Evaporating Into The Ether

12"x12" Continental Drift of the Mind

Friends, I really have evaporated into the ether and have no explanation to offer. Perhaps it is the intense smell of honeysuckle wafting from the large tangle of blooms on my back deck that keeps me outside until dark and render me invisible . Maybe it is the miraculous tang of garlic scape pesto on new potatoes that has kidnapped my tastebuds.

It might be the ridiculous conversations I have with Siri on the new ipad that has found its way into my house.  Or it could be the many talks I listened to on Hay House that makes me more and more convinced that the world we live in is swimming in information and connections, that all I have to do is "think it" and you will receive it immediately??  You have been getting those messages, haven't you??

But I could just be lazy and distracted.  That is a good human possibility too.  These days of late Spring, the ones tipping precariously over into summer, have been filled with satisfying activity.  If you live in or around Salt Spring, I will draw your attention to ArtCraft where both my art and that of over 100 talented art and crafts people appear. I did spend some time getting ready for that, that counts in my defense, yes??

16"x20" The Colour of Silence

There is the garden to tend and if it is to be done at all well, it requires time and attention. We are eating radishes and greens, garlic scapes, broad bean, kale and perennial arugula and green onions from our own little patch right now.  There is nothing quite like washing off and popping a white icicle radish straight from the ground and into the ol' cake hole,  except maybe  a kale flower plucked off as you walk by.  And if you want to watch an inspiring TED talk about guerilla gardening, check out Ron Finley here.

I visited the city where I grew up and can report I did originate from somewhere on this planet but it was somewhat foreign to me.  Revisiting old places gave me the feeling that we are slightly homeless in this world.  Those old places that I imagined were home, don't match the film track of memory and the current landscape lacks the depth of memory so it feels as if we are afloat in this vast, groundless  universe (not in a bad way, but in a way that asks us to give up our search for security).

Just for fun here are  links to  Joe Dispenza's TED talk and David Hamilton's website.  I thoroughly enjoyed their talks on Hay House. It's always about how you use that grey stuff between your ears. And on that note I will dive back into the greenness of deep space, very unapologetically. I will continue to send you messages.  You can return them unopened if you like or respond in kind. Happy solstice.

How To Get Settled

 work in progress - not sure what it needs

I have been thinking about "settling" lately. I have been noticing this phenomena I think of as "settling" when I paint, when I garden and in relation to my life on this island. I noticed it as I painted the other day. It wasn't a well formed idea, but I became aware of  the busy thoughts and the stories of how I needed to add something to one painting and fix another. I felt the edgy energy as I picked up one canvas and looked at another and wondered what I should do next. And then finally after a bit of sparrow mind, of wanting mind, I settled and worked without need.  A small blustery "head" wind had simply blown itself out.

The strength of this idea really took hold later when I went out to garden. There was an almost manic sense of getting this weed and picking up that stray branch and oh my god, this needs to be done and that needs to be cleared away. And there is so much work to do. But then Self said to self, "this is silly" and I realized the complete lack of urgency of the whole situation and I settled into the lovely chore of weeding and planting and watering.

Mapping The Heart 6"x6"

And as I wandered, I saw a thread trailing from studio to garden. And as the thread sewed intself into a thought, I realized it takes time to settle. I know this is not revolutionary or rocket science (kids, don't try this at home!, no go ahead, really), but it seemed important, the simple fact that the mind needs time to make the transition from one activity to the next. Busy, wanting mind needs time to settle. It's like the old "dirt shaken in a jar of water" story. When we move from one activity to the next, especially a busy task oriented one, to a slower, perhaps creative endeavor, the swirling continues for a while.  And the thing I realized is we can't "make" our minds settle. We can offer the conditions for settling. We can put the jar down but the settling happens on it's own. Trying to make the mind settle is just another form of swooshing the jar.

And as I picked weeds and marveled at the beauty of the treed hillside and the rolling meadow below I realized that I had finally "settled" in a very tangible way, here on this island. I'm not quite sure exactly when it happened but after 2 years here there is a deep sense of home. After many forms of wanting and swirling, I can see the small ways that tell me I've settled.  When I walked past the barn last night on the way from picking kale in the garden, I thought that my former home no longer was my idea of "home", that this place was much more "me". I have started buying things that indicate to me I'm staying here, farm things. The push lawn mower from city life has finally been replaced. I have given up telling people I have a back up plan. There are so many small signs of settling.

 small work on canvas paper

In small ways we are like the earth. When the earth settles in a spot sometimes it cracks or heaves to accommodates the terrain in quirky ways. And so it is with us. We have no idea exactly what will happen when we settle, momentarily or otherwise. But to be sure it is like our whole being breathes some sigh when we settle. Something in us relaxes. Our mind quiets, we stop asking for more, we stop wanting to know and we just are. Settled.

Sometimes we are explorers filled with the energy of excitement and sometimes we are settlers, setting our heart roots deep into the landscape, into our selves, into life and relaxing into what is.  I wish you good settling.

Simplicity 5364

Here's a little mixed media piece I just finished. I love working with vintage sewing patterns these days (although nothing gets sewed which in my case is probably quite fortunate). There's something about the translucent look of the paper when it melts into the canvas or panel. I love the lettering and images for no particular reason that I understand. And I do seem to be obsessed with these tar gel ensos lately too. This piece is called Simplicity 5364, a little nod to the pattern title from whence this Buddha came.

I heard a little gem of simplicity at a day long meditation retreat I attended on Sunday. It was suggested that when working with "right speech" from the eightfold path, rather than thinking of it as a rule, we could use it to look at our intentions. Why did I just say that? Why did I criticize or speak sharply or whatever it is that happens to fly out of our mouths. Examining our speech in this way is an opportunity to go deeper. Often we might find our words were motivated by fear. Maybe it's fear that we might not get what we want. Anger might cover up our hurt, some tender spot that's been poked by someone. Does some circumstance make us feel small or vulnerable or unconsidered?

I like the idea of considering what motivated my "wrong speech" because it gives me the opportunity to get to know myself a little better. Often that wrong speech just pops out and then we go on to justify what we've said (or done). But if we stop and do a little archeological dig, we might find that just a certain look on someone's face can trigger insecurity in us which then might prompt us to say something less than friendly. We are filled with these Pavlovian responses that murmur along like little underground streams. Our awareness can help us unearth these little streams, even dry them up in some cases. But if we know where the streams are at least we won't drown in them. Okay someone turn the hose on me, enough streaming (and without video, oi!)

I have been enjoying the simplicity of just painting and gardening. The more time I spend in the studio, the more I seem to settle into it, the more I want to get back in there, (kind of like sitting meditation, don't you think?). I have a few more new pieces to post (gasp!) and 7 pieces found their way to Starfish Gallery in Ganges today. If you're in the neighbourhood, pop in for a look.

And the garden.... As well as simplicity, it is a source of sheer joy for me. I could just go out there in the morning with my coffee and stay for the day. As the day wears on and I tire I tend to get closer to the ground. It's quite funny to watch. Eventually I am down there at eye level with the cilantro and the slugs, happily doing a little hand weeding. Who is that woman crawling through the garden? But I am tired and happy. There are the pleasing rows of freshly watered plants, the bursts of orange california poppies and the divine scent of a yellow honeysuckle, a smell so large it fills the entire garden in the evening.

I will end with a lovely garden quote that has a very dharmaesque quality. It's from a little book I love called "Zen Gardening" by Veronica Ray. "The principle value of a private garden is not to give the possessor vegetable and fruit... but to teach him patience and philosophy, the higher virtues, -- hope deferred and expectations blighted." - Charles Dudley Warner.

All Beings Are Flowers Blooming In A Blooming Universe

"All Beings Are Flowers Blooming In A Blooming Universe" Soen Nakagawa. I love this quote and have used it on a piece of art. I feel immersed in all things "gardeny" today. I am getting ready to spend 2 days at Glendale Gardens, Art & Music in the Garden with 62 other artists. I am particularly excited that I will be situated in my element, the Japanese Garden. It is quite gorgeous. The last ingredient I am hoping for is unrain, not necessarily sunshine, but unrain would be good. But alas as we know from many aspects of our practice, much of life is not within our control and we get to respond to what comes along. If it rains, it will not be the rain that causes me "to suffer" but my reaction to it.

It seems all things garden are around me. Yesterday we went with our little band of Buddhists to a talk at the Art Gallery on the religious nature of gardens in China & Japan. We had great fun, first eating at "Bliss", a local raw food restaurant and then heading over to the gallery. The presenter asked us to reflect for a moment on what the garden meant to us personally.

I love to garden and being a "generalist" rather than a detail person I am not so much into plant names and grand plans. I just love to get in there and muck about. I go for what pleases my eye and while I like colour I love things a bit spare and simple. But the garden for me is definitely a place to connect on a very personal level with nature; to feel the breeze and the sun and the earth under my finger nails. It is a place of peace and a solace, a place to contemplate. Strangely I love to pull weeds. I haven't had so much time for it this year but I used to love to pull the clover from the lawn by hand. (Some neighbours thought me quite mad for doing this.) But for me, weeding has always reminded me that our minds are a bit like gardens and as I weed, it reminds me to weed my mind of unwholesome thoughts, to cultivate what I want to grow there. And the spreading nature of clover reminds me of how we are all connected. Those are always thoughts that cross my mind as I weed and I find it one of those calming, pleasing activities.

And as I sat in meditation this morning the article on "Late Bloomers" by Malcolm Gladwell that appeared in the New Yorker some time ago, popped into my head. He relates it to the artistic process and it is a wonderful piece. Those of us who have come to art later in life can probably identify with his writing. Apparently the process of late bloomers differs vastly from early bloomers like Picasso. We tend to be more process oriented and take longer to explore and get around to the finished product. It's well worth a read.

And in the grand scheme of things it doesn't matter if you bloom early or late, as long as you bloom. For me, blooming, in this context, simply means to become your authentic self, whoever that is, to explore your potential, to regard your life as an adventure. And of course in every adventure there are some untoward events, the canoe tips, you trip over a tree root, get bitten by wood ticks. This of course is life in the human realm, some sukkha, some dukkha. And we are all flowers blooming in this adventure garden. So many different colours and shapes and sizes. And it is fun to regard all the beautiful and strange, perplexing and exciting flowers we meet in this earthly garden, if only we can appreciate them for their particular foliage. Here's to another summer weekend in the garden. May your harvest be bountiful and may you enjoy what your adventure has to offer.

Zen Gardening, It's All In Your Head

It is that time of year when gardeners pour over seed catalogues and plan and dream of digging their hands into the cool brown loam.  In this corner of the world if you're lucky some kale may have survived and perhaps the garlic is poking it's head out timidly.  As my partner turns his mind to our community garden I am reminded of a gardening metaphor.  

About 30 years ago (eek!) we went to a series of workshops with  John Kehoe, who was just starting out in the field of mind training.  He used the "mind as a garden" metaphor  and when I think back,  it had a very Buddhist quality to it -- Buddhism without the Buddha.  Here's how I remember his little garden manual.  Our minds are our gardens and it's up to us to cultivate them.  How we work with them will determine what grows there.  If we plant the seeds of hatred well guess what grows, if we plant the seeds of happiness, the crop ripens accordingly.  It is up to each of us to plant the appropriate seeds.  If we cultivate and tend and water, our harvest will be bountiful.  If we neglect our tender seedlings they will be withered, dead, stunted.  This is  akin to the idea in Buddhism of working with our minds... cultivating awareness, wholesome thoughts, choosing and re-directing our thoughts rather than letting our minds run wild.  When we work  to cultivate  mindfulness, faith and wisdom  we are working to enrich the fertile ground of our minds.  When we cultivate joy and gratitude we are planting the seedlings of happiness.  When we try to step back and see the bigger picture we are planting a stalk of compassion.

Kehoe talked about weeding the garden, which was an idea I loved.  Weeds pop up in the garden, that is simply the nature of the garden (our unwholesome habitual tendencies from a Buddhist point of view).  And so the garden needs weeding, otherwise you will end up with an unruly patch of goodness knows what, something bitter or poison or just inedible.  (The definition of a weed is a plant growing where you don't want it.)   So the weed or the thought is not inherently bad (an important tenet of Buddhism) it is simply growing where we don't want it. Presto -- out comes the hoe.   When I think about it now, those weeds can actually become good compost for our gardens (our unwholesome thoughts or obstructions can become the fodder for good, showing us where we need to do our work and providing us with the opportunity to turn weeds to rich loam)

 He pointed out that we don't dig up the seeds we've planted to check on them .... because if we do there can be disappointing consequences.  So as in Zen training we just train.  It is not helpful to be constantly checking to see how our "meditation" is doing.  We just do it, for the sake of training.  It takes time and patience and faith.  And then one day we notice something nice growing in that sunny patch over there and we are as surprised as anyone.  

So dust off that Buddhist  (or any other tradition) seed catalogue and start studying what you might plant and get inspired and motivated.  Start digging around in that fertile patch of yours, planting and weeding and adding compost and water.   And if you need to borrow a hoe or a rake, just ask.  Oh ya,  that's me over in the corner plot holding the biggest weed you ever saw!