I listened to a writer describe, as only a word painter can, the ordinary beauty of an Australian rural landscape. I thought of my friend who had a year teaching in Australia and the life altering impact it had on her. At the time, I thought, she was destined to return when she was ready to reclaim that true life thread of her destiny, the one that ultimately would bring her most joy. But how was that unlike my own attachment to Rome? I jest that I lived for 6 months there and never got over it. I have always believed I would return some day and relive that time and the mosaic of emotions and experiences. But today I clearly understood that I can no more relive that time than I could relive any other moment. It was thinking about my friend that opened my eyes from the trance of nostalgia. My friend and I have not remained static any more than those beloved places have. We have grown. Returning to those places is possible but not to the time,  just as we can return to places of our childhood, but not to being children.  To expect that we can, invites grave disappointment.  The longing is what is to be given up. It is ok to swim in the memories that make us happy. But there is a distinct physical sensation to a contented sigh of happy recall that differs dramatically from the ache of longing.  The ache of longing seems to me to be associated with loss and a desire to recapture that loss. Usually, it is about a view of the past as representing positive emotions, including freedom. We, of course, never lose the experiences. They are ours forever. But what we are really mourning is not the loss, but the lack. And upon closer and truer inspection, we find that the memories of the experience we crave are not all positive. The experiences that impact us the most are the ones that we might judge as both positive and negative. In fact they are more positive, and more negative than the scale of our lives previously measured. So what is significant about those times (not necessarily places) is the expansion of our experiences, pushing the boundaries in ourselves to greater highs and deeper lows. What we crave is not the familiar territory of old haunts but the yet unexplored horizons of ourselves. One might revisit with the anticipation of discovering the place anew, open and fresh. But why? There are so many wondrous places yet to discover. I think a definition of a mid life crisis is when we wake up to the overwhelming complacency of our lives. We go to a great deal of trouble and expense ( on many levels) to increase our comfort and convenience but grow less and less content. I’m not advocating adversity but perhaps I am advocating diversity and perhaps a faith in the unknown, the uncomfortable and unfamiliar. I believe our joy comes from meaning we make of our experiences. It is a risk for sure but one that paradoxically has a guaranteed payoff.  The growing pains are worth it.  

Keep the faith.  December blessings, All.

Art is only valued to the degree that it is useful.

I used to have that on my fridge to remind me to keep my righteous indignation fresh. It was a statement that seemed to me full of bitterness and despair. There’s nothing like despair and bitterness to fuel the fire of inspired rant. However, I have found if idealism can be tamed, it may be reduced from the conflagration of youth to a comfortable warming hearth central to house and home. And it won’t burn your house down.

Today I picked up a hair pic. It was a pretty thing with squiggles and circles. I couldn’t help but wonder what they meant. My answer came immediately. It meant nothing. It was not a handmade creation. It was not imbued with symbols weighted in significance. There was no Dharma in this item. There was no art.

But at one time it might have been. Had I purchased it differently. Had I made it.

Ultimately the economy is driven by the power the consumer has to choose. It is a powerful place. It shapes our landscape, our societies and our lives.

Wildlife is like art

There are some who would have chosen animals for the ark which were economically useful commercially, like the manufacturing of pharmaceuticals or fashion/beauty trends. If we can’t wear it, eat it, harvest its bits or otherwise exploit it, it has no value. Its value is relegated to the niche that art holds.

If the local neighbourhood association had taken a vote to allow skunks on the ark, they likely would have been left ashore in the new age of shrinking biodiversity.

So, wildlife is something that we visit, the way that we visit an art gallery. But when funding runs out, (I just need to focus for a minute) for the gallery, the gallery closes and the art forgotten or neglected.

Consider your local artists, manufacturers, farmers and merchants like bio diversity, only Commercial diversity. Let’s face it. If you can get drugs, clothes, food, entertainment, furniture, plants, photofinishing, and live animals at Wal-Mart (did I miss anything?) then would we need anybody else on the ark of retail shopping. Don’t kid yourself, the Wal-Mart dynasty is a corporation motivated exclusively by profit. And if it doesn’t have to compete for your dollar anymore, it won’t. A drive through my city ( a GM town) is like a perusal of the endangered species list. The list of extinctions is pretty hefty, too, shells of formerly hopeful businesses. Our local artists, merchants, farmers, manufacturers, and other small biz owners could go the way of the dodo. We do have the power. How will we use it? In my mind I hold an image from childhood of a photograph of the proud man who shot the last passenger pigeon. If we don’t take responsibility for the power we have, we might as well be shooting ourselves in the foot.

Another way to look at it is, parents begin with their own money, and bits from grandparents etc to bank money for you until you can legally have your own account. Some who are fearful and without knowledge (hence the fear) will play it as safe as possible with a low interest savings account. Others might invest in bonds as a sensible thing. Others may invest it in other low risk ventures. Then you turn 18 and can make your own decisions. Earn and save your own money. Now, depending on your own knowledge, comfort level, and even values you may agree or disagree with their course of action. You may find that they honestly mistrusted banks and put all your birthday bucks in a mattress then smoked in bed and burned it all up the eve of your 18th birthday. Whether they or you like it or not, they were responsible and like it or not you get what you get. Maybe they were savvy investors and made you a wealthy young woman but you discover all the money was made in dealing illegal weapons to evil despots. Then you have a different drama/story to deal with.

The point is there’s always a story. Although we are blank canvas, one with the universal soup, when we manifest, experience begins painting our canvas. Some believe we agree to the general framework of experiences for the lessons they provide in the handling of them. Regardless, at some point we become cognizant enough to paint with purposeful brushstrokes of our own design. Some start early. Some start late. For some it takes crisis. Some never get it and they continue to the last breath allowing everybody walking by to apply paint. They are lifelong victims. Truthfully, everyone will try to paint on your canvas, even with the most mindful of us. But the mindful will block some, will wipe some off while it’s still wet. Some will paint over when it seems a direction to the painting has emerged unwelcome or wanted. Some will find at the end of long life they are happy with their painting and some will wish they had made changes. But they too applied paint in the best way they could with the skill they had. Sometimes I think of people who purchase the services of a Life Coach as taking art lessons to improve the chances of actually putting on canvas what they intend in their heads.

Here’s the readers digest version.

People fear what they don’t know. One thing you can know is that you will never know all there is to know. Life is a balance of knowing how much is enough to act. Waiting for more info creates inaction. Action without info is hastiness. Ultimately a measure of maturity is being responsible to this balance and it is a personal balance.

Some people paint each square inch in complete detail so the painting emerges like a jigsaw puzzle. I paint in nebulous layers until the details emerge like they are coming into focus. Neither is right or wrong. They are just ways of dancing the path.

Opportunities are like Raspberries

I have in my hand a raspberry. It is the most beautiful shade of raspberry red, perfectly plump, flawless flesh. Paperback romance lips never looked so promising. It’s the kind of raspberry that just looking at it you know its exactly ripe and your mouth begins to water just thinking about eating it. Then you pick it up and it gives just slightly to the touch confirming its perfection to you.  You place it confidently, expectantly on your tongue and as you close your mouth around its sweet sun-warmed skin you can’t resist. You press it until the full flavour swells and pours juice into every corner of your mouth, waking every taste-bud. It is without disappointment. Mmmmmm you savour the moment of sublime gratitude for such simple pleasures.

So much for the berry part. Hands up if you know what a rasp is. Its a tool that means business. It ‘s like a cheese grater for wood only toothier. Imagine that as thin as a pencil, as tall as me and 10 times as prickly. That’s what raspberries grow on.   Rasp-berry.

Opportunities are like raspberries in that sometimes it can be uncomfortable getting to the fruit.  You have to put up with the prickly bits for the sweet success. Often the plumpest sweetest juiciest fruit is hardest to reach making you really stretch yourself. You have to risk those rasps which can be downright painful. Perseverance and pluck is called for in abundance.

Another thing I notice about raspberry picking is that perspective matters. I can pick an area clean, high and low, reaching deep confident I have exhausted all possibilities of hidden fruit. Then when I move on even 1 step, I can see from my new position berries that I missed.  I simply was unable to see everything from the position I held.

Raspberries, like opportunities are time sensitive. Picked too early they are hard and sour. Left too late they spoil and rot. Being in the right place at the right time means a lot. Of course, chance need have little to do with it. You can patiently observe the ripening and be there when the magic moment arrives.

Finally just like raspberries the world is generous and abundant with opportunities. And something else I noticed, the more I picked the more raspberries there were to pick. It was as if Mother Nature herself was prepared to give me fruit as long as I was prepared to labour for it. I was amazed that my plants bore 3xs longer than I had ever believed was possible . There’s a bonus lesson in there about raising my expectations. I want to be clear though. Opportunities are not to be confused with goals. Just as the raspberry is not the goal.  The goal is eating the raspberry.  Those succulent lips are only the opportunity of  a  kiss,  not the kiss.

Opportunities are indeed like raspberries, freely available to those who will persevere through the thick of it even when the reach is a painful one, to one who understands that a different perspective can change everything, and that patience and good timing can be cultivated as well as any great raspberry patch can.  Life may not always be a bowl of…raspberries but it is always full of opportunities ripe for the picking.

Happy picking.

Lianne

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              I have been examining my destiny. When one is unsure of what that looks like, even with the full understanding that we are all the creators of our destinies, stillness helps. I swing between the push pull of busy-ness as a way of producing a sense of progress but it is clear to me that is not going to provide me all I seek. On my door hangs a sign. “Life is not about finding yourself, it’s about creating yourself”. If I buy that, and intellectually I do, than it would seem all possibility is available. I may begin again. This is, of course, available to us all day, any day, to begin anew. But let’s face it, it is usually an ending of some poignancy that marks the need for a beginning. In my case, the end of a marriage. It is also the end of a way of being. To say I want to reinvent myself insults the parts of my being that still remain valuable. But the intent, I think is to revisit the parts weedy and weathered with neglect that were once fulfilling. The question is, is it possible to reclaim territory left abandoned? Possible, yes, in the realm of all possibility. But something stands in the way. Forgiveness is needed. We need to ask forgiveness of ourselves for casting aside such precious gifts, gracelessly. It is only when forgiveness is granted to ourselves can we pick up and embrace our selves. In fact, it feels less like territory and more like something with a human face, perhaps many. The land does forgive in time. People may not. The faces of the abandoned hopeful are haunting and each ghost must be allowed it’s say. Each death honoured. Each soul be allowed to pass peacefully. As I write I envision it like the embrace of former selves who  are collapsed possibilities. I see them as they are embraced folding into me and reintegrating.

So there is worthiness in visiting the past. But only by assessing the present can we know what’s missing, what we long for. It is in the stillness. Although there is the push pull of busy-ness calling, it cannot bring forth all I need. It requires the balance provided by quiet being. I wondered if it was drifting but it is not. All else is drifting by on the turning world but I remain still, watching the world mirror me back, listening to hear my voice.  It is from here I dream my future self, a sparkling mosaic.

Lianne Snow