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.

Cultivating a Garden

Aside from the ocean, another of my innate callings has to do with plants and gardening. While I love bouquets of fresh flowers (John, are you reading this? I have so many vases . . .), I'd rather add another potted plant (or 10 . . .) to my collection than flowers that will expire after a week or two. Although it's hard to get plants that have bright and vibrant blooms to live inside my apartment for very long, I have been trying my hand at orchids and every now and then get inspired to plant from seed to flower. In fact, I might try to grow some herbs out on my fire escape this spring. Whoever the last tenant was left a bunch of pots out on the fire escape and have just been growing weeds for the past two years. This apartment does have ample light, thank God, so I am able to keep some vegetation alive and well. This winter made my windowsills much colder than the past few years, so I've had to replace some of my plants now that it's warmer weather--and I hope to keep my new beauties lush and green! I don't know if it's some sort of OCD, but I found myself rearranging the plants I have this morning. It's amazing how moving a plant from one window to another can completely revive or completely kill it. They are so fickle sometimes!

A little red wagon, thread-bare wheels, rust rimmed, white lettered and very treasured was home to one of my first plant-ventures. This wagon became my tree-to-tree vehicle of choice. Being all of six or seven years old, I used to fill up sand buckets with water and mud and mix in all matter of flora and fauna (worms, beetles, spiders, etc.). I'd carefully collect very large leaves and drop in tiny buds from my Mother's garden beds before closing the leaf and tying it shut with blades of grass. I read every book I could get my hands on and became inspired by faeries and ancient mystics who would carry medicine bags and herbal remedies. I used twigs as my medical instruments and crushed the colors out of wild berries and brightly hued flowers. I moved that wagon around with me as I collected, sorted, pulverized, tore apart, bundled, and explored nature in fine detail. I lifted large rocks and captured the insects underneath. The larger beetles moved just a fraction, balking at the sudden burst of sun light into their dark earthy slumber. The tiny ants scattered in a million directions--going everywhere but back down into their ant hills. Sticky, slimy slugs continued their undulating path, leaving their translucent ooze behind them. In this manner, I got to know so much about what goes on not only above the ground with leaves and stems and flowers, but who the flowers share the ground with. They have to contend with all of these mini beasts, with whatever the weather throws at them, and with the curious fingers of a child trying to better grasp how the world works.

I got to explore many gardens in my childhood. My grandmother was another avid gardener, and once she took residence at Creek House (remember, the place I learned to love the ocean at?) I could come and help with her botanic endeavors. Even in the depths of winter, when I close my eyes I can still remember the colors and the warmth of freshly grown blackberries on my tongue--not to mention the juicy pops of flavor. We used to collect bowls of berries and scoop a spoon of sugar onto them. We'd place them in the fridge to consummate the heavenly marriage of fresh fruit and sweetness, and then eat the whole bowl in the glow of early evening at the picnic table overlooking the creek. From the table you could count all the crab apples dangling from the tree and falling down the hill toward the water. And if you ran around the house, past the outdoor oven and the rocky driveway, the glow of tomatoes shifting from green to red as they ripen on the vine would greet your eye. Every kitchen window sill in my home and my grandmother's was lined with tomatoes as they made their transition from good to great. When you buy jars of pickles in the store, or select a cucumber from a bin you completely miss out on the fact that these veggies come into the world covered in little bumps and prickles that scrape against your tongue if you eat them too early.

My memories of these spring and summer discoveries make my heart sick for the country-side, sometimes.

A couple of weeks ago, I traveled to the New York Botanical Garden with my Mom and my friend, Guadalupe. I've been to the garden twice before, and fall in love all over again as soon as I step foot inside. I take such pleasure in the simple things--grass, trees, squirrels-- I even saw a snake there on my first trip, and a rabbit happily hopping from clover patch to lush grass. Plus, there are the orchids. My God. I don't know how or why orchids are so beautiful. They are captivating. When you start to look deeply into the flower of an orchid, they start to look like little faeries popping off stems coming to greet you with their lovely scents and colors. Every color of the rainbow is represented in the orchid world. I was surprised to see a brown-colored orchid that reminded me of toasted honey and sesame seeds. Beauty all around, and the heady scent of the pansy orchids--truly, the orchid show is one of my heavens on earth.

I will be a lover of gardens, plants, and nature for as long as I live. Being immersed in the splendor that is readily available out of the confines of the city is not something that I take lightly; I respect the delicate sensibilities of buds about to open, insects burrowing under rocks, and vegetables that need another week in the sun to be delicious. I'm ready to learn more about how plants work, what makes them happy, and how I can live harmoniously with them all around my apartment.