Showing posts with label On Being Archives. Show all posts
Showing posts with label On Being Archives. Show all posts

Saturday, February 4, 2023

January 4, 2023: With gratitude to Rebecca Solnit / Reruns from January 30, 31 and February 1, 2, 3, 4, 2007: Mona Lisa and the Clown and the Cool Rain of the Law (1985), Woman Trying to Remember What She is Trying to Forget (1986), Painting in America (1986), Full Moon, Chair and Planter Rising (1986), Church of the Holy Contradiction, and Untitled Scene (1986)



Krista Tippett on Rebecca Solnit:

“When all the ordinary divides and patterns are shattered, people step up to become their brothers’ keepers,” Rebecca Solnit writes. “And that purposefulness and connectedness bring joy even amidst death, chaos, fear, and loss.” In this moment of global crisis, we’re returning to the conversations we’re longing to hear again and finding useful right now. A singular writer and thinker, Solnit celebrates the unpredictable and incalculable events that so often redeem our lives, both solitary and public. She searches for the hidden, transformative histories inside and after events we chronicle as disasters in places like post-Hurricane Katrina New Orleans.

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Rebecca Solnit:

"... And then if you went south, there was a really great public library. And the minute I learned how to read, it was as though I’d been given this huge treasure. Every book was a box I suddenly knew how to open, and in it, I could meet people, go to other worlds, go deep in all kinds of ways. And I spent my childhood in the hills and in the books. So that was not maybe what people think of conventionally as spirituality, but that was my company, my encouragement, my teaching, my community ..."


"... And New Orleans, for years afterwards, had all these people — church groups — and I saw amazing Mennonite builders rebuilding houses, and Habitat for Humanity. And I kind of loved it. It was a whole spectrum, from Catholic charities to the Mennonites to pretty radical anarchists and people working with Common Ground, which was in some ways founded by the Black Panthers and young white supporters and became a project that did a lot of different things. And not all of it worked out perfectly, but some of it was amazing. And it became really a part of the conversation. But they founded the first really good clinic for people who needed emergency care, who needed their diabetes medicine or their tetanus shot or their wound disinfected. And that split off into Common Ground clinic, which is still going strong more than 10 years later. And that’s the kind of indirect consequences that I find so interesting to trace, is that here’s something that came out of Katrina that’s still helping people every day ..."


"... People in this culture love certainty so much. And they seem to love certainty more than hope — which is why they often seize on these really kind of bitter, despondent narratives that are they know exactly what’s going to happen. And that certainty just seems so tragic to me. I want people to tell more complex stories and to acknowledge that sometimes we win and that there are these openings. But an opening is just an opening. You have to go through it and make something happen. And you don’t always win, but if you try, you don’t always lose..."


(from the Rebecca Solnit interview from the On Being Archives under the topic of "Creative Life")

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Now for the reruns.  During the last days of January and the first days of February 2007, I was not feeling well due to one of the frequent colds I used to get.  In my early days of blogging, I found that even if I didn't feel well enough to do anything else, I was able to post something on my blog, if only a drawing or painting.  It is a revelation to read what I wrote at this time in 2007, a year before R was in the last months of his life in the Palo Alto VA Hospital.  I had not yet heard of Rebecca Solnit.  It was a blogger from the Midlands of England (Solitary Walker) who introduced me to Rebecca Solnit through her book, Wanderlust: A History of Walking.  

In the fall of 2007, I had thought that I might be able to become a yoga teacher and attended a 2-week yoga teacher training.  I was wrong.  At that time I had been out of touch with R since August of 2002, but he never left my mind and heart.  During the yoga teacher training we had both had our 58th birthdays, having been born within 24 hours of each other in 1949.  He was born in Hackensack, New Jersey.  I was born in San Francisco. 

I found out in December 2007 that while I was in the yoga teacher training, R had suffered a brainstem stroke, been in a coma for two weeks, and was in a stroke rehab unit. 

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Click on the dates if you are curious to know what I wrote about each drawing or painting.




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Tuesday, January 10, 2023

January 10, 2023: Full Days: Running to catch up while looking around and listening / Reruns from January 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 2007: Gardener with Ideas (1984), Woman Dancing By Herself (1984), Imaginary Relationship (1984), People With Their Eyes Closed/Baby Girl (1984) and Woman Listening (1984)


A family of river otters have made an appearance in the past week.  A neighbor saw this one from her porch and called another neighbor who has a telephoto lens and took this photo.  A few days ago, early in the morning, I saw this same otter scampering around on the flattened cattails.  Nearby were two other otters who looked as if they were tumbling in play together, partially hidden by the standing cattails. What a joy!

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While doing my daily yoga practice, I've been listening to the On Being archives under the topic of "Creative Life."  The Joy Harjo and then Hanif Abdurraqib interviews are the ones I listened to in the last few days.  I listened to the short versions of all the "Creative Life" interviews and now am listening to them again in the unedited versions which last up to 90 minutes.  Every single interview has been memorable and an inspiration to my creative work, giving me access to a vast community of creative people.


“Though we have instructions and a map buried in our hearts when we enter this world, nothing quite prepares us for the abrupt shift to the breathing realm.”

"The saxophone made it across the big waters and was introduced in brass bands in the South. The music followed rivers into new towns, cities, all the way to our new lands. Not long after, in the early 1900s, my grandmother Naomi Harjo learned to play saxophone. I can feel her now when I play the instrument we both loved and love. The saxophone is so human. Its tendency is to be rowdy, edgy, talk too loud, bump into people, say the wrong words at the wrong time, but then, you take a breath all the way from the center of the earth and blow. All that heartache is forgiven. All that love we humans carry makes a sweet, deep sound and we fly a little.”

(Joy Harjo)

"To love oneself is hard work. But I think it becomes harder when you realize that you’re actually — at least, in my case — required to love multiple versions of yourself that show up without warning throughout a day, throughout a week, throughout a month, throughout a life."

"Yeah, but I will say that I think I’ve learned to mourn in a way that just isn’t rooted around sadness and/or longing for a return. And that feels better, because I think I’ve learned to mourn in a way that is celebratory, that is expressing gratitude for the real gift of carrying the memory of someone who is not here anymore — and not only carrying that memory, but carrying everything that person gave and carrying everything I learned from that person while they were still here."

(Hanif Abdurraqib)

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Bev, living in Nova Scotia for years now, is blogging again.  She was one of my earliest blog friends.  Take a look at her archives to see why I enjoyed her blog so much.  Her blog had several lifetimes prior to the 2008 beginning of the lifetime of her current blog.

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Now for the reruns:



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