Digging

Brightly Shining in the Garden                                                                                                                   Catherine Al-Meten

It's not everyone who is fortunate enough to have a cousin/sister who is kind enough to let you store boxes in her basement for, let's just say, a long time. I first put nearly all my worldly possessions in her basement years ago when I was starting a new job on the East Coast. Nearly two years ago, I moved back to Oregon, and set up my home here in Astoria. Slowly but surely my cousin Sandra and I have been hauling things from the basement to my apartment. We're now down to boxes, which primarily means, I spend time sorting through papers and books, trying to decide what is worth keeping and what needs to be recycled or given away. 

Last night I got a call from her, asking if I'd like to go garage sailing with her. I'm not big into sales of any kind, but I like to be with her, so this morning we headed out. We stopped along the way to pick up her oldest daughter, Sarah, and the three of us headed for Starbucks for a cup of coffee and then to Freddy's garden section. I picked up some herbs and vegetable starters, and they selected some planters and plants to spruce up my cousin's backyard. We all headed back to her home to grab a quick bite to eat, and then I began hauling the terra cotta planters that I'd stored years ago, into my car. I decided, while I was there, I'd go through a box or two in the garage. And that's when I discovered something that my intuition had been signaling to investigate.

For the last week, I've been compiling the poetry I've been writing over the years.  In November, I'm going to do a poetry reading with my friend, Robert Neilson for the Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium, and I wanted to have a small collection of my poems published and bound for the occasion.  It's been quite a journey collecting poetry from over 4-5 decades. Poetry has been a part of my writing repertoire for as long as I can remember.  

Unlike some of  my poet friends who seem to spend time writing poetry daily, I write poetry in response to events about which I feel are beyond verbal expression.  Times when words seem to be full of too much noise or too little authentic sentiment. Times when I am struck by something deep that can't be spoken of openly or is beyond feeling. Times when I've been called upon to use words for a sacred occasion, or times when the writing I have been doing is so full too much raw data, academic structure, or profound and heavy ideas and concepts.  When the journey of writing has culminated in the completion of  months or years of work, I seek refuge and expression of feeling in and through poetry.  When the day has been too full, and the nights have been too long and lonely, I find connection in poetry.

All week as I've been rereading and sorting through some of my most recent poetry, I think of poems I wrote long ago. Have you ever had the experience of having a favorite piece of clothing that you've lost track of...maybe a hat, a dress, a handwoven shawl, or a special pair of earrings, a sweatshirt you got from your Dad or your husband?  Maybe because I've moved often and made it a habit to give away clothes on a regular basis, I don't usually attach much importance or sentimentality to pieces of clothing. But ever once in a while, I wonder, "Where did that shawl go?", "What happened to that beautiful pink dress I got in Paris?" or "What did I do with that box of clothes I bought for my husband at the end of the invasion of Kuwait?"  It's not so much I want the item of clothing as it is, I wonder about what might have happened to have made me lose track of parts of my life that had had  such poignant and passionate meaning to me. The shawl, was a goodbye gift from a man I loved long ago; guess he thought I'd need it to keep myself warm once he left. The dress was beautiful, a gift from a friend, and fit me better than anything I've ever worn before or since. If I could have one dress for all my life, it would be that one. 

I also ask the question about pieces of writing I have done in the past, and for the past week I have been having a niggling sensation that some of the poetry I was looking for was stored in that basement at my cousin's.    Today after dragging the terra-cotta pots out of the yard and then putting them in my car, I went down into the basement and began sorting through boxes and papers.  One has to be in the right frame of mind to just throw things away willy-nilly.  Especially for  those of us who love to write, the idea of throwing away paper without first looking at it, just seems almost impossible.   Thanks to the graciousness of my cousin, I have not been hurried through this process.  Today  as I was searching through folders and files and notebooks and journals, I made some wonderful discoveries.   

This will mean something to those of you who sometimes feel like you do not have anything to say or write about or that you will never have another brilliant idea as long as you live.  What I discovered today in the basement (what would Jung or Freud make of that?)   was not only  a great deal of poetry I was looking for, but also collections of dreams and symbols, essays, speeches and presentations, lectures, a couple of eulogies, and even wedding ceremonies-- all pieces of writing that I have done in the past and that were waiting for me to revisit  before deciding what to do with them. 

For nearly 20 years I have been keeping a daily dream and morning pages journal.   While most of what is in a journal of this type is not something I have ever want to see the light of day, I have valued the dream work that I have done over the years.  I make a point with my dream journals to review them monthly, quarterly, and yearly.  Periodically, I will write up the dreams just to give myself a written record and to follow and study the interaction between my subconscious, the unconscious, and the life I live and often those around me.  At this particular point in my life, I am bringing many things together.  Compiling my poetry, recording and compiling my lectures, and studying my dreams to see what kinds of material they may give me for another piece or two of work.   And sitting on my desk right now is a file filled with handwritten poetry that needs to be edited then transcribed to become part of the poetry of my life.

Also sitting on my desk is a compilation of  a lot of the very personal and essential work that I did when I was a seminarian. The wonderful seminary that I attended, the San Francisco Theological Seminary located in the hills of San Anselmo just north of San Francisco, is  one of the founding institutions of the Graduate Theological Union. SFTS  required that we students   do a deep, thorough, introspective, reflective, and honest exploration of ourselves, our theology, and our divine calling.   Unlike some who studied for a doctorate and felt it a waste of time, I believe my seminary experience was a life defining, profoundly  meaningful, and  significant turning point in my life.  That experience coupled with my experiences at Marylhurst University  where I studied spiritual traditions and ethics and applied theology, were seminal experiences that have allowed my  innermost being to rise up and touch and affect the way I look at everything,  the way I understand my life. It all has  allowed me to grasp the reality  that there are an infinite number of opportunities  for us to live a purposeful and meaningful lives. 

As I read over some of the essays, reflections, poetry, and other writing of that period of time,  I realize what I see before me are the seasons and passages of time.   What once I viewed as  random, unverifiable dreams and intuition have come clear, concrete, and surprising revelations, manifestations, experiences, events, and relationships.   While we may  never know what the future holds for us, we can be sure (at least from my perspective) that the seeds of our future are planted and recognizable through our dreams,  desires, intentions, and plans. More importantly, nothing is more important  than  our willingness to take risks, to take action, and to not give up on the truth of who we are. What we believe and understand may change over time,  but I think we're all guided to use our abilities, talents, and gifts and to take the steps needed to  live the best life we can.  


What I found today  in the basement were pieces of the trail and parts of me that led me to the person I am today.  Some of the pieces I can let go of--like knowledge of what happened to the dress or the shawl.  Other pieces of the past, I carry with me-- like a box of new clothes, the shaving kit, and  a fresh box of See's candy my husband.  What I do with what I found and kept, will be something to discover at some time in the future.   

Watching Over the Garden                                                                          Catherine Al-Meten

Our lives are full  of memories dreams and reflections to pull out and use in creating beauty through our art, through our work, in the way we treat ourselves and other people, and in what we choose to put our intentions and energy toward.

So now as I pot the plants, the herbs the vegetables in my terra cotta garden, I do so as I do much in life, hope for the best, set the intention to care for the seeds and plants, and trust that something good will grow from my efforts.  The miracle is, that it and we happens at all. What a blessing our lives are. How fortunate we are to have the gifts and abundance we do. How grateful I am. Amen

Inappropriate Behavior: Writing material in the absurdities of life

When I was young, I would laugh at all the wrong times.  It got to be very embarrassing.  For instance, when a friend told me another friend had died, my response was to smile. Not the kind of reaction you might have expected.   My inappropriate smiling and laughter  wasn't usually  about such  extreme situations,  but I was  really uncomfortable.    I remember a friend  trying to explain my behavior to someone else, “Oh  she always does that. She doesn't mean it.”

It seems like many artists and writers  look at  life through a lens that is just slightly askew.    While there are many things in life that we can control, our emotional reactions are generally not included, at least not until we learn to suppress and control ourselves.  That's another story for a different day. However,  some emotional responses like crying and laughing, if they are from our innermost being,  occur spontaneously even if we have tried to suppress our feelings..  What makes us laugh or cry depends upon some pretty mysterious  and inexplicable natural responses.    I do not even pretend to know or understand why I laugh why I do not cry very much.  What I do understand  and what I am writing about today is just how much some things strike me as both absurd and funny.  

If I were to look into this further  or maybe go into therapy for the next 20 years, I might discover that there is some deep dark  reason that I tend to laugh when others cry.  Perhaps laughter is another form of tears, who knows.  I cry often enough to know that I definitely feel differently when I am crying than  when I am laughing.    Laughing and crying are not  the same  for me.    

How did I get on the subject of crying and laughing, well I will tell you.  Like many of my friends and fellow writers I while away at least a few minutes every day perusing Facebook's  stream of messages.    Once in a while I find something that really tickles my fancy.  Today was one of those days.  I can count them on one hand, the days that is, when something makes me laugh so hard.    Today's comic relief came in the form of a photograph of Glenda,  the Good Witch dressed in her pink fairy gown,  crown on her head and a magic wand in her hand, saying:    "You know dear,  Karma's  only a bitch when you are."     It struck me as so funny and touched me in such a way that I was reminded of  other times when laughter at the absurdity of life, and particularly my own, was just something I had to laugh about.  

Writers and artists spend a lot of time searching.  We search for inspiration.  We search for the right words.  We search for the right frame or the right colors or the right mediums to express ourselves.    Often times we struggle for months and years, day after day on projects which we hope will ring true  both to ourselves and to those for whom we create our work.    Today I was reminded that just below the surface,  waiting to come forward,  are feelings connected to thoughts and thoughts  connected to images that promise to connect us through our work to others.    

Many of us are full of ideas.  Some of those ideas will just pass away and never manifest into anything.   Other ideas will be developed and will turn into some expression or other.  Maybe we will call it a poem or a masterpiece.  Perhaps it will come out in some design or solution, in some invention or product, but whatever we choose to do consciously, I think we are graced with something more valuable than all the best ideas in the world. We are each given the gift of spontaneity, laughter, humor, and lightness of being.  Even in and after the most depressing or morally degrading experiences, despite the horrors and suffering we might have experienced or witnessed,   we have within us the seeds of release, relief, and healing.

 Today  after I saw the photograph of  Glenda the Good Witch with her witty comment, other experiences flooded into my memory. I was reminded of other times when I'd felt so good.  I recall being tickled with the Taco Bell Chihuahuas.    In case you are not familiar with  the Taco Bell  Chihuahuas,  they were an advertising gimmick used by Taco Bell in the late 1980s and early 1990s.   They were  not very politically correct but they were sure cute.  Those toys were closest to  a  dog that I was going to get.  They each talked a little bit,  required no cleanup or feeding, and were small enough to put in my purse.    At the time, I was living in Claremont, working at the Claremont colleges, and living through one of the most upsetting and depressing times of my life.    My husband had been caught up in the early stages of what has now become a protracted and seemingly never-ending set of wars in the Middle East.    I had had a miscarriage, had just lost my Mother, had been suffering through a long separation from my husband, was trying to raise my  college-aged daughter  and help her through her struggles. I had just lost one job and was starting a new job.   In the middle of all this, my husband's country was invaded while he was there and a whole new cycle of sorrow, not knowing, and feeling incapable of helping anyone, including myself, began.   

Needless to say it was during that  time when anything that could go wrong did go, or so it seemed.    It was during that time that the  Taco Bell Chihauhaus came into my life.  I laughed, for the first time in ages, and felt emotions move within me after a long period of time of holding myself together and trying to deal with life and maintain my relationships, do my job, and keep my sanity. What I found was that in order to do any of those things, particularly the sanity bit, I had to lose it!  And maybe that's it.  It may be that in order to take steps forward or move on or find our way or discover the truth, we have to just let go.  We have to let go of thinking we understand what is going on in life.  We have to let go of holding on for dear life thinking as we seem to be losing  control of  our lives. We  will all fall apart.  Our lives will fall apart  despite what we do or do not do.  

For that is the nature of life.  Life is dynamic.  Our work is dynamic.  What brings us joy and pleasure and fulfillment at one point changes and requires that we move on,  move over,  and get out of our own way later on.   Finding ourselves in the blinding  'aha' moments or epiphanies that some like St. Paul or the Prophets of old experienced, may be one way we figure out life.  Getting lost or sidetracked maybe another.  Losing everything that matters or suffering  through extreme  boredom and meaninglessness may be another way. But do not be surprised if your inspiration and vision of the future does not also come to you in some absurd and silly way.  

The great Thomas Merton talked about finding enlightenment in the streets of the city in Asia where he saw  the wind pick up a plastic bag and swirl it in an eddy of air currents.  Gautauma, in his search for meaning and enlightenment,  found his enlightenment  at the end of the search, exhausted and probably a little disappointed,  sitting under a tree one night.   Christ Jesus had his share of trials, and probably wondered at the end if anyone had heard what he had to say. I don't think he got paid for his gig either. I do not pretend to speak for Gautama the Buddha or Jesus or in fact anyone else. However,  I do know something about searching and finding. Answers are always before and around us.   We however are not necessarily receptive, ready,  or willing to receive and understand what is right before us.    In my case, I am often not ready or able to even ask the questions I want answered let one alone receive answers.    When the time is right, not only will the teacher appear  in some form or another (maybe even the mirror),  but also the way will open from within or you will have no doubt or fear  what the next step is to be.

 A few years ago in San Francisco when my doctor and Soul Friend, Dr. Taylor Rabbetz  was helping me with some healing and health issues, he was doing some work on my Soaz muscle.    This muscle is in the hip region and is a crucial part of connecting the upper and lower body.  For those who sit a lot like writers, this muscle sometimes does not get the right kind of exercise or movement. Like all parts of our body,  our muscles retain memory and store the sum total of our experiences and emotional responses in them.    If you have ever had acupuncture, acupressure, chiropractic or other body work, you are aware of how one part of the body is inherently connected to other parts.  And our emotional body, psychological body, spiritual body, ethereal body,  and all aspects of our physical body interact and are affected by one another.    We are also strongly affected by all elements of the people we are involved with and their healed and unhealed bodies.    Another reason to use discernment, discretion and common sense when developing relationships and dealing with people.

Well to get back to the table where I was being warned by Dr. Rabbetz  that "You might and probably will have  a  deep emotional response to the work being done."  He warned me that often patients are affected by this work that they cry from deep seated pain, grief, and other emotions.     I tried to prepare myself for that mentally,  and  and hoped that it would help in whatever I needed to experience.  What actually happened was that I began laughing.  I laughed and laughed and laughed.  I could not stop myself.    Another one of those inappropriate responses, but believe me when I tell you it made me feel great.  Another one of those responses to life's pain, grief, and trauma that was just slightly off from the norm.

Whatever it takes for us to write, to create art, to dedicate our lives to living fully, artistically, freely, happily, I say we embrace the way we most naturally receive love, inspiration, and the determination so authentic and divinely inspired lives.  

One Pigeon Said to Another Pigeon....                                                                                        by Catherine Al-Meten, 2012

If we do see life slightly askew, so be it.   If we think we have nothing to offer or that we are just repeating what others have already done, we need to look a little closer.  We need to appreciate  the idiosyncrasies, the quirky gifts, and that just slightly out of whack way we look at and approach life.  We need to stop trying to be so normal and just allow ourselves to be who we are.  Channel the drama of your life into your work and your art.  As Julia Cameron says keep it on the canvas or in the script or between the book covers.   As I told my granddaughter Lola, “life is like a big juicy ripe peach  meant for us to bite into,  savour and let the juice of it run down our chin."   We already know life has its ups and downs.  We already understand some things are a struggle.  What we do not always know is that we are always capable of being surprised in  very wonderfully pleasant and happy ways.  Expect the unexpected.  Savour each moment,  and let the laughter arise from within.    And if you're not sure about what life is like, stand on your head or tilt it at an angle, and look at it from a different side...literally and metaphorically speaking.

Moving Write Along: Right or Write?

I started this blog to get some of my ideas out of my head and to stop just getting drenched in emotions or hung up in fears about whether or not I was doing the right thing in the right place or not? Writing can end up being about searching for "the Right"...just the right word, just the right idea, just the right place to write, just the right time, and just the right audience.  If this smacks of perfectionism to you, I'd say, you're...what's that word? "Right!"

While many of us writers think our blocks and lulls are caused by fear, I wonder if much of the procrastination, distraction, and crisis-detracting activities (like clearing clutter, escaping in search of rest or retreat, burying ourselves in the minutia of daily life or our best friend's latest crisis) isn't really about our desire to get it right? A new form of distraction has arisen over the last few years, and that has come in the form of blogs and online social networks (somewhat like this) filled with ideas on how to get it right. Despite the fact that many of us have already spent years on the job, proving ourselves experts in some field or another, perfecting our craft, and taking our first steps in declaring ourselves writers, we seem to think that someone else has the answer for us. The just right advice or suggestion, the just right program or class, or the just right book or webinar that will unlock the key to the magic of our writing career.  We are willing to pay, not only financially but also in time and energy, to discover what someone else has found that we have overlooked.  

This is not to say that there aren't some great ideas and good programs, books, classes full of the best advice in the world. What we need to determine for ourselves as freelance writers is this: Is being right about our writing and our career as a writer, about being right from the get go or are we missing the boat? For anyone who has ever been successful in academia, in a trade, in a role, or in anything at all, you will probably remember that you moved forward by taking risks, by looking for opportunities, by taking chances, and by following your best instincts. Think about the one thing in your life you are proud of.  I would have to say, having a child was the big step that has changed my life.  My decision was made in the dark of knowing almost nothing about what would make me a good mother or not.  I had a good mother, and that was one thing going for me, though my mother and I were nothing alike. I have moved through various stages of mothering, and have learned as I've gone along.  When I was determining whether or not to become a mother/to have a child, I was trying to figure out (ahead of time) how I'd be able to handle my child when she was a teenager. I recall this part of the decision because I was with my friend Lois at the beach. Lois was a good friend who was about 15 years older than I. She had suffered through the loss of her mother and two of her children who all had Cystic Fibrosis. When I was trying to figure out whether or not be become a mother, Lois was dealing with the loss and grief of two children lost to her before ever having the chance to live.  

At the beach one day, as I was debating about being a mother, she turned to me and reminded me that, "You deal with a child one day at a time. You will have many years to get ready for what happens when they become teenagers." While I wasn't a very young mother, I was a very naive one.  I knew nothing, at that point, about loss and grief, or about the mystery of life that makes it impossible for us to be prepared for what might happen in the future. None of us knows what lies ahead, but we do have control and power over what we do with the time and resources that lay before us today. Years have passed since that day on the beach, and my own relationship with my daughter and granddaughter remain key elements of what brings me fulfillment. However, I have learned in most areas of my life, I'm good at some things, not so good at others, and it is best for me if I put my energy into the areas I'm best prepared for, into the work that allows me to express my creativity and knowledge, and into the projects and goals that allow me to feel nourished, fulfilled, and successful. We measure success in  our lives in truly personal ways, so I won't even attempt to define what that means to me.  

What I do know is that I am a writer, and I am expressing myself through a wide variety of projects and in a diverse number of ways.  My writing has established me as a writer, has earned for me, acknowledgement in my field of theology, in poetry, in journalism, in comparative religions and spirituality, in essays, and through my blogs. I blog about what I'm interested and knowledgeable about including, astrology and spirituality, writing and photography, history and narrative, and healing and psychological development. 

My writing combined with my photography, provide me with two ways to express myself. If I keep my work to myself, I fail to take the necessary risks that will allow my work to be read and viewed by others. What matters so much to me, fails to reach anyone else. If it didn't matter to me what others thought, I probably would be content to write and do photography alone in a cave somewhere, but that's not the point of my life. My life is about communicating beauty, expressing ideas about peace, understanding, and the Divine, and about urging others to find their own path of creative expression. That means it's necessary for me to act, to do, to be, and to take the chance that I might not do things in exactly the right way or might not always be right, but I'm not a righter, I'm a writer. Throwing off the mantle of having to be right, and instead proclaiming my right to be the best writer I can be. 

Past is Prologue

"The past is prologue."  I recall seeing the quotation when I was a young woman, and have thought of it often primarily in relation to history, the passage of time, and the stories we call our lives. Today, however, it takes on a wholly new meaning for me. The past we have already lived and created, becomes the present when we rediscover and bring it up to date with our new work, in new stages of our experience, and in the art we continue to create.

Reflections and Shadows

This morning I am sitting in the computer room at Tel Hi (short for Telegraph Hill Neighborhood Community Center). This wonderful gathering place, in the middle of the North Beach area of San Francisco serves people of all ages, and is where I  have spent some very nice time over the last three weeks. Today I’m spending the morning here, working on a book I’ve been writing for quite a while. The book grew out of a much larger project, my doctoral dissertation.  Unlike many people who get their doctorates and set their dissertations aside, I did the research and wrote my dissertation on a subject (actually many subjects) very near and dear to my heart. There is probably enough material in that single piece of work to last me several lifetimes.  It’s full of ideas that would make for interesting parts of other projects.

What I am currently rereading is a piece I wrote in the dissertation, that I want to use for another book.  Due to the academic nature of the dissertation, I was worried it might need to be rewritten to make the subjects and themes more accessible.  For a while, I have put off tackling this project. Today, I pulled a little silver and blue stick out of my computer bag, and plugged the thumb drive into my laptop.  It had been so long since I’d used it, that I wasn’t even sure what I would find on the drive.  What I found was a wealth of information, including my dissertation.  At home I have paper copies, but don’t drag them around with me, though I love to use a paper copy when I’m editing or reading for pleasure. Today though, I was tickled pink to find that all the time and effort my advisor, Mary Caygill and I had spent making sure the final editing was as close to perfect as possible, had resulted in a fairly easy-to-read, and interesting piece of work. 

One of the things I learned from my own academic experiences, and from those of the many students who I have taught and advised over the years, is the value of saving our work.  Even with very young children, I have encouraged people to save the most important work they do for you can never tell how it will come in handy in the future. For those of us who love to study, research, and write, old essays, reports, articles, and papers are like a treasure chest of ideas and inspiration.  If done well, these same papers can also provide us with a ready made list of resources and references from which to begin a new piece of work or report.  Rather than having to “reinvent the wheel,” our old writing helps us by providing what writers call, prompts. 

Now that we have digitalized so much information, it is easier to maintain a good record of our past work.  Even if we had not done work on a computer, we can scan old papers, books, articles, and even photographs to be used for future projects.  So today, I’m delighted because I now have no real excuses for putting off the actual writing of this book.  The book will include photography and interviews, folklore and poetry, but it will also include the sound research I have done on the inidgenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest.  For years I have been gathering ideas, lore, stories, photographs, and an understanding of this river and her peoples. Now my work in coming together into the manifestation of a vision I have had for a long while. Everything in its own time. For those who know the research process, we sometimes wonder if we will ever get to the point where there is enough.  Usually there is more than enough, but what we “get to” is the point where we can see the path leading us to a destination that has a particular look to it. Today, I have had the vision come to life before me in some work that first set me off on this journey.

When I began this piece, I had been studying, researching, and writing for a good four years, and was exhausted from being tied to the piece I had been working on.  All I wanted to do was get outside and be on the rivers, and walk the trails along the streams I had been writing about. So that’s what I did, and from that need to get outside and to explore, I began seeing the rivers, streams, ocean, and water communities from a different perspective than I ever had before.

Somewhat serendipitously, I ended up living alongside the River, near its mouth.  For nearly two years I have watched the river flow, the tides coming in and out, and come to understand life on the river just a little more than I had before.  The call to get on with the book about the rivers grows each day, and when I am away from Ni’chi a wana, the Great River, as I have been for the last few weeks, the call to be beside her grows even stronger.  The call to chronicle and capture the present experience and beauty of the rivers and her people beckons me to push on and to push back against the endless stream of preparing and waiting. Now the time is coming to move back into the mid channel of this writing process, and move on down towards it’s completion.  As I come near the completion of one project, I find finishing something has prepared me to complete the larger, more complex task of reworking and writing this next book.

For those who seem to be mid-stream or drifting without a clear course or destination, consider what in front of you can be completed with relative ease. When I wondered where to begin tackling the larger project of the rivers book, I felt stymied. That’s when I looked at smaller projects that had been waiting for my attention, and I began working on them. Finishing pieces that were already done. Gathering essays and poems that were already completed. Organizing lectures given many times, into a cohesive piece of work on topics I know well.  Collecting all the recipes I have gathered, and writing short, weekly articles on a regular basis...all these acts have given me the discipline, sense of completion, and energy and impetus to complete the larger work now. 

Large projects like dissertations, theses, or books often sap us of our energy for a time.  We need time to rest, recuperate, and refill our creative reserves before we are ready to move into another large project.  Today I seemed to come around a corner with a major piece of work, and feel relieved and happy because I recognize the feeling that what lies ahead has some clear lines of demarcation. I can see the path ahead, and now know more clearly what the next best steps are.

Coasting Along: A Writer's Journey: Writing on the Road

Coasting Along: A Writer's Journey: Writing on the Road: Sitting in cafes, juggling a computer on a strange bed, or looking for an internet connection that works and is in a quiet spot....all aspec...

How We Define Ourselves

Dana Gearhart, a wise woman once said to me, "Whenever someone describes herself/himself  'I'm not the kind of person who....' I can be sure that they are just that kind of person." At the time she was my astrologer and I was the 'person who.'  I didn't much like hearing that statement, because of course it touched deeply on the challenges that lay before me. 

Our lives seem to be enmeshed in the constant attempts we make to know and express ourselves from our authentic core, whatever that is.  As writers, we're always trying to put into our words the images, feelings, ideas, and concepts that communicate something about how we see and understand the world.  I recall as a young woman thinking that at some point in the distant future things would all make sense and I would not still be wondering about my identity and direction. As years have passed, and I have grown, created, developed, achieved, and lived, I have been surprised on more than one occasion and at more than one juncture that the future and my identity and purpose, though often seeming quite clear, remains much a mystery.

Whenever we approach those areas of ourselves and those times in our lives when we have to deal with our shadow issues, we can be certain we'll not like some of what we need to face. By shadow, as I've written about before, I mean those aspects of ourselves that are yet to be developed, understood, and integrated into our conscious identity. I do not believe this is something that happens entirely in any one lifetime.  My theology is one that holds with the idea that our souls continue to develop beyond the span our our limited time on Earth.  

As I've watched life change, people pass on, relationships end, and new challenges and opportunities arise, I have become ever more certain that what I believe, what I perceive, what I think I have control over, and what choices I have made or will make, are beyond my ability to hold any certainty about. In fact I would go so far as to say I have no idea how things will turn out. That said, my intuitive knowledge, experiences, thinking, and worldview lead me to believe that I can trust myself to do the best I can and pay attention to the signs, to discern the meaning and call that infuses my life with purpose and meaning, and to trust in the wisdom, mercy, and grand plan of the Masterful Creator.  There are far too many people making far too many plans, living far too diverse lives for any one of us to hold the key to the Truth. 

Truth comes in tiny whispers, and in rather mundane or even upsetting times of disruption or toil. Last night I was invited to dinner at the home of a friend of a friend.  The person whose home I went to is a renowned artist, and I had never spent any time talking with him before last evening.  I was invited by his close friend, and the three of us had a very nice dinner together, played some music for a while, and then talked.  We shared a pleasant evening, and I found myself at home with other musicians, writers and artists, and rediscovered a sense of 'home' in playing and singing music together. 

Our homes, meaning houses and studios, also speak of who we are, and in this person's home, I enjoyed seeing his art and craftsmanship in every nook and cranny.  Environment influences me greatly, and when I walked into his studio, the work spaces set out at window-height all faced into his garden. I love looking out into the garden at my home, yet I had placed my studio work table away from the windows. My writing desk works best when I'm not gazing out the window, however, my photography requires light and inspiration, and being in this person's home inspired me to come home and rearrange.  So what does this have to do with identity? 


In order to get my work table over to the windows, I had to devise a plan to rearrange my office furniture. On every surface and on every shelf were books. I realized one of the first things I had to do before I could move anything, was to organize my books. Now if you are like me, books might as well be a third arm. They are everywhere. I took all the books off all the shelves, and began sorting. As I sorted, I divided books according to subject matter and current projects.  My comparative religions stacks and my spiritual development stacks rose higher and higher, and it made me aware of how I've been thinking of myself.  Moving books and furniture necessarily means having papers to reshuffle as well, and a lecture that I had given about a year ago, fell out of something, and caught my eye.  


I had worked on this lecture for weeks, and felt so alive when I began rereading the lecture notes.  Recently, I left classroom teaching, and had been thinking of myself without the connection to this huge piece and part of my life. This morning as I moved books, papers, and furniture around, the voice of my inner Truth spoke to me in no uncertain terms, "You are a  scholar of religion, spirituality, and ancient history." And that filled my whole being with such a sense of meaning, purpose, and sense of identity. It signaled a missing piece of my writing that had been shelved. I thought at some point, I had no desire to enter the ring of scholarly writing. And I'm still not certain that is where I want to move. I do know, however, that the body of work, the passion and interest, the experiences and struggles that are tied up in making me a religious scholar have been a major part of who I've always been, are a part of some of my major works, and are now the signal fires for the path before me.

What this means or what this will look like are no more apparent to me right now that the lecture written out and resting on the couch beside me was when I first began to envision writing it. The last class I taught was a comparative religions class, and the lectures that I have given and then written out over the years, are probably the source of a major piece of my identity. Whatever comes next, I revel in the magical nature of our mystical connections. As I sent prayers out to swim in unison with others who work and pray for peace, I feel rewarded by the inflow of inspiration that says we must say what is...say what our experiences and understanding lead us to express and be.  Amen to that. Sisters and brothers of the pen and plume, listen for the blessing gifts that come on the wings of grace, for that is the true reward of our art.

Living Life, Creating Life

 I wrote this essay a while back, but thought I would share it with you today.

Living Life, Creating Life

    Watching the river amble on its path through a mountain ravine.  Feeling the sea spume blowing on my face as the waves crash on the rocky beach beneath my feet.  Smelling the salty morning air as I stand on my front porch. My senses are awake to the beauty of the world around me. 

I could as easily describe the odor that reeks from the homeless gentleman whose home is on the sidewalk under the bridge near where I live in San Francisco.  I do notice that, but I also notice his quiet dignity as I observe him nearly every day.  He sits cross-legged on his blanket as he reads intently from the paperback book he holds in his hands while sipping from his Starbuck’s cup as he holds the stub of his hand-rolled cigarette. I have heard him talking quietly to friends on occasion, and late at night as I have been on my way home with my family, I’ve noticed him sleeping in his carefully arranged shelter of tarps and boxes.  Nevertheless, mostly what I observe about him is his constancy and intent as he reads daily.  Periodically, I stop to chat with him, offer him books and share food with him, but know he needs little from me.  While he may long for more, a different life than the one he lives, he possesses a sense of himself that allows him his dignity and beauty.
It has always been important to me to look for the beauty in life…even the beauty amid the pain, the sadness, and the injustices of life.  As a mother and grandmother, I have made it a priority to enjoy and observe the beauty of the world in which we live.  I have made it a priority to appreciate and pay attention to each moment and each stage of our relationships.  To watch how we change as Daughter becomes Mother, and Mother becomes Grand Mother.
As a teacher, I found it necessary and more interesting for my students, to bring the subject matter to life through art, music, imagination, and the connection of time and space to culture and history and me. How much more exciting it was to imagine living in an ancient culture and to better understand that people, just like us, lived lives very similar to us in some ways yet very different in others.  To bring to life a distant culture or to connect our lives to the lives of those in our own families who had descended from one of those ancient tribes, was to create a link to students with the life force of whatever I was teaching.  To know that music, art, great buildings and events, as well as intricate codes that held language and complex formulas that formed the basics of mathematics had all been born from the spiritual traditions and ancient ideas of our ancestors. 

Creating is about connecting one idea to another.  My cultural background tells me that everything begins in the imagination.  We formulate and shape ideas and creations in our imaginations. Creator Spirit breathes into us the gifts of imagination, sensation, thought, and emotion.  When I first studied in University, my friend Mary Lynn and I did some research on creativity.  We both had young children at the time, and it was still a time when “reason” was king, so ideas about anything being creative were denigrated.  We, on the contrary, felt there was something innately intelligent and practical about creativity and creating. 
Over my academic career, I used my studies to focus on creating a life that allowed me to explore, investigate, and create ways to connect, heal, and express beauty—be it in relationships or through whatever I made or developed.  I am a writer and a photographer.  These two mediums provide me with the means of expressing myself…Through the lens of my camera and the ideas about which I write, I am creating records, capturing moments and freezing time just a bit to stand as a reminder of its passing.  I stand with my camera to view the world from my particular place and to share a perspective and vision for others to appreciate what they might have missed.  As I write, I leave bits and pieces of poetic rhapsody, of intriguing mystery, of heartening glimpses into cultures, historical moments, and pasts left behind. 

For many years, most of my creating happened in and around academia.  I recall a dream I had a few years ago…a dream that alerted me to the need for me to move out of that area in order to live a more creative, fulfilling life.  Shortly after finishing my thesis on trauma and stress, I dreamed I was re-potting a plant.  In the dream, I picked the plant, roots and all, out of the pot and said to someone (my shadow self no doubt), I hate this kind of writing.  It has no life to it.”  While I had loved the work I had done conducting interviews and exploring the subject matter surrounding the topic, I did not like the way I had to write about the deeply personal, disturbing material I had gathered from the very brave men and women who had shared their stories with me.  I wanted their experiences to connect to people who needed to hear about the struggles that people had gone through to live free lives. 

It took me a while, but I left academia to begin my full time life as a writer and photographer.  I divide my time between my home in Monterey and my daughter’s home in San Francisco where I help my daughter with my Grand Daughter.  The struggle to start a new way of living can be a bit scary, but I have found that I now have more to do than I have time to do it.  There was a point, a threshold time between moving onto this new way of living or going on as before, when I wasn’t sure…oh and why should I be sure.  We never do really know what is ahead.  So at crucial points, I continue to make decisions based on what I feel deep in my heart, soul, and gut is my true purpose in life.  Not what others think I should be doing, not what worked for me for many years, not for the easy way, but for the truly risky choice to live life authentically doing what I was called here to create.

I am interested in using photography and writing to connect others to the beauty of the natural world and to the world, we have created. I encourage others to connect to their essence, their history, and their actual presence in the world.  My desire is to capture the fleeting moments as I live awake and alert to the beauty of images and ideas that may strike me at any time of the day and night, and as a writer and photographer, I am compelled to respond.  I believe that I am to create beauty from whatever experiences I have. That is even the mantra I use as I clean house or straighten out files, drawers, or closets.  All for the beauty and Divine order of the Universe. Each little step I take, each little moment I capture on film or in writing, each little piece of time I have in relationship, is a gift to me for the life I have been privileged to live creatively.

And today, April 25, 2012 as I reread this for the post, I realize how important it is to make each moment count for something.  Being present enough to appreciate whatever the task at hand is, keeps us from falling into the trap of feeling like we're wasting time, not being productive enough, or any number of other negative judgements we make about our current level of productivity or goodness. It is enough. I am enough.  Whatever I'm doing is enough. I miss the satisfaction however, if I'm always complaining (to myself or others) about what I'm not, what I'm not doing, what I'm not accomplishing. With gratitude, I am thankful that each moment of life is a gift to be opened, appreciated, lived, and honored. Have a grateful day full of moments when you feel "it's enough."