Simply charming...

Today I discovered a ‘new to me’ artist by the name of Julie Paschkis. Her artwork is absolutely stunning. One of my favourite styles of art is folk art. I love the simplicity and the directness. It is a “No fuss, no muss” style. But don’t let this genre fool you! It is often layered with meaning and folklore. This is part of what makes it so very interesting and intriguing. Often it is that which is simple that is the most profound.

What I love about Julie’s work is her eye for whimsy and detail. At first glance, the work seems simple and straightforward, but upon closer inspection, one might find a small mouse, or a little bird hiding in the perfect place, just waiting to be discovered. And then “Voila!”, the magical creature comes alive, adding a little bit more to the wonder of it all.

She has also illustrated many children’s books, including books of poetry. I look forward to reading them all! It does not matter that I have no children of my own. Such stories and poems are for those who are young at heart and still have a sense of wonder about this big beautiful world.

Her works are bright, cheerful, and inspiring. Art does this… it moves us in ways we might not expect. Sometimes it evokes an emotion. Other times it might call us to action. When looking at Julie’s work, it makes me want to become an artist. Oh, to be able to put down onto paper the amazing images I have in my mind’s eye- that would be a most wondrous miracle.

Please be sure to visit her website and take a look around. She has many wonderful paintings, posters, books, black and whites, and textiles. You just might discover something you fall in love with. I know I did.

http://www.juliepaschkis.com/index.html

Time to retreat...

In this busy life it makes sense to step back every once in awhile and spend some time alone. I guess this would be called a ‘retreat’. It can be an act of withdrawing, as into safety or privacy. A retreat can also be a place of seclusion, privacy, or a refuge. Retreating or going to a retreat can have strong restorative powers. It can help one gain perspective, especially if troubles are being troublesome. It can also help one gather strength needed for going back out into the world again. It will also help one give more time and energy to others once they have been able to recharge their own self.

I am fortunate be have the opportunity this coming weekend to retreat to a place where there will be much silence and solitude; a place surrounded by nature. It will afford some much-needed time to step off this crazy merry-go-round of life. While I will be sharing the space with others, there will be plenty of time for each of us to pursue some time alone. We shall share meals and walks together, but there will be stretches of time where each of us can spend some time alone, recharging our selves so we are better able to handle life once we return back to the real world. It is in this spirit that I offer you the words to a beautiful song by Mary Chapin Carpenter called “I Have a Need For Solitude”.

I have a need for solitude
I’ll never be safe in crowded rooms
I like the sound of silence coming on
I’ll come around when everyone has gone.

I have a need for cool, verdant places
Beneath the trees in secret empty places
Nobody knows so no one will intrude
I have a need for solitude.

But you can find me when the light is changing
At that time of day, when there’s little day remaining
And you can find me, where I’ve been waiting,
Waiting here, for you.

I never was the pretty girl in school,
I never was fast, tough, and cool
All I ever was, for all my life it seems
So hard to love, and harder now to keep.

But you can find me
When the light is changing
At that time of day , when there’s little day remaining
And you can find me, where I’ve been waiting
Waiting here, for you.

I have a need for solitude
I’ll never be safe in crowded rooms
I like the sound of silence coming on
I’ll come around when all the rest have gone

~Mary Chapin Carpenter
“I Have a Need for Solitude”
Age of Miracles


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=13l3w50a65o

Taking stock...

Every once in awhile it is a good idea to stop and make time to give thanks for what is present in this life. Lately I have had some significant challenges, but have come to realize that they are entirely surmountable. And in the process I have made the time to think about those little things in my life that truly matter to me. Of course, there are my family and friends, whom I love and adore without question. But it was important for me to also think about what is right and perfect in my life, right now, on a much more mundane scale. And while these things listed are certainly not of any greater importance than the family and friends in my life, they are what give my amazing life sweetness and spice.

So, in no particular order, I offer you 100 things that brighten up my life and I would not want to miss for the world. As you read them, I challenge you to think what would be on your list…

1. The stars in the sky.
2. The planets in our solar system.
3. Io, Callisto, Ganymede, and Europa (four of the many moons of Jupiter).
4. The sun, our closest star. May such light forever warm my shoulders and offer comfort.
5. Poetry- particularly sonnets.
6. Children’s literature. So many wonderful stories and so many amazing illustrations.
7. The dictionary. I began a love affair with this book in grade 6.
8. Chet Raymo, an astronomer and naturalist, who is an amazing writer.
9. Earth’s moon- fat, round, and ever present, reminding us of the cyclical nature of life.
10. Strawberry-Rhubarb jam. Sweet, tangy, and perfect on a hot buttered English muffin.
11. Camels. Lovely brown eyes with l-o-n-g eyelashes to keep out the desert sand.
12. Children’s laughter- the deep, belly laugh they give when caught up ‘in the moment’ of silliness and fun.
13. A cool gentle breeze coming in the window at night to caress my bare shoulder as I sleep.
14. Any song sung by my favourite singer, Van Morrison.
15. Slow dancing, with a sway to match the movement of grass in the wind, or kelp in the sea.
16. Puppies!
17. Pretty summer dresses that make me feel beautiful and feminine.
18. Dr. Seuss stories.
19. Morning coffee- a perfect start to any day!
20. Capers- little buds of zingy goodness to spark up tuna salad, potato salad, or pasta dishes.
21. The local public library- so many books, so little time! And all for free! Yeah!
22. Sugar cookies- especially when made with a star-shaped cookie cutter.
23. The soft call of a mourning dove…coo…cooo…cooooo….
24. The scent of fresh and growing lavender in the garden on a hot summer day.
25. Rainbows
26. The pitter patting sound of rain falling on leaves.
27. Bumble bees.
28. Colouring with perfect, bright felt tip markers and muted colouring pencils.
29. Pigeon, a loveable story-book character created by Mo Willems.
30. The sensation I get when walking barefooted on healthy grass in the summertime.
31. Shovelling snow- it is physical, outdoors, and works up an appetite!
32. An afternoon spent in an art gallery or museum.
33. Listening to live music performed by friends.
34. Waking up with a great poem in my head, one that is just insisting it be put down on paper.
35. Homemade blueberry cobbler with vanilla bean ice cream.
36. Fuzzy caterpillars. And by extension, butterflies!
37. The smell of a campfire and roasting marshmallows.
38. A good night’s sleep- deep and dreamless.
39. Cooking a special meal to honour and care for my family and friends.
40. Patchouli incense. Melllow and evocative.
41. The potential held within a single blank sheet of paper.
42. John Waterhouse prints.
43. Spying wildlife while out walking in nature.
44. Fiddle head ferns, and edible fiddle heads, too!
45. Using my imagination.
46. Art deco-style architecture and artwork.
47. Watching baby ducklings in the pond in the spring.
48. Black and white photography. Ansel Adams prints in particular.
49. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories.
50. The children’s poetry of Shel Silverstein.
51. Owls. Who doesn’t like owls?
52. Sitting under a tree in the summer and reading a book, especially short stories.
53. White tulips.
54. Creative writing.
55. Being trusted with a secret.
56. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla.
57. Orange-spice zucchini bread with orange glaze on top!
58. Claude Debussey’s “Claire de Lune”
59. Apricots.
60. Fresh dates.
61. Fresh figs.
62. Long, slow back rub- both giving and receiving.
63. The sound of a fog horn in the night.
64. Fresh cut flowers at the breakfast table.
65. Comfy slippers to keep my feet warm in the wintertime.
66. The smell of fresh pine needles.
67. The sound of the wind in the trees.
68. Kumquat marmalade- taught myself how to make it and it was delicious.
69. Salad- spinach with little treats such as berries, raisin, or nuts is really fun to eat.
70. Balvenie limited edition single malt scotch. So smooth.
71. Early morning bike rides.
72. Curling up in front of a roaring fire on a cold winter’s evening.
73. My large-brimmed straw hat.
74. The sound of a cat purring while contentedly sleeping in my lap.
75. Sweet peas growing in our garden as they learn to climb the trellis.
76. Grilled veggies- earthy, hearty, and filled with vitamin-y goodness!
77. “Chick-a-dee-dee-dee” song sung by the little black-capped chick-a-dees outside.
78. Fresh linens on the bed, especially after a busy day out in the world.
79. A foot rub.
80. Red vines licorice! And “Good and Plenty” black licorice candies.
81. Dark chocolate and red wine. Mmm.
82. An afternoon spent knitting.
83. The painting of Vincent Van Gogh.
84. The psalms in the bible
85. A walk anytime of the day or night.
86. Reading about the history of science, religion, and philosophy.
87. Key lime pie
88. Cross-country skiing with hot chocolate to follow.
89. My teddy bear.
90. The sound of crickets at night.
91. Hotdogs piled high with saurkraut.
92. Shiny new pennies.
93. Walking along the beach on the wet, firm sand without any shoes on.
94. Freshly ironed shirts
95. Orange juice and champagne…guess that would be a mimosa!
96. Spinning on my drop spindle to transform fleece into yarn.
97. Stained-glass windows whose picture tells a story.
98. The sound of a choir singing in a large, acoustically alive church.
99. Long, slow, deep kisses.
100. Life itself.

Blossoming…

In the dark soil of winter the flower draws strength and energy from the earth, which is needed to nourish the roots. And then, when the sun shines her own energy and warmth down upon the earth from above, the flower slowly pushes through the dark soil, first exposing one green shoulder, then another. And then, miraculously, there appears a tiny bud. And with more courage, strength, energy, and love, there finally appears a tiny flower, with delicate colours that shine back to the sun, for all the world to see, as if to say “Look, I made it!”. That is how I am beginning to feel.

Daffodils...

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

~William Wordsworth

Red bicycle...

The other day I was given the gift of a brand new bicycle. It is really red and it goes really fast. Nothing beats getting outside on an early spring morning to ride along the country roads as the day is just getting started. For the “maiden voyage” on my new bicycle, I was blessed with the perfect morning for such a ride. I donned my ultra-sexy (not!) biking shorts, complete with built-in cushioning to protect my delicate “sit bones”, a jacket, earmuffs, helmet, and gloves. As I pulled out of the driveway, I felt a great sense of joy and anticipation. I love riding a bike. It makes me feel like a kid, as if anything is possible.

As I left the city behind me, heading north along one of the country roads, I noticed a faint mist hugging low along the roadside ditches and ponds. Dried, over-wintered rushes along the waters edge provided the perfect perching place for the first red-winged blackbirds of the season. They were calling to each other with their characteristic song, singing out to all who cared to listen. In fact, the world was teaming with birdsong, complete with robins, blue jays, and even cardinals. There were ducks and geese dotting the farmers fields, along with some cows and horses, who blinked their sleepy brown eyes at me as I whizzed past them at what felt like a very fast pace.

I could hear the wind rushing in my ears and feel the cool morning air on my face and it filled my lungs. My legs felt strong and sure; my hands gripped the handlebars with purpose and determination as I sped along the country road. I felt like I could ride forever. This feeling lasted about 20 minutes. Then, as exhilaration quickly turned to fatigue, I wondered if I might not just simply die right then and there. My lungs suddenly felt hot, as if they might explode. My thighs burned with a red-hot aching and turned to lead. My neck and shoulders felt as if I had been stabbed with a knife in my upper back. My movements became laboured and I felt as if I was moving in slow motion, peddling through molasses. So, I eased up on my speed. After all, I was moving at my fastest ever for the first time in years, so perhaps my body was just not up to the task. It seems the older I get there is a disconnect between what my mind thinks I can do and what my body can actually do.

And after a few minutes, I began to feel more human. My breathing returned to its normal rate, my legs felt less hot and heavy, and my shoulders and back were relieved when I shifted my body to a more upright position. It was then that I realized that it was a pretty good ride for the first one of the season. The days are growing longer and we have been promised a warm summer, so there will be lots of opportunities to get out and explore the world from the seat of my bicycle. It looks like we will have many happy hours together, my new bike and me. This thought makes me very happy, indeed.

Art Credit: Linda Apple

Ancient song...

The idea of nonsense words and poetry has been very intriguing to me as of late. I recently posted here on my blog “Jabberwocky”, by Lewis Carroll, the master of nonsense poems. Hope you enjoyed it!

Interestingly enough, while unpacking some belongings I came across an old journal that contains some writing exercises I had completed quite some time ago. And to my surprise I found I had completed an exercise in which the goal was to write a poem of nonsense words. So, I had made up some words with some of my favourite sounds. The exercise encouraged the writer to think of the rhythm of language and the rhythm of songs once sung and chanted by ancient peoples.

For my nonsense words and the little poem, I made it all up using some of my favourite sounds and rhythms. They just felt right on my tongue and in my ears. As a writer and listener, I love the low, round sounds. They are like a hug as they envelop your heart and soul. Such sounds are so very comforting. My favourite sound is “oo”, as in moon, spoon, and swoon. Other sounds I like are “ko”, “mah”, “vah”, and “shu”.

Here is my first ever nonsense poem, meant to bring back a sense of feeling one might get when gathered with the clan around a campfire, listening to a chant, and feeling its rhythm rock the soul, while offering peace and protection.

Horum baloo anorum
Kaytango Qouray
Ipsalim honorum salichi
Rapoon harmah koquay

Seepshi chan moshu
Alpovin der havengrad
Tie tan blorum valeri
Kotouro te san solumdad

Nonsensical, to be sure. Lots of world sounds contained, some echo Latin, others echo Eastern tongues. Some sounds are reminiscent of ancient Norse gods, while others evoke spices of the orient. All in all it was a fun exercise. It was hard to creat the words, hard to give them a rhythm, rhyme, and meter, but in the end I am glad I stretched myself. And I am very happy to have found my little writing journal.

Oh frabjous day...

This spring day is in need of some silliness and some nonsense! Who better to turn to than Lewis Carroll, the grand master of the nonsense poem! Read on, intrepid poets, read on...

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Crayons...

When I was a little girl, one of my favourite things to do was to colour. There was nothing better than an afternoon spent at the kitchen table, or sprawled out on the living room floor, surrounded by the many colouring books I shared with my younger brother. We had felt tip pens, coloured pencils, and crayons.

The felt tip pens were smart, sharp, and full of vibrant, saturated colour. I did my best to always use them with each stroke placed in the same direction, so as not to damage their fragile tips. The coloured pencils were softer and more delicate in the colour they put down. Their effect reminded me of watercolour paintings, all at once both muted and magical.

But the crayons were the most interesting of all. They felt more organic, somehow. I could lay down the colour, soft or intense, depending on how often my strokes would recur. I could set out different effects, which allowed for more shading with a greater vibrancy that the pencil, and more subtle than the felt tip pens. In short, they were most versatile.

Perhaps one of the reasons I liked the crayons the best is because of the wonderful box they came in. One of the greatest pleasures was to receive a brand new box of Crayola crayons. The large yellow and green box held the promise of every colour under the rainbow. Burnt sienna, brick red, cobalt blue, forest green, marigold, and midnight black. I still remember learning there was something called ‘periwinkle’, from the name printed on the label of the pale purple-blue crayon.

When the small perforations of the box were broken, and the folded-hinge lid was held back, there, standing on the small cardboard risers within the box, stood all of the crayons, in neat rows, like singers in a choir, standing at attention with their perfectly sharpened tips pointing to heaven, as if to intuit from God himself the promise of creativity, imagination, and beauty.

It has been a long time since I have had a box of crayons. Now that I have some new colouring books, it is time to go get some. And then I shall spend a Saturday afternoon, sitting in the sunshine, colouring to my heart’s content. I can hardly wait!

Fresh figs...

Lately I have held a fascination with fresh figs. The reason for this is that an old Greek woman I once knew told me “I should be happy to die eating fresh figs”. She was most sincere and went on to tell me, emphatically, “You have not truly lived until you have had fresh figs”. Since then, I have wondered what they looked like, how they felt, how they smelled, and most of all, how they tasted.

And then one day I was given the gift of three fresh figs from the man that I love. He brought them home to me in his coat pocket. They were beautiful. Each was a dark purple, shaped like a small bell. These particular figs had a beautiful pattern on their delicate skin. From the stem there appeared a pale whisper of yellow-purple star-stripes that fanned out and curved around the most broad part of the fig. They were not very heavy, weighing less than a boiled egg.

When I sliced open the fig, the heart-centre was filled with a muted crimson flesh, filled with a thousand (or more) tiny seeds. It was surrounded by a smooth, white flesh, providing a sharp contrast to the dark purple skin that held this most delectable treasure. The fig tasted mild and sweet, and felt wonderful in my mouth. The seeds added an interesting texture and there seemed to be a bit of creaminess to it all. And then, surprisingly, there seemed to be a bit of a coconut taste that came through at the end. This seemed to me to be very interesting.

So now that I have tasted fresh figs, I want more. They are phenomenal. I have been collecting fig recipes and look forward to including figs in my life. It is as if a whole new portal to fruit has been opened, and I am blessed to have been able to experience such a simple, sweet little treat.

Follow your star...

When I graduated from high school, among the gifts I received, was a small plaque inscribed with this very simple quote:

“Climb high, climb far. Your goal the sky, your aim the star.”

I fell in love with this sentiment. And for the past 27 years this little plaque has always been hung where I could read these words every single day, regardless of where I lived. In a way, the words offered me comfort and kept me grounded. The words reminded me to never give up, to always move forward, onward toward my goals. And in the end, they helped me meet my goals, no matter the slings and arrows life sometimes threw my way.

It is only now, with a recent major change in my life, I have lost track of this most important treasure. For the first time, the words are not there for me to read and meditate upon for a few moments each day. But, I remember them and call their spirit into my new life. At times I falter. At times I want to give up. But then I remember my favourite words; the words that helped me over the decades. The words that have shaped me into the woman that I am today.

The words are now etched in my heart. So, even without the little plaque, I will continue my life. I will climb high and climb far. My goal is the sky, my aim is the star.

Spidersilk...

Imagine traveling to a land where, if you are in just the right place, and it just the right season, you might see giant, golden spider webs. This is possible if you go to Antananarivo, the capital of Madagascar, and the surrounding countryside, during the rainy season. This is the only time of the year that the female Golden Orb spider produces a beautiful golden silk. Locally these giant spiders are known as the golden orb weavers, spinning massive, gold-coloured webs, sometimes large enough to span a one lane road, reaching from one telephone pole to another!

Now, imagine collecting these giant spiders to harvest their silk, and then returning them back to the wild, unharmed. This is what a group of 70 people did to collect enough silk to make a piece of rare spider silk fabric. It measures 4x11 feet, and was woven based on the traditional patterns of the Madagascar highlands. Each spider can produce about 80 yards of silk filament. To make the fibres to weave such a cloth, it takes a lot of spider silk. For each individual thread, 96 to 960 spider silk filaments are twisted together. The cloth is a wonderful, lustrous golden colour, featuring stylized birds and flowers.

Most of the world’s silk comes from silkworm moth cocoons. However, unlike silkworms, who are relatively easy to keep in captivity, spiders present unique challenges, namely their cannibalistic nature, so they are hard to keep in captivity. Fortunately, spiders can be collected, placed in a special device to keep them still so the silk can be drawn, and then released back into the wild again.

For its weight, spider silk is stronger than steel, but unlike steel, it can stretch up to 40% of its normal length! These properties make this material something scientists would like to mimic artificially for use in areas such as the military, in surgery, and even for space exploration. The trick lies in replicating the material so there is no need to harvest the silk from the spiders. The challenge for researchers is that this unique filament begins as a liquid in the spider’s gland. It then becomes a remarkably strong, water-resistant solid after following a complicated course through the spider’s interior. It is this process which has been the most difficult to replicate.

Currently, there is an amazing exhibit at the American Museum of Natural History in New York titled “Travelling the Silk Road”. I wish I could go see this exhibit as it takes one on a journey across Asia, following one of the trade routes from ancient times, stretching from Xi’n to Baghdad.

Apache Blessing

In order to help deal with some of the recent stress in my personal life, I finally broke down and shared my difficulties with some of my online friends. I am so glad I did. They have shown great compassion and support. One of the women passed along this beautiful blessing. I share it here with the hope that these lovely words will touch your life.

"May the sun
bring you new energy by day
May the moon
softly restore you by night
May the rain
wash away your worries
May the breeze
blow new strength into your being
May you walk
gently through the world and know
its beauty all the days of your life."

~ Apache Blessing

Porcupine musings...

The other night before heading off to bed, I decided to go outside into my yard and say goodnight to the stars. As I walked along the brick path beside the house, into the yard, I heard a most curious scratching sound. When I looked closely for the source, I spied a beautiful, but very frightened, porcupine clinging to the base of one of the spruce trees. Her soft rounded nose was searching for my scent (I have since learned porcupines have very poor vision). Her delicate paws were clutching the bark of the tree. Her magnificent coat of quills undulated like an anemone under water. I was stunned, and so was she. We each regarded the other. In the quiet and unseasonable warmth of the January night, we momentarily connected with each other. She was only about a metre away and I found her presence to be something very special. I had never seen a porcupine in an urban area. My house backs onto a large park, where deer, rabbits, and racoons have been seen, but never, ever had I seen a porcupine.

What seemed auspicious about this sighting was the fact that I saw this lovely creature at the end of what had been a most difficult day. I had spent the afternoon in a meeting of great importance, where matters, both great and small, were discussed. Decisions which will profoundly affect my future were reached and I was feeling sad, vulnerable, and very depressed. I was left feeling like much of my own life force was slowly ebbing from my body. But seeing this porcupine made me wonder if perhaps her presence was a sign of some sort. There had to be some reason she appeared in my yard, on this night, of all nights, in my entire life. I believe in synchronicity, and I believed she had a message for me, so I went in search of the symbolic meaning of the porcupine. I wanted to know the merits of this animal in the totem world of the Amerindian culture. And what I learned was of great comfort to me.

There is much we can learn from the porcupine. This gentle animal lives a simple life, treading a distinct path each day from her den to the feeding area. Her life is uncomplicated and she lives without fear. Curiosity and savouring of the moment seem to be the porcupine nature. The power of the porcupine lies in the sense of innocence, wonder, and joy these animals display; they have been described as having a child-like quality about them. They use this sense of wonder and curiosity in their everyday lives. Porcupines offer, symbolically, faith, humility, intelligence and the adventure of discovery.

They are also described as the animal totem associated with self-determination, trust, solidarity, nocturnal magic, and regeneration. Porcupines delight in the simple pleasure of the world. They are independent and solitary (although they will share a den with others during cold winter months). They display a sense of virtue, incorruptibility, humility, self-reflection, self-defence, and protection. Porcupines also show a sense of self-empowerment.

Like the otter, my favourite animal, the porcupine is loving, gentle and non-aggressive. Her quills, as many as 30,000 of them, are interspersed among the dark, coarse hairs of her back and tail, allowing her to protect herself from harm. She offers a warning before defending herself and when provoked, will curve her body inward by bringing her delicate snout into her soft underbelly. This posture fully exposes her sharp quills, and allows her to flail her tail, making it impossible for the attacker to grab her without considerable harm. Her quills are symbolic of the brave warrior and are considered by Amerindians to ward off evil. These people would often weave the quills with fiber to make cloth for protection.

It has been said that the porcupine totem reminds one to not get caught up in the chaos of the world, where fear, greed, and suffering are commonplace. In fact, quite the opposite is what the porcupine is all about. The porcupine reminds us of the joys of childhood and the wonder of discovery. There is an Amerindian legend that tells of how porcupine taught bear to trust and how to play again. I give this legend to you, to pass along the gift of the story.

Porcupine and Bear – Amerindian Legend
Porcupine was looking at a hollow log. She was full of wonder as she tried to think of what she could do with it. Could it be a playhouse that nature made for her? Maybe she should climb on top of it and roll back and forth or scratch her back on the outer bark. Perhaps, she should look inside to see if there was any vegetation for her dinner.

While she was pondering what to do, Bear was approaching her. She was excited. A playmate to share her log with! She greeted him and asked him if he wanted share the log and play.

Bear snorted, “Porcupine, I’m too old to play. I’m looking for honey, so get out of my way.”

Porcupine told him he was never too old to play. She said that if he forgot what it was like to be a cub, he would always be grumpy and crotchety.

Bear was stunned and thought about what Porcupine said. All of the other animals ran away from him. Brothers and sister Bears ignored him when he growled at them. Maybe Porcupine was right. She trusted him not to eat her. She offered to be his friend.
He looked at her and felt something stirring inside him. Bear remembered the games of the days when he was a cub. He began to feel joy.

“Porcupine, you reminded me of the joy I had when I was a cub. In becoming strong, I became too logical. I was scared of what others might think if I dropped my gruff façade. I feared that others wouldn’t treat me with respect. You taught me that when I was being a stuffed shirt, I caused others not to like me. Thank you. I’d love to join you in playing with the log.”

Bear remembered how to play again and learned Porcupine’s innocence.

This tale serves to remind usof what the Porcupine symbolizes: innocence and wonder.

No stars for sale...

"The stars, the stars... oh how they shine!"

As a lover of stars, I was disappointed to learn that most stars are not given a unique name, but rather, they are identified by a number. I wanted to find out why, so I went to the source that has the authority over the stars. No, I did not speak with God himself. Rather, I googled the International Astronomical Union. For decades stars have been discovered, numbered, and then added to an enormous database. Not very romantic, to be sure. But then again, the sheer number of stars dictates that numbering them is the only way to ensure we can find them again.

In addition to the numerical naming of stars, I found out that it is not possible to have a star named after someone you love. While there are companies out there that promote such services, the IAU clearly notes on their website that this practice is just not done. It is a matter of "buyer beware", regardless of the claims made by these companies. Simply put, the stars are not for sale. This makes me very happy. It means the entire universe of stars is there for us to enjoy. All of the stars belong to you and to me. And on any clear night, we can go out, look up, and marvel at their beauty.

If you want to learn more about the naming of stars, or about why they are not for sale, visit the International Astronomical Union site yourself.

In spite of the fact that stars are numbered, it does not take away from their magic or beauty. Many stars do have names, as do star clusters and constellations. If you look in the literature, there are many myths and legends about the stars and how the constellations got their names.

So, for you romantic star-lovers, there is much to learn about the stars. While the scientists continue to learn and teach us about the technical aspects of stars, I prefer to think of the stars in a most heavenly context while enjoying their stories across all cultures and times. Their magic and mystery will always hold a special place in my heart.

Tarot: Talisman or Taboo?

Imagine... a book about the tarot written by a Benedictine monk. I have discovered such a book. And I look forward to reading it. It is written by Mark Patrick Hederman, the Abbott of Glenstal Abbey in Limerick, Ireland. He is a well-known philosopher and the editor of a cultural journal, The Crane Bag. How did I come to discover such an interesting tome? Well, it was through a most lively discussion about pentagrams and pentacles, and their symbolism as it relates to various traditions, ranging from Christianity to Wicca, to agnosticism and atheism. Of course, this topic merits a blog post all its own, which I shall do some day, but for now, this book has captured my attention. It looks to be a most interesting book. Here is an excerpt from the author himself:

“The last century was a hell for many people, a hell of our own creation. In many cases, those of us in charge of others, whether in concentration camps, schools, parishes, orphanages, families, had lost touch with ourselves, had failed to tap into our unconscious lives. Many of the great monsters we can now parade in public with the clarity and courage of hindsight, are no more than the rest of us writ large. Every one of us was potentially an oppressor. And why? Because we had repressed the Mr Hyde in us and were living the Dr Jeckyl, which is what happens when we neglect the major part of ourselves: our unconscious.

At the most basic and almost negative level, we are required to do something about this untapped source in ourselves. It is almost a matter of hygiene and health. But there is another more pressing reason why we should get in touch with our unconscious. Because this is also where the springs of our creativity are hidden, and where God can enter our lives. Most of us are related to this subcontinent in a passive way, through our dreams. This book suggests that there are active ways to engage with this area. One such way is through the Tarot cards.

Getting in touch with the unconscious can be difficult and dangerous. Our ordinary approach to life, our trained and cultivated ways of thinking, are allergic to this swampy unknown. We lose our bearings, we panic. The Tarot cards are like 'an idiots guide' to the unconscious, an easy way to subvert the rational and allow the energies beneath to creep up through the floorboards. If you learn to shuffle and to deal the twenty-two major cards of this ancient museum of the unconscious, it will help you to familiarise yourself with a symbolic way of thinking and domesticate an underworld of otherwise meaningless shadows and shapes.

This book gives an introduction to the Tarot, a history of its uses and abuses, a practical guide to its value as an underground map. It also provides a meditation on each one of the twenty-two major arcana which can help the reader to undertake their own spiritual journey.

The important books in life are not the ones which we read; they are the ones which read us. That is the way the Tarot should be read.”

Wow! I look forward to the meditations and hope to spend time exploring the tarot through the eyes and mind of Mark Patrick Hederman. It should be an interesting exploration on many levels. I can hardly wait!

Oh yeah... Happy New Year!

Just imagine... a whole new year lies ahead! There are lots of opportunities to make the most of it. I love to make resolutions, and usually they involve learning something new. Here are my resolutions for 2010 (in no particular order):

Learn to knit with two (or more) colours.
Learn to spin on a spinning wheel.
Love with absolute honesty and wild abandon.

That's it. Simple, doable, and life-enriching.

What are your resolutions? What do you hope to learn? What do you hope to bring into your life? My hope for you is that you have a wonderful new year and are able to accomplish all you set out to do. Be sure to look back on this year at regular intervals to make sure you are on track. I will do the same.

What matters most...

Poised on the eve of a major life change, I have had to come to terms with some difficult emotional aspects that this change will bring. While this change is voluntary, and of my own making, it has not been without its stressors. It has brought great moments of joy and anticipation. These have then been eclipsed by moments of sorrow, fear, and sadness. It is a giving up of one life in return for another. As part of this change, I need to sift through a lifetime of possessions, making a decision of what to keep, and what to donate to charity. Most of it will be given away. It is time to pare down my life, and this is a perfect opportunity to determine what is most important.

Even as I write this post, with my laptop perched on my knees, my kitty, Fiona, is curled up on my lap, nestled deep in my arms. Her reassuring purr eases my saddened heart. She looks up at me with her beautiful green eyes, softly blinking, telling me she understands I am hurting. I wonder if she is trying to tell me to be sure to take her with me. Wherever I move in this house, she is at my heels. When I sit down for a moment, she jumps up into my arms, insisting I give her attention. I have never had an animal who is so perceptive, or so interested in offering comfort. Perhaps she senses I am in great turmoil during this transition. I am trying to keep my life on track, but truly, this change is taking a toll on my emotions.

As I sort through the many drawers, shelves, and boxes of my possessions, flashes of my life come to mind with great clarity. Each trinket and token bring back a special memory. A magnolia flower made of fine bone china reminds me of a trip with a dear friend to Mississippi one hot summer. A palette of water colours reminds me of time spent on the veranda at the Banff Spring hotel while I tried my best to paint the roses I saw in the garden. A book of fairy tales purchased when in Copenhagen reminds me of the time spent there. It is almost too much to bear. I know I have the memories of all my experiences in my mind and in my heart. But these physical reminders underscore the magnificent life I have lived so far.

Over the decades I have created an interesting library of books. I love books and find leaving them behind, or giving them away, to be the most difficult job of all. I love the words, the ideas, and the passion with which the various authors have poured into these works. I love knowing I can take any book off the shelf and spend an afternoon lost in another world. But, there are far too many books to make the journey from my old life to my new life. I will give most of them to the local used bookseller. I know he will enjoy them, and some day, a book lover just like myself will purchase and bring the books home, giving them new shelves to sit upon. And once again, their words will inspire and enchant someone else’s spirit.

While I am mourning the ‘loss’ of my current life, and all the wonderful possessions that have inhabited my world, there is much to look forward to. As a snake sheds her skin, there emerges a brighter, more vibrant being. This is the same process that I am going through. I am shedding the old, and will emerge brighter. This entire process has changed me at a most fundamental level. I look forward to the new chapter in my life. I look forward to all that I will learn, not only about myself, but about others as well.

It is true, as the saying goes: “Life is what we make it”. Our lives are not tied up in possessions, or belongings. While it hurts to willingly give up a lifetime of possessions, the memories will remain. I will bring into my new life only those things which matter most. I have no plans to replace what I am giving up. My goal is to look forward and create a new life. Eventually my new life will fill up with memories and mementos of a life lived. It will simply take time.