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?

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.

Porch garden meditation 18 July 2014

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

Totem Pole Journeys

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

Awareness meditation on the power of bearing witness and on being a compassionate witness

Awareness.
(The Buddha's reply when asked to sum up his teaching in a single word)

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"

Fertile Land / Growing Veterans

Healing program for 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)

"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:

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! 

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.

"... 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)

Earth And Sky Poetry Totem Pole / "Ich Habe Genug"

Ich

habe

genug

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

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)

My Great Nephew (-:

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

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!

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")

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)

My mother with hollyhocks in the summer of 1917 in Hastings, Minnesota

For jarvenpa, with much gratitude, for reminding me of this photo.

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)