At breakfast today, while turning the page of an incredibly good book (to be revealed here in the coming weeks), I looked up and saw it. A basket in the corner, catching the morning light. I don't even remember how this basket came into my home. Its history is a mystery. And yet here it was, catching my attention.
Of course, you know what happened next: I reached for my camera (or more correctly, my iPhone). I clicked into my favorite camera app (Camera+ by tap tap tap, and no, I'm not being paid to say that), hitting the "macro" feature. All of the tiniest details of the basket came into exquisitely clear view. Not just a simple brown basket anymore, but a basket with fine threads of yellow, blue, green, purple, red, black, white, and orange. Just moments before, it was a simple brown basket.
Somebody, somewhere, made this basket that now lives in my house. Somebody shaped the reeds and guided them, weaving the strands over and under. An anonymous craftsman (or craftswoman, or craftsperson, if we're going to be P.C.) made this basket for an anonymous owner. Me.
Did you ever think of the thousands and thousands of hands that helped put together all of the things in your home? It's mind-boggling when you get right down to it. Everyday artists who created useful things, beautiful things, things we might not even notice as we scurry about our days.
"Look deeply at the apple in your hand and see the farmer who tended the apple tree; the blossom that became the fruit; the fertile earth; the organic material from decayed remains of prehistoric marine animals and algae, and the hydrocarbons themselves; the sunshine, the clouds, and the rain. Without the combination of these far-reaching elements and without the help of many people, the apple would simply not exist."
Right now, look around the room you're in. Find just one thing and imagine its history. Imagine the hands that touched it, all the elements and all the forces that brought it into your home.
I need the stillness of the early morning even more now. I need to know there really are peaceful things in the world, things not yelling and clawing and thrashing for our attention, things that are just there...just being.
I need to focus (quite literally) on the quiet things.
I think the librarians sense that we've all got a collective headache right now, that our nerves are on the very edge. When I walked in to our town library yesterday, this book was prominently on display:
I knocked over two little old ladies to get to it.
(Kidding.)
(See? I had to actually tell you that I was joking, because these days, it seems like any whacked-out thing can happen.)
Anyway: back to the book. It's great. A tonic for the times. I gobbled it up in one sitting. So many nuggets of wisdom, like this one below that inspired me to make a photocollage (calming in itself), from Admiral Richard E. Byrd after he spent five months alone in a shack in the Antarctic:
It's a short book, but there's a fair amount about musician Leonard Cohen spending years in a Buddhist monastery and finding out that "going nowhere isn't about turning your back on the world; it's about stepping away now and then so that you can see the world more clearly and love it more deeply."
I've written here before about going on a news diet. Lately, I seem to be on a "binge and purge" cycle: Consume the morning news about all of the awfulness that took place while I was fretfully sleeping; feel nauseated and mad at myself for checking the news; retreat to an area (usually outdoors) with no news at all.
I mentally and physically need these retreats from the news. As Pico Iyer writes, "Not many years ago, it was access to information and movement that seemed our greatest luxury; nowadays, it's often freedom from information, the chance to sit still, that feels like the ultimate prize."
I'm not saying to withdraw from the world completely. In fact, it seems more important than ever that we pay attention to what's going on so we can collectively take the reins. But I do recommend, in these loud times, that we all mindfully envelop ourselves in silence, daily. Closing with more wise words from Pico Iyer:
"The point of gathering stillness is not to enrich the sanctuary or mountaintop but to bring that calm into the motion, the commotion of the world."
I hope you'll run, not walk, to your local library for this book. Careful of the little old ladies, though.
I'm so happy to tell you that my "globe-trotting friend" Michael Graziano is back from another extraordinary adventure abroad and once again, he's very kindly letting me share it with you here! If you've been reading this blog for a while, then you already know that Michael shared his amazing trip to Hawaii and his picture-perfect trip to New Zealand. This time, he headed off for three months to Thailand, with a side trip to Cambodia, and his pictures (taken with his trusty iPhone) are just as jaw-droppingly beautiful as ever!
At this point, you might be wondering, "How on earth does this guy afford all of these awesome adventures that go on for months? Is he a millionaire or what?!" Well, first of all, he's working for room & board during these "vacations." But I love the real reason he's traveling the world: A dear friend who was his elementary school teacher in Connecticut passed away and left him an inheritance (she had no children), divided with two other former students whom she'd kept in touch with through the years. In elementary school, she taught Michael how to make a pinhole camera. It seems so poetic and poignant that all of these years later, he's using her generous and extraordinary gift to take once-in-a-lifetime pictures of the world far and wide.
The following quotes are Michael's updates from Facebook, and all of the photographs in this post are his, taken with his iPhone (all used with his kind permission, of course!).
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January 13, 2016: "Day 3 at the New Life Foundation outside of Chiang Rai. We are awoken by a quiet gong at 6:00 am each day for meditation or yoga at 6:30. I completely slept through it the first day. The morning mist is quite magical and worth waking up for."
January 14, 2016: "I will teach my first yoga class in Thailand early tomorrow morning in this open air pavilion. We face the east looking out over the garden so the class can watch the sun rise."
January 16, 2016: "On Sunday, there is no formal meditation or yoga so I was able to sleep today until the glorious hour of 6:45 am. The mornings and evenings are chilly with temperatures falling into the 50's but the days are warm and sunny, reaching the 80's in the late afternoon. It is quite extraordinary how being somewhere tropical in the winter elevates my mood. It's as if my base level happiness switch is raised by 50 percent."
January 20, 2016: "Every morning we are required to do a couple of hours of working meditation which is mostly physical work, such as gardening, making mud bricks, building houses--done a bit more slowly and mindfully."
January 22, 2016: "I love this little island in the lake on the property here, and especially the lone brave tree on it standing guard."
January 23, 2016: "Sending some late afternoon sun and warmth from Thailand to my East Coast friends in another Snowmageddon."
January 26, 2016: "We've had a couple of days of solid rain and cold, very unusual for Thailand. Buildings don't have any heating because it's a tropical climate so everyone is bundled in several layers of clothes, hats and gloves or wrapped in blankets, even indoors. The daytime high was only 48 degrees. Just a couple of days ago it was 85 degrees."
January 28, 2016: "It's the last sunset before going silent for a week starting tomorrow. I am joining a 7-day insight meditation retreat with about 30 others. I've thought about doing a vipassana retreat like this for the last couple of years. It's held in silence the entire time so no talking, no texting, no emailing, no Facebook until February 6th."
February 6, 2016: "Morning has broken and the silence is broken. The silence was relatively easy, the meditation less so. Sometimes the body ached, sometimes the mind wouldn't stop moving, other times I got sleepy or bored. But my senses were incredibly heightened and there were some strong moments of clarity, release and insight. I am glad I can now talk again!"
February 6, 2016 (later): "It continually surprises me who I most connect with on my travels. Jessy and Olivia are 20-year-old students from China. We had lots of laughs here before they returned to Shanghai. They had never done lip syncing before so I taught them how and we performed together at an open mic. They had never heard of Motown so we did "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" by Diana Ross and The Supremes. And yes, we sang into spoons. Things are very low-tech in rural Thailand."
February 10, 2016: "I am fascinated by the yellow silk cotton trees that line the property. They have no leaves so looking at them in silhouette, they appear almost dead. But their branches are covered with buds of flowers that blossom after hitting the ground. These are used to create the mandalas that appear every day before the morning community meeting."
February 14, 2016: "On Saturday I left the countryside for the city of Chiang Rai, about a half hour song tau ride away. Visited local temples. Went to the night market. Ate interesting local foods. And bought some Thai pants to teach yoga in."
February 20, 2016: "Took a field trip this afternoon to the kitschy White Temple. Michael Jackson, Elvis and Batman are included on the shrine walls inside. Over-the-top!"
February 22, 2016:"I begin another silent meditation retreat today. This one is only 5 days long. So no speaking, reading, listening to music, emailing, texting or Facebook until next weekend. Namaste."
February 27, 2016:"I have just finished my second silent meditation retreat in a month. This one was easier to slip into coming just two weeks after the last one. Lots of psychology and neurobiology included in the dharma talks this time. And it was led by two folks from Dharma Punx NYC. Interesting to make a connection with people from my own backyard across the world in Thailand."
February 29, 2016: "The vegetable garden here is bordered by annual flowers. About 60 percent of the food we eat is grown on property."
March 3, 2016: "The light over the nearby lakes is beautiful just after sunset. Reminds me of one of my favorite songs by Jonatha Brooke and The Story."
In the gloaming, oh my darling When the lights are soft and low And the quiet shadows falling Softly come and softly go
When the trees are sobbing faintly With a gentle unknown woe Will you think of me and love me As you did once long ago?
March 5, 2016: "Visiting the city of Chiang Mai for the weekend. No, the monks are not praying. They are on their mobile devices. Even in Thailand. I miss the rotary phone."
March 8, 2016: "Only one day left for me at New Life Foundation. One last yoga class to teach. One last morning meeting where I'll say goodbye to new friends. It's been a wonderful experience. Next up is Cambodia."
March 10, 2016: "Made it to Cambodia where it is dog-days-of-summer hot. Well over 100 degrees."
March 13, 2016: "Got up at 4:30 this morning to meet my tuk-tuk driver, Hooch, to watch the sunrise over the largest religious monument in the world, Angkor Wat, built in the 12th century by one of the kings from the Khmer Empire. It was impossible to get a photo capturing its grandeur. Angkor Wat is considered the 7th man-made wonder of the world. Built in the classical style of Khmer architecture, it is surrounded by a huge moat, covers over 500 acres, rises almost 700 feet and took 30 years to build. Being here, it's hard to imagine it was built almost 1,000 years ago."
March 14, 2016: "I visited the Bayon Temple which sits in the middle of the ancient Kmher city of Angkor Thom, which had over one million inhabitants during the Middle Ages at the time when the population of London was just 50,000. Built in the late 12th or early 13th century, it represents the baroque style of Khmer architecture as opposed to the classical style of Angkor Wat. Its signature is more than 200 huge smiling faces which appear at the top of the towers."
March 15, 2016: "I visited the picturesque Ta Prohm temple outside Siem Reap. Built in the late 12th century, it is one of the few temples that's been left in the same condition as when it was found, with trees growing out of the ruins and roots holding up walls."
March 17, 2016: "I have left Cambodia and its incredible temples and kind people and returned to Thailand. Just took a long tail boat to Railay Beach where I will be for the next couple of days."
March 21, 2016: "I went hiking in Ko Lanta National Park this morning. After climbing down to the beach in the photo below, I found Scottish friends Nicky and Martin sitting on a swing. Such a sweet surprise--I didn't even know they were here! After hellos and hugs, they gave me a bottle of water to quench my thirst. The beach monkey below had other ideas and decided it belonged to her."
March 22, 2016: "I am loving watching the Thai monkeys on the rocky beach."
March 26, 2016: "Easter Sunday. Got up early. Watched the sun rise over the bay at low tide."
March 27, 2016: "There is almost always a boat nearby the Thai beaches where I've spent the last couple of weeks. Headed to the mountains and jungle of Koh Sok National Park today."
March 31, 2016: "To celebrate my birthday, I took a ride on an elephant and took a ride in a boat to spend the night in a floating bungalow on Chian Lake. The bungalow was bamboo. The boat was wood. The elephant was named Cell Phone."
April 3, 2016: "The lotus flower represents spiritual rebirth in Buddhism. Growing out of the dark mud representing suffering, it emerges clean and beautiful representing enlightenment. A lovely metaphor and I'm always happy to see these flowers each day in Thailand."
April 3, 2016: "I am coming up on my final days in Thailand. My travels last year in New Zealand and Hawaii were a mid-life attempt to let go of things that weren't serving me anymore. This year's journey was about looking at what I want to keep and develop as I enter the next life phase. I didn't find all the answers but I feel I'm closer, so it's a good time to head back. Still, I am anxious. New York City, as stimulating and wonderful as it is, can be a hard and dark place, especially during times of transition. Better soak up the light here while I can."
April 5, 2016: "Heading to Bangkok today. Sleep for a few hours. Then an early plane back to NYC. A few long travel days. I hope to keep up the yoga teaching as I look for a full-time job upon my return. I love working with beginners and with people who think their bodies "can't do yoga." Small group classes at my apartment and private sessions to start. Off to the taxi to the boat to the plane..."
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Well, I don't know about you, but I feel a LOT more relaxed after that vicarious trip to Asia. Thanks so much, Michael, for letting me share your beautiful and always thoughtful adventures!
I woke up this morning just before 4:30--not on purpose, but I didn't go back to sleep. It was still dark outside; not even the birds were up yet. A perfectly quiet house, almost surprising in its stillness.
"We come to see that stillness and silence form the backdrop of our lives and that everything else is just passing through. Sounds come and go, sensations come and go, emotions, all of them traveling through stillness and silence like fish moving through an eternal ocean or weather traveling across an eternal sky."
His words and the early, lightless morning were in contrast to something I'd written recently in one of my ongoing work/life journals, about how rarely we let ourselves think our own thoughts. Instead, we scurry from one thing to the next. Soundbites, tweets, and relentless updates fill up our hours. News of the world far and wide inserts itself into our days, when what we really could benefit from is silence. A pen or pencil poised above our own blank pages.
I can't wrap up this post by saying that I have the magical answer for how to find the silence and stillness, because my own days seem to be whirling faster and louder lately. All good things, but nonetheless, life is hardly a Buddhist retreat right now. My friend Michael has been in Thailand since January and has had two separate weeks of silent meditation. No speaking, no reading, no music, and certainly no news or social media. The mere idea of it seems very close to heaven. (Well, I'm not so sure about the "no reading" part, but the rest of it: yes!)
Perhaps I need to get up earlier more often, to meet the quiet day before the noise begins.
My next online photography course starts this Sunday. Join me for The Charm of Children: How to Take Better Photos of Babies and Kids. Think of it as two precious weeks to really, truly focus on the little ones in your life, before they're not so little anymore. (Spaces are limited; I've got a handful left. No fancy camera necessary--you can even use your smart phone. Detailshere).
I just celebrated one of those "big" birthdays--you know, one with a zero at the end of it.
Thankfully, I still feel like I'm 32 (I think I've felt 32 since senior year of high school!), so it wasn't all that traumatic. It was exactly my kind of birthday because I spent it doing all kinds of my favorite things, without even one dreary chore or one ounce of guilt mixed in. Just pure, simple pleasures. If that sounds like your kind of birthday, too, help yourself to this recipe for celebrating. (Feel free to make your own substitutions, according to taste.)
1. Head outdoors first thing in the morning, camera in hand. (If you know me, you already know I'm fascinated by bugs, so it was an extra bonus for me to capture a company of ants having a meeting deep within the petals of a Rose of Sharon blossom.)
2. When somebody (for instance, your eight-year-old daughter) asks you what you'd like for your birthday, answer "Just a hug, please." Melt with love when she brings you a surprise homemade breakfast of three pieces of toast cut out into the letters H-U-G, decorated with wild blueberry preserves (my favorite!) and fresh blueberries. (Seriously, how cute is that?!)
3. After breakfast, read a good book on the porch. (A Path with Heart by Jack Kornfield is chock-full of wisdom for living a more meaningful and mindful life. I'm underlining like crazy!)
4. If you're not much of a cake person, have ice cream cones instead. Preferably, with lots of sprinkles (or jimmies, or shots, or whatever you call those little candy toppings in your neck of the woods).
6. Take one of your favorite people with you to one of those little shops where you can paint your own pottery while chatting and listening to more good music.
7. End the day eating dinner with your favorite people in the world, (which is hopefully your family), preferably at a Mexican restaurant (which always feels like a fiesta). Get just a little bit tipsy on frozen strawberry margaritas, so that you can't take a proper photograph of the event. Pretend you were aiming for "an artsy shot" instead.
8. Tuck into bed, completely grateful for the day and all of the simple but wonderful things it held out to you.
How 'bout you? How do you celebrate your big birthdays? I'd love to hear!
My eight-year-old daughter has become quite the philosopher lately. Yesterday, after the rain ended abruptly on our drive home from her summer acting camp, I said to her, "Look at that--the rain stopped all of a sudden!" She said, "Mommy, everything is an all-of-a-sudden. Life is an all-of-a-sudden. New things just keep on happening."
I have to admit that I peeked into the rear-view mirror to check if my daughter had been replaced by a mini Zen Buddhist. Nope. It was still her in the back seat, gazing up dreamily at the clouds.
She's become more and more fascinated with clouds this summer. Especially the way they can morph so quickly from a dinosaur to a fancy lady to a rocket ship. From one to another, all of a sudden.
The dog is also a real pro at noticing even the tiniest changes. She's always on alert for new and fascinating things. So much to see, so much to smell, so many bees to try to eat.
My daughter and dog make quite a team as excellent observers of the world. I think it helps that neither one uses a cell phone.
When you're out with a camera, everything can seem new. Even the littlest things can spark an almost scientific interest, like this teeny-tiny green spider pictured above, crawling around near the top of the weed. I didn't even see it when I started focusing on the weed, and then, there it was. All of a sudden.
With my camera, my dog, and my wide-eyed daughter, I'm noticing the "all-of-a-suddens" even more. And I'm grateful. As always.
P.S. Last weekend to sign up! My online photography course starts this Monday, July 6, 2015. It's already a wonderful group of students from around the world--join us and sharpen your photography skills! More details and registration here: How to Take Better Photos of Nature and the World Around You.
I've written about this lopsided, heart-shaped pear tree in our yard before. It's one of those things that I see every day, but often don't even notice. I just look beyond it, to see what else is there--a neighbor walking a dog; a teenager doing dangerous tricks on a bike; a student driver muddling along. When I do happen to notice the pear tree, I admire it. I appreciate it for persevering through storm after storm, beleaguered but not finished.
But now, it is broken--really broken--beyond help. Last week's snowstorm was the final blow.
Not that I didn't try to help the tree, because I was out there as the snow was falling, snow that was weighing heavily on its branches. I was already worried, knowing the tree's troubled history with snow. So I had a very looooooooooong chandelier-dusting pole--one of those telescoping contraptions that quadruples in length--and I was clumsily loosening big heaps of snow with each poke. (Go ahead--just try to be graceful while wielding a 30-foot pole in a snowstorm!)
But in the end, the storm won.
This week, the snow is melting and the deer have come 'round to pay their respects to the tree, nibbling on the leaves and branches which are now within their reach. The deer have joined the ranks of "Nature's Clean-up Crew", a name I'd given to the turkey vultures that frequent our neighborhood and do the sobering work of cleaning up the roadkill.
There are buds on the fallen branches, buds that will never see the springtime.
But I don't want to be sad about this tree. I want to take a Buddhist approach to it, as Thich Nhat Hanh would do--imagining the new blossoms that will grow from the mulch of the fallen tree. Or as Richard Carlson wrote in his best-selling book, Don't Sweat the Small Stuff, in the chapter called "See the Glass as Already Broken (and Everything Else Too)":
"The essence of this [Buddhist] teaching is that all of life is in a constant state of change. Everything has a beginning and everything has an end. Every tree begins with a seed and will eventually transform back into earth...all will wear out and crumble; it's only a matter of when. There is a peace to be found in this teaching. When you expect something to break, you're not surprised or disappointed when it does. Instead of becoming immobilized when something is destroyed, you feel grateful for the time you had."
So today, I'm not sad for this pear tree. I am grateful.
Heart-shaped pear tree in full glory, Spring 2013.
SPECIAL NOTE: The Early Bird discount on my photography e-course "How to Take Better Photos of Nature and the World Around You" has been extended 'til next Wednesday! (Thank you kindly to my new friend, Elisa in Australia, for alerting me about a techno-glitch with sign-up, which has now been fixed; I thought it was only fair to extend the discount.) Save $15 with the Early Bird Discount if you enroll before Wednesday, December 10, 2014 at 11:59 pm EST. (If you're giving the course as a gift, please let me know the name and email of the student, in the PayPal comment section at checkout.)Click here for details and registration.
I was having lunch with a good friend recently when the check came. I'm a "Words-and-Pictures" type of person, so if you hand me anything with numbers on it, my mind automatically starts to fog up. After staring dumbly at the check and getting the usual Brain Fog, I told my friend that I had no idea how much money we should be leaving because I really stink at All Things Math.
"Oh, that makes me feel so good," she said. "I thought you were perfect!" (Say what???)
I was 10% flattered and 90% stunned (how's that for math?), because I'm very, verrrrrrrrry far from perfect, believe me. I've chaired a couple of committees at school (roped in--never again!), but if you could see the current state of my laundry room (scary!) or the roots of my "blonde" hair (scarier!), you'd see the major cracks in the veneer. In fact, I practically inhale any articles about organizing, simplifying, scheduling, trying to relax, and Figuring It All Out. So, here are five good reads, in honor of the imperfections and complications we all face: