I have kind of fallen into what has turned into an extended, self directed artist’s retreat.
Originally I came out here for a wedding, but there was a house sit available and somehow, magically, that has become a two month visit to paradise.
The property where I’m staying has such a massive garden, I’m still getting to know all the areas of it, while watching the blooms come and go.
Up to one side is the orchard section, including apple trees, pear trees and hazelnuts –
And in various clumps around the property are gatherings of all kinds of ever shifting variously blossoming flowers –
The hummingbirds are plentiful, darting in and out the flowers, bickering over access.
Crows and ravens and the occasional distant eagle pass through.
And of course the songbirds….
Early morning and late evening at dusk are when the bunnies show up, but the deer wander through any time of day and will help themselves to the raspberries or the rather green looking pears on the pear tree, or sometimes they’ll just stop in for a rest in the shade –
But while all moments of the day are beautiful and peaceful, without a doubt, my favourite time is first thing in the morning, out on the balcony with a coffee, as the sun gradually finds its way up and over the tall tall trees….
a) get out of the city, get out of the traffic and construction and virus cases going up fast fast fast, and
b) hang out with friends around a dinner table and the fire at night and the coffee in the morning, and be social and silly for hours and even days on end without worrying about corona the way we do in the city.
Each morning I’d try to slip out the side door and go for a walk, past the hungry barn cats, down the dirt road to the fields to catch some early morning light –
Startling the horses, startling the cows…
There was a fair bit of rain, but that only gave way to dramatic clouds and even rainbows, adding to the magic of time OUTSIDE.
After my walk I’d do my morning meditation behind the house under this silver maple, so massive I couldn’t even fit it in the frame –
From there I might wander out back to the garden, full of giant zucchinis and squash and kale and sunflowers that towered above me.
If there wasn’t too much rain, we’d head out to the back cabin, back away from the highway, with just the river and crickets and frogs and this old tree stump that made me think of a menhir.
I took pictures of it again and again, trying to find what it was that made it so majestic and mysterious.
One night we even spent the night out in that back cabin, and the moon, growing fuller on its way to the Harvest Moon, danced over the river…
Last week I reached up onto one of my bookshelves and cracked open a book I’ve had for years and years, have carried from one home to the next, but have yet to really open. Truth be told, I bought it entirely on a whim, cruising a second hand store, noticing the gorgeous green cover; the title with my initials, Ka; the evocative subtitle, Stories of the Mind and Gods of India. All for only $11.
Finally opening it, years later, I found on the first page, an astonishing paragraph:
Garuda flew and remembered. It was only a few days since he had hatched from his egg and already so much had happened. Flying was the best way of thinking, of thinking things over. Who was the first person he’d seen? His mother, Vinata. Beautiful in her tininess, she sat on a stone, watching his egg hatch, determinedly passive. Hers was the first eye Garuda held in his own. And at once he knew that that eye was his own. Deep inside was an ember that glowed in the breeze. The same he could feel burning beneath his own feathers.
~ Roberto Calasso
Oh what imagination! The consciousness of a bird who has just hatched from an egg!
Immediately, I wanted to dive into this book, into this world with such soaring imagination… and yet, I know I currently am struggling to maintain the concentration for deep reading.
People who’ve known me a long time know what an avid reader I’ve always been…stacks of books forever by my bedside, several books, both fiction and non, on the go at once much of the time… both parents are English profs, what can I say.
But I have lost this capacity for deep reading – maybe it’s been gradual over the last couple of years? I did really notice my stunted attention span last year at work – I found that, seated by myself in a little dark room for hours on end, day after day, I’d spend so much of that time on the internet. While waiting for a render to complete, I’d check my email, and while that was loading, have a look at my phone, checking for new texts, notifications.
There’s an increasing amount of writing about this problem in the population generally – the addiction to the dopamine hits, the living out of shallow parts of the brain, the inability to access deep focus and concentration.
And then on top of everything, the pandemic… the doom scrolling, the obligatory news information check ins lasting hours longer than was truly necessary.
So, for the moment I’ve moved to audio books, listened to in extended quiet moments with no other stimulants (except maybe the lake or a tree). And I’ve been making the studio a wifi free zone. No phone allowed.
My desk there now has notebooks for writing, but also a few books to read, a few books about writing, so that I have the option of spending time just quietly with my thoughts, or even with the thoughts of others…
We can’t fully participate in the mystery of life if, as soon as we approach the depths where ideas reside, our own anxiety, negativity, and self-doubt make breathing difficult. If the depths unnerve us, we’ll search for answers in safe places, where the air is plentiful and the sun scares demons away. But the answers we seek can’t be found in those sun-drenched places. We really must dive.
Startling the horses, startling the cows…
follow your nose 