Summer Houseguests, Inspiration & Cake

Some new work, some older work

The last scent of summer has been washed away by some much needed sky water followed by a gentle helping of fog. This meteorological menu has sent me rummaging through saved magazine bits looking for squash and kale recipes. It's fall, there must be sweaters and soup. On Saturday I gathered the last of the zucchini, some sugar pumpkins and a generous bouquet of sunflowers from the roadside stands to welcome fall to my kitchen.

I am trying to remember what I do in a season that is not summer; one where I can't spend most of my day outside. Transitions: they throw us a bit. We pause at their gate but that's not a bad a thing; the pausing. 

Travelling By Hindsight 12"x12"

The days of summer are tiny wisps of memory now. I have no interest in the story of "I went here, I did this." I am more interested in the inner landscape (though the outer offers it's own deliciousness). You don't need to know that I was stung by wasps and the bottom of my purse now harbours an epi pen, that's another story. 

On my excellent inner adventures (with a nod to Bill & Ted) doubt became my summer houseguest and I decided to get to know it a little better. I mean it's not that doubt (the prankster) hasn't always been lurking, it's just that this summer I invited him out of the attic because he's made such hidden trouble up there. He made an overbearing sort of houseguest, you know the kind that talks too much, knows everything and makes you feel awful and worn out by bedtime. He wrecks stuff and leaves a general trail of shrapnel and dirty towels behind him. I wouldn't recommend him on trip advisor (but you know about him already, I'm thinking). One of his most annoying traits is that he masquerades as wisdom and intelligence but really he's just scared things aren't going to work out and that's his cover-up. He is a spoiler, a bit like mold on the wind or maybe more like leprosy, eating away at the strength of the bone.

Night Walk

I tried to just be there with his shenanigans, sensing how they felt. When I could do this whole heartedly, doubt got a bit bored with me as audience and went off looking for more enthusiastic hosts.

I rediscovered the work of David R. Hawkins this summer by a chance encounter and it tied in with my exploration of doubt. I'd read him years ago and at that time I'd hated his levels of consciousness idea. It seemed too much like a rating system. It felt different this time round. He reminds us how powerful our minds are, how we are connected to a greater consciousness and how we're not really in charge of this personal little boat. He encourages us to explore our beliefs and work with ones that don't serve us well. Do I want to believe in doubt or do I want to believe in willingness and love and possibility

First Snow at Berg Lake

So as we dip our toes gingerly into the upcoming season of hibernation I wish you happy travels. I see you wrapped in a cozy sweater, near a toasty fire, sipping something warm, exploring the wealth of human imagination that surrounds us on crisp paper pages or glowing screens (this is a modern fairytale). And if you hunger for the perfect taste of fall, here's an apple cake recipe that even I could execute. Invite your tribe over to ooo and aw over your awesome culinary skills.

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.

The Movement of the Year

2010 was about transitions for me. Change and movement were key words as we said good-bye to the home we'd lived in for 13 years and the city we'd lived in for 30 years. We were homeless for a time, living in a friends basement suite for a couple of weeks, taking to the road like gypsies(as our daughter told her friends). And finally landing on a new island, orienting ourselves and moving from a temporary home to one we decided to buy. Accompanied along the way by the ups and downs of doubt and joy, adventure, wonder and discomfort and the unknown. Life: the mixed bag we put our hand into and never quite know what we'll pull out.

Here's a little photo journey through the year.

Moving day January 2010

Last wistful look out the front window

Gypsy Life begins

Making Friends in Taos, NM

And how could you not take route 66, given the opportunity??

Found my way back to the coast (just south or Santa Barbara)

Finally landing on Salt Spring Island April 2010, home to many gentle sheep & artists

Sharing the joys of country life - ah the clothes line! Aug 2010

September brings a new home, Buddha discovers a Zendo

Winter in the country sometimes means no power! November 2010

Toss in a little reno work for added craziness & stir!

Transitions

I am thinking about "trans itions" tonight as I head into the last few days as a pro fessional wanderer. It seems there is always an edginess to these times of change, moving from one activity to another. The transition can be as simple as turning off the television or getting up from the dinner table. There is that feeling of "what next". Or our transition might be as final as our last breath in this life. In truth we are always moving into the next unknown moment.

And if we pause we will find the space between one activity and the next. Do we notice it? Do we contemplate it? Do we approach it with awareness? Or are we drawn by discomfort and fear into some habitual reaction or self comforting behaviour? Do we slide into the next moment without noticing? Whoops how did I get here?

These times of subtle or major changes are opportunities. We can make our choices with awareness and care or we can slide or grab or float into the next phase of the day, of our life. Transitions can be fraught with danger and are always filled with possibility. And one time we notice, the next time we don't.

So the me of the sense world is cramming in every last drop of Portlandian goodness before I return to a quieter life. I have had coffee and a treat at Sweet Pea's vegan bakery and checked out the shelves of "Food Fight" the vegan grocery store next door. I have discovered the delicious Townshends Kombucha and visited the brimming shelves of Powell's Bookstore and been tickled by the eclectic art supplies at "Collage" on Alberta St. I have admired Portland's ability to mix wonderful modern architecture with an eclectic mix of old. I love the little neighbourhoods with high streets of shops and restaurants that thrive here. There is a creative, vibrant heart to this city. I imagine that everybody here has their finger in some creative pot, owns a mac and never eats at home.

And as I plan the last list of things to see and do I also look forward to unpacking the car, moving into a new place to live and a life that doesn't consist of getting in the car every few days and driving for hours. And I know that with the transition there will be some sense of antsyness when the movement stops, that feeling of being a bit lost, of trying to figure out what to do next. There will be the urge to comfort myself with some habitual behaviour rather than to feel the discomfort of the transition. At least that is what I imagine as I get ready to move into the next part of my life.

Transitions

Yesterday our daughter left after spending 3 weeks with us over the Christmas holiday.  Because she lives far away we usually only see her once or twice a year.  It was a great visit filled with lots of chatting and feasting.  Mostly the feelings were of joy and gratitude when she left at being so fortunate to have such a wonderful being in my life.  But also there was the tug of the heart, a small feeling of sadness  in seeing her go.   As I went about my evenings activities I watched this feeling come and go.  I have learned not push away this feeling of sadness, to just be with that feeling of bittersweetness, that feeling of missing someone I love.  I can do this more often these days rather than brushing it off with "I shouldn't feel sad, I'm perfectly fine, we had a wonderful time together."  What did Shakespeare say?  "Parting is such sweet sorrow."  And this is one of the facts of life.  We don't need to medicate ourselves, have a drink, turn on the TV or whatever it is we do to comfort ourselves or avoid the uncomfortable, we just need to spend time with the truth.  It is a gift really to have someone or even something in your life that you love so much that you feel that bittersweetness.  In the end we will all be separated from everything we love.  The Dalai Lama who I would call one of the happiest people I can think of says that he spends some time everyday thinking about his death.

The other thing I was reminded of was that her leaving created this period of transition and transition periods can have varying levels of difficulty.  Any time we change an activity, from ending a meal to changing a job, to loosing something important in our lives we are in a period of transition.  So I asked myself last night why are transitions uncomfortable? And it seems to me as humans we have this forward momentum to keep doing what we're doing (isn't it a law of physics as well?)  So that the natural inclination is to keep on doing what we have been doing.  I notice this in myself even when something may not feel good.  Somehow there is something that keeps us doing it, the path of least resistance. What's that joke "nobody likes change except a baby in a dirty diaper"?  Or the only constant is change.

In the order of Soto Zen that my teacher comes from they have a little verse that they recite at the end of a meal and at any time when they are changing activities.  It seems helpful to shine the light of awareness on these transitions that we mostly slide over without notice.  Then maybe we become more comfortable with the changes that are always happening in our lives?  We can become familiar with impermanence,  one of the marks of existence as it is called in Buddhist training.   

And so that's where I find the Dharma today, in not pushing away the "missing of my daughter" and yet not building a story around it that feeds suffering, "oh this is so awful, I wish she didn't have to go, why doesn't she live closer, blah blah, blah." ....Just spending time with the truth of impermanence, the feelings of discomfort that accompany change and transition, the bittersweetness of love (and chocolate), the gratitude for her presence in my life and the gratitude for having this wonderful training that brings sanity and equanimity  and richness to my life.  May you be fortunate enough to have such treasured beings in your life!