Solitude

My Summer break has commenced, and with it a period of solitude. Not in the lonely, reaching out and missing sort of way but rather the silence and quiet of choice. At the end of the school year, the best thing for my chaotic mind is a week of hibernation. It's not about sleeping in or resting my body, it's about giving my mind time to think and recoup.

Today I went for a short walk through my quaint, lovely neighborhood. During the week days there really are only moms with strollers, the elderly, and construction workers out and about. You can walk slowly without feeling rushed and hassled. I could take time to appreciate the green seeds on the lilac bushes, the way most iron-wrought gates were slightly opened and askew. I noticed the way that the world gets dark for a split second when a bird flies through the path of the sun. The sky, without a single cloud, looks like it could swallow the world in a single gulp.

I went to my happy place, my inner peace's home, a place where I always feel welcomed: the bookstore. It doesn't usually matter which bookstore I go to, the sense of belonging resonates in each one. As I drift away to worlds of fiction and start to travel through time and space via the power of words, I feel so good! Part of me comes to life that lies dormant when I am not actively involved in literary pursuits. I feel good, like apple pie cooling on a windowsill good. And it makes me want to write again, to be one of those voices on the shelf of a local bookstore.

For the past couple of months I have been trying to take a mental journey to stillness, calm, and quiet. My mind was up in arms at every turn, unsure of what to do, where to go, if anything at all in life was going right. My self doubt has been a lifelong battle, and I have never felt good enough at what I do or where I am in life. It is something that I know to be irrational, but also something that I am unable to shake. There is a niggling voice that comes up from time to time that eats away at any confidence reserves that I build up. But I am not going to let the doubt in me win.

I started to practice yoga more frequently. I thought that yoga would be a good way to ease into exercise and work on my body. It has helped more immensely with my mind than my body. I find the breathing to be so relaxing and soothing. Moving my body and flexing in ways that I didn't think I can bend feels rewarding. For the first time in a long time, I am proud of things that I can do with my body! My proudest moment is when I conquered the shoulder stand. One of my yoga instructors commented that she loves to see me smile while I practice yoga--I can't help but smile when I feel so much joy in what I'm doing.

I took a class on meditative painting and how to unblock my creative unconscious through meditating (you can see my work below). I am encouraging myself to do more things independently instead of relying on someone else to go with me. I am trying to empower myself and my choices so that my mind has less to argue about.

I have been thinking a lot about family, about a place that we all use to gather, a place where I found my creative voice to be strong and vibrant. I am coming to terms with letting a lot of things go and opening my mind for new adventures. During the meditation, I saw my beloved dock/pier drifting away into the ocean. It's not moored to the ocean floor but rather bobbing up and down. The sun, when I am near the ocean, is always SO big, so reflected by the ocean waves. And so it is very big in my painting. The teacher posed this question to me, but I am not sure of the answer: Why does the dock's pylon pierce the sun? Why are the pylons uneven? My mind has not yet figured out the reasons.

What do you do to soothe your mind? How do you challenge yourself and your routines? What has been most valuable to you in your pursuits?

Pause

Yesterday I took advantage of the sunshine and warm weather and headed out to the New York Botanical Garden again--I know I went a few weeks ago, but being surrounded by nature just felt like the right thing to do. Plus, it was the very last day to witness the orchid show for the year. How could I pass that up?

Interestingly enough, I was not as captivated by the orchids as I was by the tranquil rock garden that is tucked behind a hill. On my way up the hill, I was greeted by a friendly rabbit munching on the bright green grasses. He stayed close to the safety of a large bush, but seemed content with my presence. I entered the rock garden, giving a last glance back at the rabbit, found a bench and started to think.

I'm not sure what was more awe inspiring: the rabbit grazing on the sun warmed grass, or the perfectly hued, white and black flecked bluejay that flew by and perched in a young sapling. Perhaps it was the chipmunks playing and scuttling through the low branches of the pines. Right now a bird I cannot see is grappling with a twig or insect. I hear the digging, the pursuit. Nearby a waterfall is cascading down, down, down--a never ending trickle through the algae laden rocks. The water looks purple with tree pollens coursing through it. The pond is undulating with quiet ripples as the sun tickles it. Soon it will be breeding mosquitos and tadpoles. The colors of another bluejay pop against the buds of the trees; it will be much easier for him to hide among the leaves in a few weeks. 

A day like today begs you to appreciate the breeze. Before long it will be too hot to notice the coolness, the freshness of the Earth's breath. I love it when the wind moves the part in my hair as if it were bringing me back to a more natural state of being and putting the strands back only prompts the wind to rearrange them again. 

There is nothing like the crunch of soles against pebbles. It's a sound that you would know anywhere. For me there is comfort in the sound and in the massage the pebbles give my tired feet. 

Everyone moves around as if life is one instagram photo opportunity after another. Why don't they pause? Listen, look, put down your phone. How can you think?

It is puzzling to me that more women than men are walking around with gigantic smiles on their faces, fascinated and excited by all of the life that has started to reawaken in the garden. They pull men around with them, asking them what they like, what they find beautiful. I overheard one woman say, "You're just walking through here as quickly as you can. Did you even see these?!" However, I've also noted that more men than women are actually working in the gardens. How does that work?

So many bird calls. So many answers. I love the fleeting shadows the birds make as they fly by. Yet another bluejay is preening in the sun, reflected in the water, then scared off by the red breasted robin. The robin makes me sure, without a grain of doubt, that spring is here to stay. Even the budding trees and bursting daffodils don't fill me with the same conviction as the sight of all the robins. 

I never grow tired of having birds land near me. My stomach clenches in anticipation. I hold my breath. I try so hard to keep the bird close by ignoring all the functions my body needs to live. It's worth it for another moment close to these fragile, singing creatures. I think that's why everyone loves stories like Dr. Doolittle; to be able to get close to and understand animals is such a joy to even think about. 

The air just smells so. . .pure. 

It's becoming clear to me why people who write (and write well) need the silence, beauty and truth of the earth to make sense of language. I can never think like this when I am cooped up in my apartment, glancing out the window in an attempt to feel the wink of the sun. I am on a bench in a rock garden, and my heart and eyes (and pen) are in love. 

I think I need more trips to gardens, don't you think? Hopefully more outings will lead to more musings for you to enjoy.