"Cherish" and November Marsh

This photograph simply makes me happy. I picture a sunny day in nature which leads to a happy dance, Cherish, by Madonna. I feel that I can see the actual movement in the photograph.

It reminds me that joy exists everywhere and it is up to us to find it. Sometimes joy permeates everything. At other times, we are called to look for it. Since we live on Earth, our experience of life includes fear, anxiety, and sadness. When we are sad, it is important to allow those feelings to be expressed. That is the kindest and most loving way to treat ourselves. In fact, the more we can be honest with ourselves and be open to negative thoughts, the faster we can move through them. Still, our true nature is love and all things that come from love: light, joy, kindness, gratitude.

On a cloudy day we can choose to remember that behind the clouds and grayness, there are blue skies and brilliant sun. We are joyous beings, no matter what is making us sad or fearful in the moment. That sunny day behind the clouds is much like our spirit, which is always whole and complete.

When you look for joy, know that joy is also looking for you.

 “Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow. Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place.”  -- Rumi

“Get yourself out of the way and let joy have more space” -- Rumi

 

Attic Monster #1 and "Kashmir

The cover of the song, “Kashmir” as performed by Bond (the original is by Led Zeppelin), is both hard and soft. The image, Attic Monster, always makes me smile because there on top of a building, plants are growing. It reminds me that you can’t stop nature and that softness is not always weakness – it has its own strength.

The rhythms of “Kashmir” suggest strong lines, while the softer melodies are circular. It is the difference between choreography using big, sweeping movement and subtle softer movements. Each is equally evocative and powerful.

Often, when we meet someone who seems “soft,” we are surprised when they stand in their truth and do not waver. We often mistake a strong personality in a person as unfeeling. I took a beloved relative to the hospital one time, and I had to hold it together because my relative was losing it. When I got into a room by myself to talk to a nurse, the moment she asked me how I was, I completely fell apart. The nurse said, “Well, there it is.” She had been wondering, I was sure, how I could be so stoic and unfeeling. That did not help me in the moment – I felt judged as if I were insensitive, for holding everything in. Unfortunately, I then judged her and didn’t really feel like telling her anything but the bare facts, so I could get away from her. Not exactly rational, but I was operating solely on nerves at that point.  We were both at fault, I think. She could have seen beyond my control and I could have seen, if I were willing, her compassion at my situation.

Just like the song and the image, we all have hardness and softness within us. We can’t judge others based on our own reactions. When we give each other a break, when we don’t judge, we bring out the softness in ourselves and we can save the hardness for when we really need it.

 

Autumn Marsh and "Always Be My Baby"

When I walk through this marsh, I often see (in my minds’ eye) Native Americans on the water, or fishing, or canoeing. If I can block the airport from my field of vision, it feels like I am there, back in time when nature was not something to be overcome or pushed aside as a nuisance and a barrier to “progress.” The good news is that this marsh cannot further be encroached upon by man.

The song, “Always Be My Baby” by Mariah Carey, connects to this image for me because they both evoke the eternal nature of love. Yes, it is a pop song, but the lyrics are so much more than that. They speak of a deep knowing that love never ends. As in nature, when our love is unconditional, it never changes at its core. In nature, the seasons come and go, the look of the trees and water roll with the seasons, but still the energy of the marsh is eternally there – sometimes it is asleep but it is ever and always alive. When we love one another unconditionally, love just IS. It is like our very essence, it cannot be created or destroyed, enlarged or diminished. (You cannot create something that is already there and complete.) Our bodies can be destroyed, but our spirit remains always perfect and whole. It is eternal and infinite. 

Time, like love, just is. We move through time; it does not move through us. So when we say good-bye to someone that we love, that love still exists. When we love, it sticks. It is always there. No matter what.  Even if we never see each other again, that love is not gone. It is indestructible, as is our connection with one another. The more we appreciate and acknowledge the love we have in our hearts, the more everyone else feels it, too.

I wish you love, joy, and peace. 

 

Halo, Angels, and My Dad

In my photograph, November Marsh 04, there are clouds that remind me of a halo. It looks like a “z” and it feels to me like a message. It makes a happy picture seem a bit more joyful. Almost like there is an angel blessing the beauty of the marsh.

I often think of my parents, who have both passed on. Even though they cannot be seen physically, I often feel their presence.

They had a troubled relationship and separated when I was six. My father moved to New York and we were in Pittsburgh. I did not see my dad very often and he had another family by the time I was in high school. Let me say here that I do not blame either of my parents – they were loving people and I know that they both did the best they could in the only way they knew, just as I have tried to be a good and loving parent. I loved my parents. I still do.

 My dad was a nice guy but he was inattentive and just not there. And as children do, I put the blame on myself, feeling not good enough, funny enough, smart enough, etc. As a result, I never really felt that my dad thought about me or loved me very much. After my dad died, I had an amazing experience. I was asleep, but what I experienced did not seem like a dream. It felt real. I saw my dad surrounded by light and I felt completely blissful. I said in joyful amazement, “Dad, I thought you were dead! What are you doing here?” He said, “I’m not dead” and handed me what I thought was a driver’s license because he didn’t look like himself, although I knew it was him. It was his death certificate and he said again, “I’m not dead.” I hugged him and told him I loved him. He said, “I love you. I loved you before. And I love you still.”

I felt as the song “Halo” says, I’m surrounded by your embrace, standing in the light of your halo.

I believe that it was his spirit telling me something I needed to hear all my life. He probably told me he loved me many times when he was alive, but I don’t think I ever quite believed him.

I do now.

I was wondering yesterday whether I should write this post in honor of Fathers’ Day. I was in a sculpting class, thinking about my dad and a song he liked. One of the lyrics goes, I love a flower girl. Suddenly, the song boomed from the class speakers. It was the last one on the playlist. Coincidence?  I don’t think it was.

We have a collective halo. We are all light beings. We are all connected. When we can remember that what we see, touch, and feel is not the sum total of what’s real, we can begin to receive messages and love from those who have passed on. It is not so crazy – animals can see and hear things that we can’t perceive. So why is it crazy to think that people who loved us so dearly ever really leave us?

“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?”“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?” Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by JK Rowling.

I wish you all a Happy Fathers’ Day!  

And thank you, Dad.

 

A Bruce Springsteen Miracle in Brooklyn

The photograph, Simonetti’s Cleaners & Bike, always reminds me of my hometown, as does the song, Out in the Street.  In the photo, it is a sunny day and the bikers are having a leisurely ride on local streets. In the song, the lyrics talk about “out in the street I walk the way I want to walk…talk the way I want to talk. In the crowd I feel at home.”  During the pandemic, that feeling of being together was lost. Now we can come together again. And even though we missed being with people, we didn’t realize just how deprived we felt until the restrictions were lifted. Even being among strangers feels good – normal and freeing. There is vibration within and around all of us, even if we don’t consciously recognize it. We have all had the experience of walking into a room and knowing, without hearing a word, that an argument has taken place between the two people standing there. We can all feel and read energy.

A dear friend gave me the gift of a ticket to a Springsteen concert in Brooklyn. Bruce sang Out in the Street and (it seemed) all 19,000 people were singing with him. It was magical – all of us were singing the same exact sounds joyously. We were lifting each other up. That is a powerful healing. No matter our political views, religious affiliations, gender, or race, in that moment we were all in sync. We were One. It seemed that there was nothing but happiness in that huge venue.

My friend and I were on our way out and we couldn’t find the car key. We frantically looked all around our seats and backtracked to the bathroom we had used earlier. Nothing. But my friend, who is the eternal optimist (yet had little hope – it was such a small key, such a huge stadium), suggested we try the lost and found. Someone had turned the key in! We got in the car and drove home, marveling with gratitude that a stranger took the trouble to hand in the key. It was a miracle.

In reality, that kindness signifies our essential oneness. In that mass of people, all singing as one, someone coming across a key in a huge space went out of her way to take care of strangers. I imagine it was because she knew how it would feel to be stuck in Brooklyn with no means of transportation, late at night.

When two strings on different instruments are plucked at the same time, they end up vibrating at the same speed. The people in that stadium were vibrating together, pulling one another upward. In other words, love is catching.

I am grateful to that unknown person who showed us kindness and love. It always creates a miracle.

 

Pride

 This airplane hangar has been standing since the 1920s. It has been beaten up – windows broken, paint faded, beams rusted. Charles Lindbergh, Amelia Earhart, and Howard Hughes all stood in this building – each of them glamorously tragic figures.  

As we age, we too have faced disillusionment and shattered facades. Our bones are a bit rusty, but still we stand with our war wounds, stronger and more beautiful -- not in spite of, but because of what we have learned. We have understood the incalculable gifts that come from being uniquely and unwaveringly ourselves. The full-out living of our lives has opened us up to more love, more understanding, more compassion, more truth telling. As we stand in the sun, it may bring our dings and broken parts into sharp relief, but the bones, the core of who we are remains the same, and we realize how silly it was to ever have thought we had to be different than who we really are. When we have the courage to be exactly who we are, we give everyone else the freedom to do the same. In the Gnostic Gospels, by Elaine Pagels, the Gospel of St. Thomas says, “If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.”

Pride still stands. To me, it is beautiful. The wear and tear make it even more beautiful in my eyes than if I had seen it in its grandiose heyday, occupied by the celebrated, haunted pilots who give it such gravitas today.

We are forever the truth of who we are. Pride stands tall. So do we. But even better, we are wiser and stronger in our hearts. We are fully ourselves. And we are still dancing.

Dance and Photography Joy

Dance and photography intermingle in my heart. 

When I finish choreographing a dance or when I finish editing a photo, I have a feeling of euphoria. It is like falling in love. The joy of doing these things makes me want to do them again and again. 

When the train comes for me -- dance or photography -- I hop on and there is space to be creative. Always, though, the train stops and throws me off. That gives me space to enjoy what I've done, but then I worry that the train won't stop for me again, that my best work is forever behind me. 

Happily, there is ALWAYS another train, so I have learned to not push myself onto the tracks, knowing that eventually I will be able to board it  again. 

It may not be as fast as I like -- some train journeys are quick, some are long -- but there are always spaces in between where I can turn my mind to other practicalities like food and dust bunnies. But even in these dull activities, there can be --if not joy -- at least some peace and gratitude that I am lucky to have a home to clean and all the food I want to eat. This Covid year has made me more grateful for blessings large and small. 

In my new Instagram account, I am connecting photographic images with music and dance. Images evoke music, music evokes movement, and movement is a series of images created in the body with music as the frame. 

There is a connection in all that we do -- no matter your profession or the ways in which you fill your time. Even if the activities seem unrelated, they are always a reflection of who we are.  

I am joyously grateful for this journey. Thank you for being a part of it!

Love,

Sue