, worried that fresh water will run out.
and somewhere there was someone holding tightly onto the last moments of life, maybe memorizing the last details or reaching and touching a loved one.
somewhere – in too many lands under siege to count – people were wondering if their home, their town, their region would survive the next day.
and somewhere – someone was sitting, meditating, peace in their soul.
everything going on…all at once. the tutti of life everywhere – the whole orchestra.
and now – in the morning – birds outside our window and sun streaming in – dogga at our feet – i sip hot coffee out of the hydroflask our daughter gave us a few years back – and think about the concurrence of it all.
and i realize – once again – there is no one person who is “all-that”.
reverse threading 