Late last evening I bade good night to the laptop, the computer and the stuffed St. Bernard which sits - undusted - on the printer. Time to find a new cat pal. Ya think? Something that breathes and moves and maybe meows back once in awhile. A little furry person that would make demands and run by in the occasional blur. People sometimes ask if I don't find it hard to live and work alone spending so much time in silence. Since much of the day is given over to emailing customers, suppliers and friends, I'm not sure how deeply that silence extends anymore. And I do love some pretty noisy kinds of things - Klezmer music, railway trains, raccoons fighting over fish in the moonlight and fire engines going full blast. You betcha. But yes, for the most part, I do live in quiet and solitude, embracing it fully. And it has been pretty much life long. Even at 5 years of age - too little to read much - I would leaf through my older brother's Rand McNally Atlas hunting down quiet, lonely looking places to dream about. I suspected these would be without tall buildings, cars and the city noise there was even back in 50’s I knew very likely these map places with no names were different from any I'd experienced in my young life. And this bore true in later years, when I made a journey to the arctic, travelling up the MacKenzie River to the delta region by boat into Inuvik and Tuktoyaktuk and then finally over water by plane to Banks Island and Fox Inlet. And yes, it was quiet there - a whole vast island of solitude - and it was quite wonderfully different and mysterious. We boated in crystal clear waters, ate fresh arctic char right out of the icy waters and feasted on local caribou. We dug our ice cream out from the natural permafrost freezers in the ground. No need for Frigidaires up there. What I remember most about it all now in retrospect was the howl of the incessant wind, the Inuit people’s sing-song voices and the cry of the circling sea birds high overhead all filling that solitude and quenching the soul. The theme of silence prevailed to such extent that in my late 20's and over a period of 10 years, I began to look at the question of living life as a nun - very particularly the life of a contemplative. I visited a cloistered monastery spending time with the sisters sharing in the rhythm of their day. I recall awakening early each morning to a bell ringing at my door and Sister who would call out each of our names - calling us sequentially to consciousness and chapel. There I would mouth sync along not wanting to disturb the pure notes rising from their Gregorian chants and the sung ‘office’ - the official prayers of the church - which rose clear and high as one awe-inspired voice of praise and reverence. We started the day lightly tidying and cleaning and later I joined them in making altar bread, the work which financed their lives. Even nuns, I discovered, have bills to pay. There, as in the arctic, I did find peace, mystery and food for the soul. But the questions of our lives and our hearts can be hungry ones and in the end, despite witnessing those lives so beautifully lived, it did not fill my heart or answer the questions asked. Nor did life at another convent where I eventually did enter to become a nun. I left there within the year. It was not for me and not my particular call to solitude. By now I was devastated and truly without compass. Who on this earth takes 10 years to decide anything about anything? Yet here I was and quite at the end of knowing what to do next. I had tried every door and it had been such a long process. Life’s ‘call’ is called a 'call' for a reason though and really when the sacred asks questions in our lives, we just have to answer them. It's like a loud door buzzer that just will NOT stop buzzing. You gotta go see what and who is there - and what they want - or risk one giant headache. As with a lot of things in life, the best answers can be laughably simple and arrive simply too if we give them a chance. One night at home after supper with a few friends, I asked one of them, a painter-artist: “ Thanks for travelling with me on my footpath this week... Gillian Body: Lost another 2 pounds but the BP is sky high. Again. Need to keep the faith. Walked every single day to great enjoyment. The Artist Soul: Had a couple of lovely visual moments along a trail here in Bracebridge which leads up to Woodchester Villa. The first surprise was to see multiple patches of red trilliums followed moments later by white ones. And then, still on the trail as I rounded a turn, there lay ahead a most beautiful collage of limes and dark greens. It was the late evening sun brilliantly hitting spots in a patch of trees and ground cover. Took my breath clear away. Tried a photo and captured it a little bit at least. |
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Week 5: On the theme of solitude, or “How I became a card-maker”.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Week 4: On discipline, moderation and the soul's passion..
Work is piled up this week - Mother's Day orders to get out, birthday and wedding crackers underway, new card catalogues to print, and a big corporate order to fill. It takes lots of discipline to work as an artisan studio filling highly customized jobs and juggling irregularly arriving orders with all-too-regular bills; working into the wee hours many nights of the week. Sigh.
Thankfully the biz has generated piles of work this year and I feel oh-so-gratefully relieved. It’s been years and years and YEARS with agonizingly slow growth. And the birth of it all can’t come a moment too soon for this old girl and the friends who have ‘angsted’ right along with me. Honestly I am physically, mentally and spiritually pooped by it all. BRING ON SUCCESS, I say!
I remember, gratefully, my wonderful Doctor empathizing with me over this years ago, saying, “Gillian, you have so many ‘NOs’ in your life!”
And there have there been many NO's – in spades.
“NO, you can’t afford new shoes” and “NO you can’t garden this weekend, dear girl. there are ORDERS to see to” and “NO you can’t have your prescriptions filled yet - JUST STAY WELL ANOTHER WEEK.” and "Walk away from that tomato, darling, because it is NOt in this week’s grocery budget” and, annually, of course there is - “NO, there can be NO cottage vacation this year...NO you may NOt have another cat-pal just now... and NO, there can be NO new i-Mac.” and, finally, “NO, girl, you definitely, very most definitely, canNOt have that second muffin!” No, No, NO!
Well, shoot.
It has taken SO MUCH DISCIPLINE. Isn't discipline another word for ‘moderation’? A little reining in of one's self in order to keep life on a middle path, avoiding the penalties of extremism. After all that’s why we don’t eat that second muffin, right? So I am kind of amazed to find out at this late stage that really discipline has been an extreme in my life – my personal Abraham Maslow-ian path to meeting the ‘hierarchy of needs’; to keeping the light of creativity burning, however tentatively at times, in the soul. Because somewhere so deep inside that I can’t even tell you where exactly the place is, is the need to create. And for that I have been willing, even almost gladly and needfully willing, to embrace extreme discipline and to give up just about everything in grateful return.
There is an inner spring-shoot of personal, spiritual passion that keeps insisting it’s way up though the grounds of moderation. You just can’t trample on it forever and still keep on really 'living'. It’s that simple. Grow it must - to be what it was born to be. I think we all can be a little afraid at times of extremes, tending to rein them in. And it’s not just all about the excesses of second muffins and fat hips we are worried about. We are wary to startle or burden others with what we fear may be our excesses. Wary to scare them or drive them away with the passions in our hearts and of our dreams. Wary to scare ourselves even in the course of trying to express to ourselves, the passions that lie so very deeply within us. We think possibly we might find, should we try, that all hell breaks loose and we can’t put Pandora back in her box. Our self-understanding and relationships with others may irrevocably change and THEN what will we do! And so we go on with life dressed in muted personas but with a growing, uneasy suspicion there is a personal message we are not hearing and there is something we need very deeply to be doing - and are not. And the clock that waits for no one, ticks on.
Being an artisan there is an inborn drive to express passion and to midwife creativity and dreams– to realize these no matter how much or how long this might take us. But, as I get older, I realize that even the creativity of my work is not all of my soul's work and is not the sum of my human soul’s passion. Now, approaching 60, I find there is an additional kick-in-the-pants, to meet with whatever honesty and integrity I can muster, other, unlived passions of being human. This is a highly personal place to be. And it is sacred. I don’t know what the biblical equivalent would be. It’s not a ‘Moses at the burning bush’ kind of moment. 'Have been there, done that' anyway, as the saying goes, when I entered the convent many years hence and again when I became a card-maker. This is another, more mature moment. It is, I deeply believe, a moment in preparation of our meeting with God.
I was working on my line of quote cards this week and came across this gem from Eleanor Powell: “What we are is God's gift to us. What we become is our gift back to God.” So I am on this footpath trying to meet - full monty - life's passions, know them, dance merrily with them, cry with them and discover in them the most sacred gifts that they are. No answers this week. Just a kick in the pants. Just the start of a long walk.
Thanks for travelling with me on my footpath this week...
Gillian
BBPP Weekly Health Check:
Mind: It’s hard to find the time to give the mind the freedom to just flow. The work and financial pressures are so unrelenting. But I am sticking to my plan grabbing one whole block of time each week for the Bracebridge Photo Project. My mind now has a little oasis to look forward to every week – time to ‘see’ with the camera, time to reflect and let suppressed thoughts flow. It is freeing up more mental space for the work week too. Took me 23 years to figure this out? Duh.
Body: BP took another dip this week. Legs are limbering and feeling stronger, pulse rate is slowing. YEAH walking!
The Artist Soul: (Written mid-week while sitting on the summer dock, feet dangled over the Muskoka River at BraceBridge Bay.) We’ve had a long dry spell and the waters over the falls are greatly diminished; yet the river continues to run fast. A late day sun is kissing the water with shine and sparkle. A steady breeze is travelling the length of the river carrying with it the strong fishy smell of spring. And also the voices of the two women discussing how, in concert, to turn their canoe in the waters. A black fly has zeroed in on my space and I heartily decline acquaintanceship. Time to go home and make dinner.
Thankfully the biz has generated piles of work this year and I feel oh-so-gratefully relieved. It’s been years and years and YEARS with agonizingly slow growth. And the birth of it all can’t come a moment too soon for this old girl and the friends who have ‘angsted’ right along with me. Honestly I am physically, mentally and spiritually pooped by it all. BRING ON SUCCESS, I say!
I remember, gratefully, my wonderful Doctor empathizing with me over this years ago, saying, “Gillian, you have so many ‘NOs’ in your life!”
And there have there been many NO's – in spades.
“NO, you can’t afford new shoes” and “NO you can’t garden this weekend, dear girl. there are ORDERS to see to” and “NO you can’t have your prescriptions filled yet - JUST STAY WELL ANOTHER WEEK.” and "Walk away from that tomato, darling, because it is NOt in this week’s grocery budget” and, annually, of course there is - “NO, there can be NO cottage vacation this year...NO you may NOt have another cat-pal just now... and NO, there can be NO new i-Mac.” and, finally, “NO, girl, you definitely, very most definitely, canNOt have that second muffin!” No, No, NO!
Well, shoot.
It has taken SO MUCH DISCIPLINE. Isn't discipline another word for ‘moderation’? A little reining in of one's self in order to keep life on a middle path, avoiding the penalties of extremism. After all that’s why we don’t eat that second muffin, right? So I am kind of amazed to find out at this late stage that really discipline has been an extreme in my life – my personal Abraham Maslow-ian path to meeting the ‘hierarchy of needs’; to keeping the light of creativity burning, however tentatively at times, in the soul. Because somewhere so deep inside that I can’t even tell you where exactly the place is, is the need to create. And for that I have been willing, even almost gladly and needfully willing, to embrace extreme discipline and to give up just about everything in grateful return.
There is an inner spring-shoot of personal, spiritual passion that keeps insisting it’s way up though the grounds of moderation. You just can’t trample on it forever and still keep on really 'living'. It’s that simple. Grow it must - to be what it was born to be. I think we all can be a little afraid at times of extremes, tending to rein them in. And it’s not just all about the excesses of second muffins and fat hips we are worried about. We are wary to startle or burden others with what we fear may be our excesses. Wary to scare them or drive them away with the passions in our hearts and of our dreams. Wary to scare ourselves even in the course of trying to express to ourselves, the passions that lie so very deeply within us. We think possibly we might find, should we try, that all hell breaks loose and we can’t put Pandora back in her box. Our self-understanding and relationships with others may irrevocably change and THEN what will we do! And so we go on with life dressed in muted personas but with a growing, uneasy suspicion there is a personal message we are not hearing and there is something we need very deeply to be doing - and are not. And the clock that waits for no one, ticks on.
Being an artisan there is an inborn drive to express passion and to midwife creativity and dreams– to realize these no matter how much or how long this might take us. But, as I get older, I realize that even the creativity of my work is not all of my soul's work and is not the sum of my human soul’s passion. Now, approaching 60, I find there is an additional kick-in-the-pants, to meet with whatever honesty and integrity I can muster, other, unlived passions of being human. This is a highly personal place to be. And it is sacred. I don’t know what the biblical equivalent would be. It’s not a ‘Moses at the burning bush’ kind of moment. 'Have been there, done that' anyway, as the saying goes, when I entered the convent many years hence and again when I became a card-maker. This is another, more mature moment. It is, I deeply believe, a moment in preparation of our meeting with God.
I was working on my line of quote cards this week and came across this gem from Eleanor Powell: “What we are is God's gift to us. What we become is our gift back to God.” So I am on this footpath trying to meet - full monty - life's passions, know them, dance merrily with them, cry with them and discover in them the most sacred gifts that they are. No answers this week. Just a kick in the pants. Just the start of a long walk.
Thanks for travelling with me on my footpath this week...
Gillian
BBPP Weekly Health Check:
Mind: It’s hard to find the time to give the mind the freedom to just flow. The work and financial pressures are so unrelenting. But I am sticking to my plan grabbing one whole block of time each week for the Bracebridge Photo Project. My mind now has a little oasis to look forward to every week – time to ‘see’ with the camera, time to reflect and let suppressed thoughts flow. It is freeing up more mental space for the work week too. Took me 23 years to figure this out? Duh.
Body: BP took another dip this week. Legs are limbering and feeling stronger, pulse rate is slowing. YEAH walking!
The Artist Soul: (Written mid-week while sitting on the summer dock, feet dangled over the Muskoka River at BraceBridge Bay.) We’ve had a long dry spell and the waters over the falls are greatly diminished; yet the river continues to run fast. A late day sun is kissing the water with shine and sparkle. A steady breeze is travelling the length of the river carrying with it the strong fishy smell of spring. And also the voices of the two women discussing how, in concert, to turn their canoe in the waters. A black fly has zeroed in on my space and I heartily decline acquaintanceship. Time to go home and make dinner.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Week 3: I'm writing a list...
I promised myself one thing with this blog and that was to write with an authentic voice about what's going on in my life - or not write at all. Not just in the social voice - you know the one I mean where people say, "Hi how are you?" and you (inevitably) sing back, "Just fine, great. How are you?" Yada, yada. Sing, sing. Smile smile. Some times we need to stop and think about the questions asked and then think again about what are really the answers.
So, go ahead. Ask me. "How are you, Gillian?"
Well, thank you for asking. I feel fearful though if you must know.
I am holding fears in my heart. Don't we all, if we are honest about it? I have fears about surgeries ahead which I REALLY don't want to have. Fear of financial and housing insecurities, fear of being 'up to' mustering the energies to continue working and living alone in the years ahead. I have quite a stack of things I am feared of some days.
Getting old is a good case in point. I remember almost 10 years ago when a 12 year old boy hung out of the window of his yellow school bus and yelled at me, "Heh, Old Lady!". I think it was the only time in my life my jaw quite literally dropped open. It's taken all these 10 years since to begin thinking this through and accepting first the concept then the reality of 'aging' and arriving with my whole being at what I have begun to understand as the 'third trimester of life'.
It's not just getting older anymore - but actually aging that has become the issue. At some point with one birthday following another, these two issues - growing older and aging - separated, diverged, took on entirely different meanings. And, although I still only feel about 30, uh, er, 40-something inside and and I think 59 is pretty darned young all things considered, I know my body is aging, acting differently and has become even occasionally undependable.
None of the platitudes ("It's how young you are inside that counts" or "You're only as old as you feel") help because when I started thinking about it, I realized I don't at all mind 'aging'. It's just that it's all such a gosh-darned blasted surprise. I wasn't expecting it and feel quite unprepared. All of a sudden I have a mental list of things I MUST DO. A.s.a.p. Like before there are no days left in which to do them. And THAT is what I am AFRAID of. Not getting through my list. Not even knowing what I would want on it. Or worse, having no list all.
So here is my list. It's ambitious, admittedly selfish and possibly slightly irreverent. It's a new, starter list and will change - but for now, here goes: I want to see the first human land on planet Mars (OK, this one depends on NASA, but it's staying on the list). I want to to see Norway again. And Switzerland and Austria. I want to see the great wall of China and the panda bears there and maybe visit Brazil or Chile. I want to hold at least one major exhibition of my paper collage work. I want to visit the penguins at the Antarctic and I want to finally learn how to use a camera. I want to live in Newfoundland and Labrador for at least one year. I want a bank account with real numbers finally written in black not in red and without that pesky minus sign in front of them and a tidy reserve of RRSP's to go with that would be really very nice. I want to understand more about world religions and other gods; find out more about how people live elsewhere on the globe. ... and, there's more... I want to contribute to the end of world hunger - (Sounds like an answer from the Miss America Pageant, doesn't it?, however every artist knows what it's like to be hungry at least some of the time.) I want to read more about the universe, the beginning of creation, the 'big bang theory', and the 'God' particle. I want yet to be in a high enough income tax bracket to pay serious income taxes and feel proud. I want to remember my whole life from start to finish in one single continuing verbal 'herstory'. ... and, there's even more... I want to have one more live-in kitty-kat pal. I want the time to read ALL of the books I want - until my heart and mind and soul are completely full. I want NOT to be afraid of flying any more and before I die I want God to fly me all through the universe so I can see all the lights and colours there are in it. I want to understand better the kind of people my parents were. I want to think of one single important thing that I have learned in my life and can share with people before I die. I want to fall madly (but only briefly) in love again. I can't put back into the world all that I took to survive but I want to return what I can. I want to write a book, learn to folk dance, and get my driver's license again. I want to grow vegetables - enough for a whole year. And, despite that young boy in the little yellow bus or maybe rather because of him, I want to give 'something' meaningful to every child I meet. And, finally, I would really like an honest heart to heart chat with God about this whole business of being human.
Thanks for travelling with me on my footpath this week...
Gillian
Weekly Health Check:
Mind: I enjoyed the photograph-taking. Creating, bringing new pictures into the world that weren't there before, shakes the mind free to travel along new mental synapses - think vertically, horizontally, diagonally. One of the biggest gifts of later life, I am certain of it, if one frees the time and the will and the energy, is the gift to think and reflect, looking forward, informed by backward glances.
Body: Lost 3 pounds this week. BP and pulse rate are down - aerobic affects of walking, I guess. I feel a little better though not ready for a marathon or to parade in my swimsuit at the public beach this season.
The Artist Soul: I took pictures this week of a little boy in a swing at the playground. I was somewhat embarrassed to ask him if it was okay: We are asking to let ourselves into someone else's private world when we seek permission to photo-record one of their moments. And I was also hesitant since I am still trying to learn all the camera functions (to whit: there is no actual viewable picture to show you of said little boy on the swing!) However, ask I did, of both him and his Mom. And I took 4 photos as they swung back and forth. The young boy looked a little embarrassed too - about having his picture taken - a little of his emotional self exposed to my camera. We were struggling to connect - or not connect too directly - beyond our feelings. As a result, I didn't take the time to concentrate on camera technique and he didn't seem inclined to invest the required trust to look into the camera. I took the photos, said thanks and made to move on when the little boy called out after me, "Thank you, thank you for taking my picture!". I was touched. He didn't seem to need to see his picture. He just was glad that I had taken it. I know I will be chewing on this exchange all week or longer.
So, go ahead. Ask me. "How are you, Gillian?"
Well, thank you for asking. I feel fearful though if you must know.
I am holding fears in my heart. Don't we all, if we are honest about it? I have fears about surgeries ahead which I REALLY don't want to have. Fear of financial and housing insecurities, fear of being 'up to' mustering the energies to continue working and living alone in the years ahead. I have quite a stack of things I am feared of some days.
Getting old is a good case in point. I remember almost 10 years ago when a 12 year old boy hung out of the window of his yellow school bus and yelled at me, "Heh, Old Lady!". I think it was the only time in my life my jaw quite literally dropped open. It's taken all these 10 years since to begin thinking this through and accepting first the concept then the reality of 'aging' and arriving with my whole being at what I have begun to understand as the 'third trimester of life'.
It's not just getting older anymore - but actually aging that has become the issue. At some point with one birthday following another, these two issues - growing older and aging - separated, diverged, took on entirely different meanings. And, although I still only feel about 30, uh, er, 40-something inside and and I think 59 is pretty darned young all things considered, I know my body is aging, acting differently and has become even occasionally undependable.
None of the platitudes ("It's how young you are inside that counts" or "You're only as old as you feel") help because when I started thinking about it, I realized I don't at all mind 'aging'. It's just that it's all such a gosh-darned blasted surprise. I wasn't expecting it and feel quite unprepared. All of a sudden I have a mental list of things I MUST DO. A.s.a.p. Like before there are no days left in which to do them. And THAT is what I am AFRAID of. Not getting through my list. Not even knowing what I would want on it. Or worse, having no list all.
So here is my list. It's ambitious, admittedly selfish and possibly slightly irreverent. It's a new, starter list and will change - but for now, here goes: I want to see the first human land on planet Mars (OK, this one depends on NASA, but it's staying on the list). I want to to see Norway again. And Switzerland and Austria. I want to see the great wall of China and the panda bears there and maybe visit Brazil or Chile. I want to hold at least one major exhibition of my paper collage work. I want to visit the penguins at the Antarctic and I want to finally learn how to use a camera. I want to live in Newfoundland and Labrador for at least one year. I want a bank account with real numbers finally written in black not in red and without that pesky minus sign in front of them and a tidy reserve of RRSP's to go with that would be really very nice. I want to understand more about world religions and other gods; find out more about how people live elsewhere on the globe. ... and, there's more... I want to contribute to the end of world hunger - (Sounds like an answer from the Miss America Pageant, doesn't it?, however every artist knows what it's like to be hungry at least some of the time.) I want to read more about the universe, the beginning of creation, the 'big bang theory', and the 'God' particle. I want yet to be in a high enough income tax bracket to pay serious income taxes and feel proud. I want to remember my whole life from start to finish in one single continuing verbal 'herstory'. ... and, there's even more... I want to have one more live-in kitty-kat pal. I want the time to read ALL of the books I want - until my heart and mind and soul are completely full. I want NOT to be afraid of flying any more and before I die I want God to fly me all through the universe so I can see all the lights and colours there are in it. I want to understand better the kind of people my parents were. I want to think of one single important thing that I have learned in my life and can share with people before I die. I want to fall madly (but only briefly) in love again. I can't put back into the world all that I took to survive but I want to return what I can. I want to write a book, learn to folk dance, and get my driver's license again. I want to grow vegetables - enough for a whole year. And, despite that young boy in the little yellow bus or maybe rather because of him, I want to give 'something' meaningful to every child I meet. And, finally, I would really like an honest heart to heart chat with God about this whole business of being human.
Thanks for travelling with me on my footpath this week...
Gillian
Weekly Health Check:
Mind: I enjoyed the photograph-taking. Creating, bringing new pictures into the world that weren't there before, shakes the mind free to travel along new mental synapses - think vertically, horizontally, diagonally. One of the biggest gifts of later life, I am certain of it, if one frees the time and the will and the energy, is the gift to think and reflect, looking forward, informed by backward glances.
Body: Lost 3 pounds this week. BP and pulse rate are down - aerobic affects of walking, I guess. I feel a little better though not ready for a marathon or to parade in my swimsuit at the public beach this season.
The Artist Soul: I took pictures this week of a little boy in a swing at the playground. I was somewhat embarrassed to ask him if it was okay: We are asking to let ourselves into someone else's private world when we seek permission to photo-record one of their moments. And I was also hesitant since I am still trying to learn all the camera functions (to whit: there is no actual viewable picture to show you of said little boy on the swing!) However, ask I did, of both him and his Mom. And I took 4 photos as they swung back and forth. The young boy looked a little embarrassed too - about having his picture taken - a little of his emotional self exposed to my camera. We were struggling to connect - or not connect too directly - beyond our feelings. As a result, I didn't take the time to concentrate on camera technique and he didn't seem inclined to invest the required trust to look into the camera. I took the photos, said thanks and made to move on when the little boy called out after me, "Thank you, thank you for taking my picture!". I was touched. He didn't seem to need to see his picture. He just was glad that I had taken it. I know I will be chewing on this exchange all week or longer.
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