Photographic Weekend

This weekend brought a long-awaited visit from a friend in Seattle. The weather cooperated, in that it did not rain, and the diffuse light from the cloud-cover meant stable conditions for photography. I brought my point-and-shoot Olympus and he brought his lovely SLR and off we went to the Classical Chinese Garden and the Japanese Garden. It was one of those weekends that reminded me of why I've chosen to settle in the Pacific Northwest. I enjoyed sharing my love for my home. I enjoyed sharing that quiet appreciation, and the mutual awareness of our environment, its beauty, and the need to take time to get the composition right for capturing what our eyes saw in a snapshot. We were at the Chinese garden before 10am, which meant it was not yet crowded with people. I'd last visited it in mid-March with the Englishman, and the change was quite dramatic--all the bare-branches have fleshed out, and where once there were hints of dramatic colour, the entire garden is alive with it. We stopped in the Tower of Cosmic Reflection for tea and steamed buns. I wished it was warm enough to throw open the windows for an unobstructed view of the garden, but the view was very fine all the same. Before we left he bought a painting in the chinese peasant style, called "Cat Heaven". We were both amused by the comments of the staff as he waited for them to ring it up -- apparently it was one of the favorite pieces on display and they were sad to see it go.

From there we headed up into Washington Park to the Japanese Garden, which is about four acres of every possible colour of green known to man. I wished I could have recorded the sound of the water, which was every where. It rushed from the waterfall, it trickled from fountains, it flowed over stone and rippled the ponds. There was no wind and few birds. There were people, but it was not crowded, and people were respectful of photographers, trying to stay out of the frame.

I enjoyed two of the children there. A boy and a girl, dark haired and dark eyed, both with magic wands, and her in a tutu and diadem. I asked if she was a princess and her brother said "yes" and that she had wings, too, but mom took them away so they wouldn't get lost. I parsed that two ways--the way he intended, ie, that her wings were probably in the back of the car, so mom didn't have to listen to his sister cry if the wings fell off somewhere unnoticed. But I also heard it another way, that mom had taken away his sister's wings for fear her daughter would be lost. Some parents do that--some adults do that--keep children safe by clipping their wings.

My friend from Seattle mentioned the theory as to why Man likes gardens so much. He said it is because they illustrate the illusion that man can conquer nature. I suppose that might be it. Certainly, I enjoy the symmetry and the tidiness of contrived landscapes, but I also enjoy nature unleashed, in all her wild, tumbling glory. Its just not as safe. So perhaps... perhaps Man likes gardens so much because in the tamed and cultivated places we can enjoy the beauty of Nature while feeling safe and at peace. Which reminds me of an EB White quote: I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit Nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority.

2006: The year of love and friendship

In the past year, especially, I've learned the value of open and honest communication, and more, of putting myself out there emotionally and being vulnerable. My awareness of the world and my inner life has deepened with both therapy and my meditation practice. I've had some insights and put into effect some changes in my life and I've found that my ability to relate with others has increased dramatically. Yes, in putting myself out there, I risk emotional pain, but life is as transient and uncertain as it is beautiful , and I've realized that if I'm unwilling to embrace the possibility of negative consequences, I'm not really living my life--I'm playing it safe.

These flowers are from a friend I've made this year. A wonderful man of intelligence, wisdom, and kindness whom I never would have met if it was not for the changes I've made in my life this year--of my choice to take risks, to be spontaneous, to follow my intuitions.

A retrospective of 2006:
I am, mostly, well. 2006 was a tough year--My sister spent January through September in and out of the hospital and I did a lot of travelling back and forth to Massachusetts. She seems to have stabilized, but the medical estabilishment says it will be another year before they know what the lasting effects of the illness will be, and if she will require convalescent care for the rest of her life. We did not think she would make it to her 37th birthday, but she is a stubborn wench and surprised us all. Work has been awful--so short-staffed that I was asked to stay on even after I offered to resign because I was having to leave for MA for weeks on end and at a moment's notice.

And yet, for all that, it has been a great year, too. I've been dating some amazing men, completed two years of counselling/therapy, seen friends and family, and done a fair bit of travelling. I am participating in an ecstatic dance group, have been exploring tantra and intimacy, and I've been developing my abilities as a writer and a photographer with the encouragement of professionals in both fields.

This year my friendships have deepened, and I've learned just how secure a support system I have. I've learned that I don't always have to be 'strong' and that it takes more courage to lean on others than it does to be the one others lean on. I've learned that I can feel fear without embodying it. As a consequence of my sister's illness, which was partly brought on by self-neglect, I've come to the realization that I need to learn to live in and with my body--to fully inhabit it--rather than driving it, or using it as a tool. The seat of my self-awareness and the source of my connection with reality are my flesh and my senses, and neglecting to care for my body means that there will likely come a day when it is unable to furnish my needs.

And so, while I am not the sort of person who participates in the New Year's Resolution ritual, I am committed to making 2007 the year I make peace with my body, learning to inhabit it fully, ceasing to use it as a shield between me and a world whose attentions I'd become so averse to.

I am off to the Coast for the weekend for a quiet retreat in a little 1920's cottage, where I can recuperate from 50 to 60 hour work weeks to the sound of wild surf and blustry winds. I expect to sit by the fire, read, watch movies, and enjoy the opportunity to write and photograph.