Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #4 of 21




















11/2/89

(Shevat 15)

(For Tu Bishvat 02/10/90)

Trees are forever

(Click on the image for additional details)

Today I'm going to try something different.  I'm going to give a good look at my mother's 4th mandala and then take a walk and think about her mandala and then finish this blog post.  I'll be back in about an hour.

*

My mother rode horses when she was in her 20s and early 30s.  She did yoga in her 40s and tai chi in her 70s, but walking was not part of her life as far as I know.  My mother was a reader.  She traveled all over the world through books and magazines and films and television.

As I was walking in Whatcom Falls Park, which is deeply forested, I thought about the trees my mother drew on her 4th mandala and wondered if that was a tree from her childhood and what it meant to her.




















The photo above may have been taken on her 7th birthday (April 30, 1923) in St. Paul, Minnesota.  While I was walking this morning I remembered the photo.  Until today, I would have said that she was standing next to her house in St. Paul, but looking at the photo now, I am guessing that she is in a public place -- maybe a park, maybe on church property.  Checking with the perennial calendar, I see that her birthday was on a Monday in 1923.  Perhaps the photo was taken at her school, although she does look as if she is dressed for church.  My guess is that her father took the photo.

My father planted two cherry trees side by side in our backyard in Redwood City.  I wonder if my mother asked him to plant them.  My father had planted an apple tree in another section of that backyard. When I was quite young and our family traveled from California to Minnesota, I remember an apple tree in the backyard of the house where my grandmother was still living after my grandfather had died.  I distinctly remember watching ants climbing on the tree.  I wanted to climb the tree but was discouraged from doing that.

My parents' home in Gualala was in Redwood country on the California's north coast, and my father planted a variety of evergreens on their property which previously had been a treeless grassy bluff.  I imagine, though, that there were lovely flowering trees in and around the town of Gualala in the spring.

I wonder if she had been thinking about the pink flowering almond tree that Thich Nhat Hanh writes about in his book The Energy of Prayer: How to Deepen Your Spiritual Practice:





















It was in November of 1989 that my mother created this mandala. November on the north coast of California can be something like summer here in the Pacific Northwest.  My memory is that there are flowers blooming all year in Gualala.  My mother was blooming in her 70s.

I just noticed the pink branches with dark flowers that are branching from the pink curved line at the bottom part of the mandala.

Below are some of the flowers that are just beginning to bloom on my porch today:



































Here is Josephine's great grandson, Pablo, who is almost two months old.  That must be my nephew holding him:




















Pablo is looking up at something in much the way my mother was when she stood next to that flowering tree in St. Paul, Minnesota, when she was 7 years old.

Trees are forever.

Monday, July 21, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #3 of 21



















... Flowers on the hilside bloomin' crazy...

Bob.....Dylan

(Click on image to see additional details.  I couldn't fit all of this mandala on my scanner.)

This mandala was made on a Tuesday -- exactly one week after the previous one.  I checked to find the day of the week on a perennial calendar.  Here's the song my mother was thinking about or maybe even listening to as she made this mandala:



Ever since Miley Cyrus recorded her version of that song, YouTube is full of covers in the style of Miley Cyrus.  It took me a while to find a cover that wasn't inspired by Miley Cyrus.  Miley Cyrus made the song her own (singing to herself on her cell phone!), just as Arnoldusk did in the video above, and just as so many others have done in the past and will do in the years to come. That's the beauty of songs written by Bob Dylan.

My mother made that song her own with this mandala.

My mother took great pride in her correct grammar and in her ability to spell.  Just noticed that she left the second "l" out of "hillside."  By the time she moved from the center of the mandala to the outer edge she must have been deep into her right brain with all those little flowers bloomin' crazy.

When she died, my mother still had long red hair (crimson hair?) with only a few grey hairs.  Was she thinking specifically about the image of the flowers or did she hear Bob Dylan or someone else singing this love song to her?  That's how I heard it.  I had long red hair when I was young.  I felt loved when I heard this song.  I felt that I would be missed when I was gone.  I thought about people I loved and would miss when they were gone.

In the last years of her life, my mother thanked me for introducing her to the music of Bob Dylan many years before that.  I'm not sure, but I think that her favorite Bob Dylan songs were on "Oh Mercy."  She loved "Ring Them Bells."

Here are the lyrics to "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go":

I’ve seen love go by my door
It’s never been this close before
Never been so easy or so slow
Been shooting in the dark too long
When somethin’s not right it’s wrong
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go
Dragon clouds so high above
I’ve only known careless love
It’s always hit me from below
This time around it’s more correct
Right on target, so direct
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go
Purple clover, Queen Anne’s Lace
Crimson hair across your face
You could make me cry if you don’t know
Can’t remember what I was thinkin’ of
You might be spoilin’ me too much, love
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go
Flowers on the hillside, bloomin’ crazy
Crickets talkin’ back and forth in rhyme
Blue river runnin’ slow and lazy
I could stay with you forever and never realize the time
Situations have ended sad
Relationships have all been bad
Mine’ve been like Verlaine’s and Rimbaud
But there’s no way I can compare
All those scenes to this affair
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go
Yer gonna make me wonder what I’m doin’
Stayin’ far behind without you
Yer gonna make me wonder what I’m sayin’
Yer gonna make me give myself a good talkin’ to
I’ll look for you in old Honolulu
San Francisco, Ashtabula
Yer gonna have to leave me now, I know
But I’ll see you in the sky above
In the tall grass, in the ones I love
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go

Sunday, July 20, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #2 of 21



















A house is a home A house is a home A house is a home A house is a home A house is a home A house is a home A house is a home A house is a home A house is a home

Statement or question?

(Click on image to see additional details)

What house or home could my mother have been thinking about?  As a 20-year-old woman in the 1930s she lived in Hermosa Beach, California, after moving from St. Paul, Minnesota, not long after her mother died of gallbladder cancer in bed at home.   My mother came to California with her father, her brother and sister-in-law, and her young niece.  She lived in several different places in L.A. County and entered a brief marriage some years before marrying my father in 1948 and moving to the Marina District in San Francisco where she and my father lived in an apartment until I was born in 1949.  A week after I was born, we moved south 20 miles to San Mateo where we lived in another apartment.  Mostly because of my father's job, we moved three times after that, ending up in Redwood City, California, in 1957, and that was where our home/house was for the next 16 years.

Could she have been thinking about all the houses and homes that she had lived in throughout her life?  I don't see any evidence of her last home in her drawing.  She and my father lived for 20 years in a small house on the bluffs above the Pacific Ocean in Gualala, California, a tiny coastal town at the southwestern border of Mendocino County, right next to the Gualala River.  There was plenty of space between houses there, and the vast Pacific Ocean dominated the landscape.

I don't see any sign of the ocean in her drawing, but I do see what might be a river or lakes.  She grew up near the Mississippi River in the land of 10,000 lakes,  Maybe that is an image from her early memories in Minnesota.

Is the tilt intentional?  I thought I had looked closely at this mandala previously.  Just now I can see the entire image as a sun with a face.  There is so much to see in my mother that I couldn't see when she was alive.

Is a home a house?


Saturday, July 19, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #1 of 21




















In my mother's 74th year she wrote words and made marks and drawings on the inside cover of a spiral notebook.  I am guessing that this was in the context of having been a volunteer who helped out with the children at Starcross Community, and then in the context of having felt drawn to learn about Judaism from the Mendocino Jewish Community because she had a strong sense that she had Jewish ancestors on her German father's side of the family.  On October 18, 1989, she began a formal series of mandalas, completing 20 more of them.  Her final mandala was dated July 12, 1991.  My mother died on December 3, 1994, and the mandalas came to me.  I scanned them at the end of December 2013 and have been meaning to post them ever since.

These mandalas came near the end of her lifetime of spiritual seeking.  My mother had narcolepsy and told me that she made some of these as she drifted back and forth between waking and sleeping.  In that dream state she would hear words in her mind and see images and record them in the mandalas.  

I can imagine my mother keeping a blog and reading blogs.  She was a lifelong reader and creative spirit.  She wrote short stories and poetry until she was about 50 years old.  She had dreamed of being a writer since childhood.  She did no more creative writing after that time, but she turned her attention first to watercolors and Japanese brush painting and then on to silkscreening, batik, stained glass, and finally to complex colorful pattern knitting in her last years.

Click on the images for all of the fine details.  I hope to post one of her mandalas every day for the next 20 days and hope to gain some new insight about my mysterious mother through that process.

Friday, July 18, 2014

Porch garden meditation 18 July 2014
















Don't know the name of this flower, but that's okay.

Sunday, July 13, 2014

Totem Pole Journeys



Another Totem Pole Journey will be starting on August 17, 2014.

Saturday, July 12, 2014

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Talking 4th of July Blues with Antidote



The 4th of July is approaching.  Since 1970, it's been a day of vulnerability and bewilderment for me.  Difficult memories. Time to listen to this song again.  Thank you to my nephew, Lee, for introducing me to this song by The Lonely Forest, a band from Anacortes, Washington. 

"Toward true independence of the spirit"

"She speaks of the great kind spirit and doubt"

Monday, June 30, 2014

Fertile Land / Growing Veterans



"On fertile land between Lynden and Bellingham, a nonprofit program is helping military veterans ease back into civilian life while growing healthy vegetables for the community at large.
The second growing season is underway for Growing Veterans, with a focus on building community support and developing long-range plans.
Chris Brown, the program's director, said raising organic produce on the three acres and in two large greenhouses plays to the veterans' strengths - including teamwork and a sense of camaraderie - and gives them a chance to overcome isolation and to support each other while they help the environment.
"Their favorite part of Growing Veterans is that they can feel they're part of something larger than themselves, again," he said.
About 15 veterans are regulars at the farm, which formerly grew produce for Bellingham Food Bank. Many other people donate their labor, and support from foundations, businesses, veterans' organizations and other community groups is crucial as Growing Veterans moves toward its goal of becoming self-supporting with more paying positions for veterans."
(from the Bellingham Herald, June 30, 2014)

Sunday, June 29, 2014

"Long Night's Journey Into Day"

"Long Night's Journey Into Day," by Megan Rye, 2008

For quite some time I've saved this image, meaning to post it with a link to information on the artist, Megan Rye.  See the link to her webpage at the bottom of the link. I'm in the midst of my own journey, experiencing the return of a recurring anxious dream that it is getting dark, that I am alone without material resources and that I am trying to find my way home.  Home is nearly always thousands of miles away in these dreams.  This dream has recurred a substantial number of times recently, including last night.

As disturbing as these dreams are and as far away as home seems while I am dreaming, I am noticing that inside the current series of dreams I have choices and inner resources.  That was not an element of the earlier versions of the dream.

I've come a long way since last September when I suddenly began reliving the months before and after my Richard returned from Vietnam in December of 1970.  It's been a journey of healing.

A morning meditation in my porch garden with birds singing:


Saturday, June 21, 2014

Splendid feathery clouds for Janis on Summer Solstice 2014


As I was about to get into my car this morning, I looked back toward my condominium home and saw those splendid feathery clouds which made me think of Janis and her feather boas and "Summertime."


Once again I am remembering the dream I had in 1999 in which Janis looked at all of us who are still alive and said these words,  "Please kiss the 21st Century for me!"

May your Summer Solstice move you to rise up singing! 

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Father's Day 2014

A good memory of my Dad from many years ago. That might be the beach at Anchor Bay, California, near where my parents lived from 1974 to 1994 -- the year my mother died.
My father died in 2003.
Thank you, Dad, for everything.

Thursday, June 12, 2014

"... the full engagement with this strange and shimmering world."


                       "If I Should Fall Behind"

We said we'd walk together baby come what may 
That come the twilight should we lose our way 
If as we're walking a hand should slip free 
I'll wait for you 
And should I fall behind 
Wait for me 

We swore we'd travel darlin' side by side 
We'd help each other stay in stride 
But each lover's steps fall so differently 
But I'll wait for you 
And if I should fall behind 
Wait for me 

Now everyone dreams of a love lasting and true 
But you and I know what this world can do 
So let's make our steps clear that the other may see 
And I'll wait for you 
If I should fall behind 
Wait for me 

Now there's a beautiful river in the valley ahead 
There 'neath the oak's bough soon we will be wed 
Should we lose each other in the shadow of the evening trees 
I'll wait for you 
And should I fall behind 
Wait for me 
Darlin' I'll wait for you 
Should I fall behind 
Wait for me


"There are things we take on faith, without physical proof and even sometimes without any methodology for proof. We cannot clearly show why the ending of a particular novel haunts us. We cannot prove under what conditions we would sacrifice our own life in order to save the life of our child. We cannot prove whether it is right or wrong to steal in order to feed our family, or even agree on a definition of "right" and "wrong". We cannot prove the meaning of our life, or whether life has any meaning at all. For these questions, we can gather evidence and debate, but in the end we cannot arrive at any system of analysis akin to the way in which a physicist decides how many seconds it will take a one-foot-long pendulum to make a complete swing. The previous questions are questions of aesthetics, morality, philosophy. These are questions for the arts and the humanities. These are also questions aligned with some of the intangible concerns of traditional religion.

Faith, in its broadest sense, is about far more than belief in the existence of God or the disregard of scientific evidence. Faith is the willingness to give ourselves over, at times, to things we do not fully understand. Faith is the belief in things larger than ourselves. Faith is the ability to honor stillness at some moments and at others to ride the passion and exuberance that is the artistic impulse, the flight of the imagination, the full engagement with this strange and shimmering world."
 - Alan Lightman

(Thanks to whiskey river for the Alan Lightman quote)

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

A walk up the street to Big Rock Garden

Entering Big Rock Garden







"Intuition Free," by Ann Morris









"Turtle," by David Marshall





Korean War Children's Memorial



"Three Musicians," by C.A. Scott









Looking back into the garden

Walking home, down the hill


Thursday, May 29, 2014

Maya Angelou (1928-2014)



“When I look back, I am so impressed again with the life-giving power of literature. If I were a young person today, trying to gain a sense of myself in the world, I would do that again by reading, just as I did when I was young.” 
(Maya Angelou)

Monday, May 26, 2014

My Great Nephew (-:




















Born this morning at 5:30 a.m. in Seattle, Washington!


Saturday, May 24, 2014

Catching rainbow trout / Bob Dylan's 73rd birthday




















"Thank you for everything.  I have no complaint whatsoever."
(quote from a story about a Buddhist nun)





Build me a cabin in Utah
Marry me a wife
Catch rainbow trout
Have a bunch of kids that call me Pa
That must be what it's all about.
("Sign on a Window," by Bob Dylan, 1970)

And this from May 2014.

And something about The Dylanologists: Adventures in the Land of Bob.

Happy 73rd Birthday, Bob.  Gracias por tu musica!

Thursday, May 22, 2014

In Which We Take Flying Lessons from Mother Earth and Father Sky and We Don't Laugh at Each Other



Father of night, Father of day
Father, who taketh the darkness away
Father, who teacheth the bird to fly
Builder of rainbows up in the sky
Father of loneliness and pain
Father of love and Father of rain
(lyrics by Bob Dylan from "Father of Night")
They say prayer has the power to help
So pray from the Mother
In the human heart an evil spirit can dwell
I'm trying to love my neighbor and do good unto others
But oh, Mother, things ain't going well

(lyrics by Bob Dylan from "Ain't Talkin")

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Damnation! / DamNation / Watching the River Flow / Roll on Columbia / All the little birds will come again


Coincidence?  My mother has been in my thoughts frequently since Mother's Day.  This morning I received an email from Bellingham's Mt. Baker Theater, announcing the showing of the film, "DamNation."

Google definition of "damnation":

  1. (in Christian belief) condemnation to eternal punishment in hell.
  2. Expressing anger or frustration.

My thoughts went back to when I was a toddler, and my mother was around 36 years old.  I remembered hearing the first words I can recall my mother saying.  She wasn't angry or frustrated with me (as far I could tell), but she was steamed up about something.  She was vacuuming our small apartment and cursing, "Damnation!  God damn it to hell!"

In one of my last conversations with her (when she was almost 78 years old) she told me that she was tired of being angry.  

Maybe my mother just needed to cry.

People disagreeing on all just about everything, yeah
Makes you stop and all wonder why
Why only yesterday I saw somebody on the street
Who just couldn’t help but cry
Oh, this ol’ river keeps on rollin’, though
No matter what gets in the way and which way the wind does blow
And as long as it does I’ll just sit here
And watch the river flow
(Bob Dylan, lyrics from "Watching the River Flow."
The source is clear and bright,
the tributary streams flow through the darkness.
To be attached to things is an illusion:
To encounter the absolute is not yet enlightenment.
(Shih-T'ou)
P.S.  I'm giving some thought to a post inspired by The Dylanologists: Adventures in the Land of Bob.  My name is am and I am a Dylanologist.  My guess is that only Dylanologists will be reading this book (-:
Coincidentally (or not) one of the Dylanologist websites left a comment (a clarification) on my totem pole post while I was in the process of reading The Dylanologists.  A comment from a Dylanologist website is a first for me. The only Dylanologist website I subscribe to is this one.

I take Bob Dylan at his word in his song "Mississippi":

Well my ship’s been split to splinters and it’s sinkin' fast
I’m drownin’ in the poison, got no future, got no past
But my heart is not weary, it’s light and it’s free
I’ve got nothin’ but affection for all those who’ve sailed with me.

P.P.S.  Another connection to my mother, revisited today:

"Although I didn't pick up all the details on the first watching, the second time I did notice many significant details I had missed the first time including the Scandinavian knitting pattern that my mother had used when she made a pillow for me many years ago":

Mad River Rising from daniel houghton on Vimeo.

"All the little birds will come again when winter ends ..."
(music by Michael Chorney and Anais Mitchell)

Saturday, May 10, 2014

Mother's Day Weekend Meditation 2014


Remembering my mother.  Remember how creative she was as a writer of short stories, a poet, a seamstress, a painter, a printmaker, a batik artist, a stained glass artist, and a pattern knitter.  Remembering her love of horses and how gracefully she was able to ride horses and that she gave that up to get married and have children when she was 33 years old.  Remembering her lifelong love of books and her passion for art and music.  Remembering the time she thanked me for introducing her to the music of Bob Dylan.  Remembering taking her to see "The Last Waltz" and how much she loved that movie.  Remembering that she thanked me for introducing her to the writing of Ursula K. Le Guin.  Remembering her spiritual journey from Christianity to Judaism.  Remembering what an extraordinary woman she was.  

Remembering how terrified of her I was from early childhood and how angry I was at her from about age 37 until the day she died suddenly, with no warning signs, of a massive heart attack in December of 1994 when I was 45 years old.  Remembering that my first words to my youngest sister upon hearing over the phone, while at work, the shocking news that our mother had died that morning were:

"Now she can't hurt me anymore." 

Just before I spoke those words I looked out the window at the hospital where I worked, and I had a vision of a dark cloud lifting and disappearing from my sight.  Remembering how I could feel truly safe with my mother only after she died.  It was only after she died that I could feel safe enough to begin to love my mother.  

Not everyone can understand that, but I know that I am not alone in my experience.  My mother would understand.  She was angry at her own mother, and then when my mother was in her first year of college, her mother developed gallbladder cancer and wasted away to a living skeleton before dying.  My mother grew to love her mother after her mother died.  I am just like my mother in that way.  I don't have children of my own and was never even pregnant, but this weekend I am due to become a Great Aunt.  My only nephew's girlfriend is due to give birth tomorrow on Mother's Day.  As she gives birth, she will be born again as a mother.  

I am sending all my love to my nephew, his girlfriend, and their baby who is so close to being born.

My heart goes out to the Nigerian girls and their families.

What is complete   

The valley spirit never dies.
Call it mystery, the woman.

The mystery,
the Door of the Woman,
is the root
of earth and heaven.

Forever this endures, forever.
And all its uses are easy.

(Chapter 6, from an English version of the Tao Te Ching, by Ursula K. Le Quin)

Friday, May 9, 2014

Double rainbow on a sunny day with Albert Einstein and Charles Simic


















Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse 
while all the others were making ships. 
(Charles Simic, poet -- b. 1938)

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Walking meditation in color and black and white / Reading meditation























Thank you to wood s lot for this:

Children Selecting Books in a Library
Randall Jarrell

With beasts and gods, above, the wall is bright.
The child's head, bent to the book-colored shelves,
Is slow and sidelong and food-gathering,
Moving in blind grace ... yet from the mural, Care
The grey-eyed one, fishing the morning mist,
Seizes the baby hero by the hair
And whispers, in the tongue of gods and children,
Words of a doom as ecumenical as dawn
But blanched like dawn, with dew.
The children's cries
Are to men the cries of crickets, dense with warmth
-- But dip a finger into Fafnir, taste it,
And all their words are plain as chance and pain.
Their tales are full of sorcerers and ogres
Because their lives are: the capricious infinite
That, like parents, no one has yet escaped
Except by luck or magic; and since strength
And wit are useless, be kind or stupid, wait
Some power's gratitude, the tide of things.
Read meanwhile ... hunt among the shelves, as dogs do, grasses,
And find one cure for Everychild's diseases
Beginning: Once upon a time there was
A wolf that fed, a mouse that warned, a bear that rode
A boy. Us men, alas! wolves, mice, bears bore.
And yet wolves, mice, bears, children, gods and men
In slow preambulation up and down the shelves
Of the universe are seeking ... who knows except themselves?
What some escape to, some escape: if we find Swann's
Way better than our own, an trudge on at the back
Of the north wind to -- to -- somewhere east
Of the sun, west of the moon, it is because we live
By trading another's sorrow for our own; another's
Impossibilities, still unbelieved in, for our own ...
"I am myself still?" For a little while, forget:
The world's selves cure that short disease, myself,
And we see bending to us, dewy-eyed, the great
CHANGE, dear to all things not to themselves endeared.


Also see: 12-year-old wisdom

And this:


Monday, May 5, 2014

Meditation in the rain on the 5th day of May




Isis, oh, Isis, you're a mystical child
What drives me to you is what drives me insane
I still can remember the way that you smiled
On the fifth day of May in the drizzling' rain

(lyrics from "Isis," by Bob Dylan -- the phrasing and music in this recording sound like the original but the voice doesn't sound like Bob Dylan.  There is a discussion on YouTube as to the identity of the vocalist.)


(pastel drawing on paper, by am, early 1980s and rainy day film clip taken at Derby Pond not far from Whatcom Falls in Whatcom Falls Park.  Whatcom is a Lummi Indian word meaning "noisy, rumbling water")