Simple Sunday Solace

Today we sprang forward! This is a good thing as I do love the light, and find I appreciate it more and more as the years pass. But it also meant we slept in later than usual (well, that and we stayed up quite late last night). So today has been very ordinary with floor cleanings and breakfast cookings and laundry washing, though we did have one exciting thing come to our minds which we spent some time discussing, but that will have to remain secret for the moment!

Now it's late afternoon and Eric is at the river looking for rocks to form a pathway to the back door (we have a lot of deer and turkey and other wildlife here and the turkey can be especially problematic for the mess they make) and I am reclined here in the corner by the window indulging in some reading, dark chocolate, and a piping hot mug full of matcha. 

My typical reading habits have always tended toward non-fiction --health, history, spirituality, philosophy, politics, economics, psychology-- but sometime last year I started feeling drawn to fiction and have just gone with that impulse. For the past few months though I've been intrigued with Emily Dickinson (I think it started when I came across this documentary on YouTube) and have been reading a very in-depth biography. Once this is completed, I have a couple of Appalachian stories I want to get to, then maybe I can resume my usual non-fiction tendencies. The shelf is full of so many books and life is only so long...

The road to The Place Within

My career requires a lot of mental effort. So much gets packed into a single hour just to get all tasks completed by week's end, that I find I have to detach from who I am at my core a great deal to pull it off and do what needs to be done each day. So when the weekend, or any time away from work comes, I try to use the time to reacquaint with that woman who I am at my core- I stitch back together the spinal threads of what matters to me, collect the flashes of inspiration into a reel I glimpse as a spark to rekindle some inner flame, I draw the energy down out of my head and back into my body, my hands, hips, heart. 

I was thinking this morning, as we wound over a mountain pass and through dense snow-forests on our way to visit our favorite antique shop, how that pathway back to our own unique creative otherworld is crucial. When I feel that it's time to visit that place of my own mind-making, that place that restocks the inner coffers, I have certain imagery, certain poems, certain books and films and music that act as little waymarkers, lanterns to light the way back home. 

That otherworld-creative-home of mine is hard to describe- it can feel Celtic, but then Saami, medieval, then ancient Egyptian. It contains sun and storm, mossy oak and desert rose, quiet solitude and energized connection, sitting in a tobacco-smelling book-filled room in thoughtful conversation with Tolkien, then in ritual dance around a fire as part of a wild tribe, my feet stomping up clouds of dust under the starrier-than-ever sky. Serene and unbridled. Sacred to the core.

It is a feeling, of course, not an actual place, there is no specific time, no specific characters or location, but I feel when it is right, when it comes together just so, and when it is familiar, and it is this place I go to that connects me back to myself, and to the glorious pulse of life lived deeply. 

Many things have become more apparent over the last couple of years, here are a few: that I need intimate connection with others, conversations full of protein, dance, movement, my garden, more frequent time with friends and family, to be of service, and original creative expression that is mine. Now I am thinking on the best place for all this to come into symphony, and slowly piecing together a plan to make it so. ⌛

I heard an artist I love mention this route back to the creative place we must cobble together for ourselves, those of us who are maybe more short on time, and need a quick road in so that we can sit and feast for a moment in that nourishing ethereal space that we imagine into existence, that sustains us and is essential. I wondered, do most people have this? Do most people need this? Is it rare, or common? Do some drown out the deep impulse with drink and corruption? Then I thought, wouldn't it be just incredible if we could somehow bring another into this feeling-place of our own making, the imaginative landscape of our inner world? Just so they could feel our inspirations? Would it closen or estrange us?

Now I am off to visit that world for a while before the just-as-mysterious sleep world beckons. Today I found a vibrant green kantha quilt, a painted Mexican crock, and a medieval memoir at the antique store. Two weeks ago, I attended a workshop with the loveliest women and attained my doula certification. In a couple of months, my husband and I will take a boat to Alaska where he'll be getting recertified as a massage therapist, a craft that he truly excels at. Bit by bit, pieces are being moved into place, for a future on the horizon that comes more into view each day. The path really does go ever on and on.

“Nietzsche was the one who did the job for me. At a certain moment in his life, the idea came to him of what he called 'the love of your fate.' Whatever your fate is, whatever the hell happens, you say, 'This is what I need.' It may look like a wreck, but go at it as though it were an opportunity, a challenge. If you bring love to that moment--not discouragement--you will find the strength is there. Any disaster you can survive is an improvement in your character, your stature, and your life. What a privilege! This is when the spontaneity of your own nature will have a chance to flow.

Then, when looking back at your life, you will see that the moments which seemed to be great failures followed by wreckage were the incidents that shaped the life you have now. You’ll see that this is really true. Nothing can happen to you that is not positive. Even though it looks and feels at the moment like a negative crisis, it is not. The crisis throws you back, and when you are required to exhibit strength, it comes. “

~Joseph Campbell

Tending heart and hearth

Sunday afternoon, over a foot of snowpack outside, and I've finally been able to carve out time to catch up on reading and writing.  

I've been so wrapped up in work these days that my old hobbies now seem like luxuries, and when the evening comes and all work and chores are finally completed for the day, I typically have only about an hour left to decide what to do with before it's time to crawl under the covers.

But I don't want to complain or come across as ungrateful for my work. For me, it is just a matter of making sure to eke out these little blocks of time each week, wherever I can find them, to keep from losing the essence of myself. While career and domestic duties take up the bulk of time, still it is crucial to keep the fires of heart and hearth tended as best I can too. I assume many of us are in this same boat, going about it all in the most sincere and balanced way we can.

So after checking off all the work tasks and deadlines this past week, and having finally shaken off most of the jet lag from our cross-country flight back home last Saturday, I spent yesterday doing one of my very favorite things: riding with my husband through wild and winding mountain roads, listening to our favorite music, enjoying a breakfast sandwich and coffee, off to explore new territory. 

We ended up clambering up Kruger Mountain, which was 1,000 feet of elevation gain in 3/4 of a mile - not the most gentle first hike of the year, but certainly served to shake the dust off!

Eventually, we ran into hard snowpack and weren't able to go any further, so we sat a while and looked out over the Similkameen River, toward Ellemeham Mountain and Nighthawk, and listened to coyotes oo-yip over whatever little [unfortunate] snack they had just procured before side-shuffling our way back down.

This morning, I slept in only a little, as glimpses of a blue sky and sunshine teased me on up and into the day. The local mule deer were knocking at the front door, as they do most mornings for me, so I quartered a couple of apples which they took from my hand. 

After a hot shower, we teamed up for some house cleaning, and then with the house smelling like Palo Santo and Dr. Bronner's eucalyptus (which I use to mop with), we enjoyed some butternut squash pancakes before each parting ways to get into our respective inspirations. I have tinkered, washed all the linen bedding, organized, enjoyed a conversation, started flower seeds, but mostly read, with my beeswax candle companion swaying alongside. 

Now, I sip a hot cocoa, while the light outside weakens and blues. It's nearly time to start dinner, and to curl up on the couch with my love, before tomorrow morning's alarm sounds again. This week is full of meetings and tasks, lots of talking to people about websites and their search engine rankings, and while I am in it, I must switch my brain almost entirely into a world of other concerns. But restful and grounding weekends like this help bring me back to what I am, what I love, and give me something to glance at sideways throughout the week when I begin to feel overwhelmed and thin.

"... I love Pascal’s phrase that you should always keep something beautiful in your mind. And I have often — like in times when it’s been really difficult for me, if you can keep some kind of little contour that you can glimpse sideways at, now and again, you can endure great bleakness." (John O'Donohue, The Inner Landscape of Beauty - listen here)