You are currently browsing the monthly archive for September, 2008.
Not to be confused with the very dramatic and dark writings of Edgar Allen Poe- although those dark musings and references to wine, black birds and touches of madness have always been mysteriously alluring. . especially when I’m listening to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds (perfect complement to the intense lyrics and piano of No More Shall We Part) . . . this pendulum is a tool that I use often and feel rather than physically hold.
The pendulum swings in my own life- as a method of decision making and listening to what my intuition has to say. I’m not the best at hearing (or rather really listening to) those voices from deep inside. . . even though I can go on and on about the importance of listening to your “gut” until I’m cerulean in the face. Laziness, lack of time and motivation, or simply fear of really looking inside and hearing the answers?? Pushing responsibility for my life in any direction other than back to me??
Either way it happens, I find myself in turmoil of the emotional sort rather than caught up in “human drama” as a friend of mine so wonderfully put it. . . mine is also more of the solitary inner drama. It can remain something I struggle with alone, or it can begin to affect others when I lash out in frustration and a bit of self-loathing (due to the frustration of perceived inability to make the aforementioned decisions). . . and so it becomes confusing to those around me- this peaceful and mellow girl suddently turns snappy and edgey. . . impatient and cutting with her words- when really it’s just the frustration and maybe a bit of panic turned outward because I’ve refused to give it a healthy outlet.
But this tool. . . using your body as a pendulum for making decisions and listening to what is truly in accordance with our inner self. . . is something I’ve been returning to as of late. It can be used for something as seemingly simple as walking through the market and wondering what foods might be the best to consume right now- if I center and ask, my body tells me (if someone’s with you, the muscle test works well) by moving in the direction I know means yes or no. Or I use it for what I might call major life decisions, silly little thoughts about what I might do today and even a clue to what role people who have entered my life might have.
It works in the morning when you’re making lists (one of my addictions, and as I’ve recently twittered-YES, I’m addicted to addictions!), when shopping, planning, working, beginning to prepare a meal, before making a phone call; anything that may be causing stress or frustration due to the perceived inability to make a decision. We often seem to want to throw our hands up, push the decision entirely off on others, releasing our sense of responsibility for whatever happens (good or bad) and thinking it would just be so much easier if someone else would simply tell us what to do. I feel this wholeheartedly about many things in my life, and yet I’m also one of the most stubborn people I know and detest being told what to do (is it any wonder people tend to become a bit confused around me?!) so needless to say, this creates quite a lot of the back and forth drama- enough to drive a girl crazy.
Here’s what I do: I check in once in awhile to make sure the way my body communicates hasn’t changed but basically- by taking a breath to quickly center, and asking “Is my name Jenny?”. . . my body will move in a direction for yes. I ask a question for which I know the answer is no- inserting someone else’s name for instance and my body will move in the opposite direction and from there I can ask any yes or no question. . . taking a few breaths and shaking my energy out to center between each one. I’ve read that a lot of people rock forward for yes and backward for no, but of course I’m the opposite (it’s an admitted character trait of mine- good or bad- to always be different). . . a yes answer means my body leans back and a no answer tips me forward.
Simple.
This isn’t used to avoid the responsibility of making decisions, it’s instead a way of double-checking them, and making sure my choices and activities are aligned with my true self (and also acknowledging that my true self is there and I haven’t forgotten and/or stifled her voice), and it takes away some of the stress that comes with making those decisions- “did i do the right thing?”, etc. Often there is no black and white definite RIGHT or WRONG decision. . . so the simple act of making that choice is the “right” decision in itself. You choose and accept and then move on. . . life is not meant to be put on hold while we hem and haw over these questions. There are no wrong choices. They’re all a part of our journey and I think how we react to them builds more of our life than the actual end result.
Just now, I heard loud honking and looking out the window of this late September morning, a flock of geese flew overhead and I realized that like the inner compass within every goose, there is a similar intuitive and instinctual quality to our decision making, if we learn to simply get out of our own ways and listen to that ancient wisdom.
This morning I’m sure there are pressing decisions to be made and I’ll get to them. . . but for now I’m craving mulberries for breakfast (another one of my addictions lately). . . but feel like I may be eating too many of them. . . Center, ask, and my body rocks slightly backwards. . . I grin and decide that a small handful would be entirely perfect.
And so it is. . .
A friend request on Facebook led to this discovery and not only is he soulful, beautiful and authentic. . . the lyrics are poetically & perfectly synched with my life/thoughts/hemming these days. . . so thank you Saith (although it just added yet another reason why I’m sorry to not be heading to Sedona with everyone!). . .
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, and a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
William Butler Yeats
[Sigh]. . .I’m never quite sure where I belong. . . between the rush of the city and the quiet of the country. . . songs of the sea roll in my thoughts and in my blood when I’m surrounded by concrete and a million other energies. . . and the pulse of the city moves my body and takes my attention when I’m surrounded by sweet smelling pines and digging in the dirt. Well not exactly when I’m doing those things- because when I’m fully immersed in the city, I’m fully there and when I’m fully immersed in the forest or ocean, I’m fully there. But it’s the inbetween state. . . when I’m indoors and in between projects, I find myself pulled to the other one.
Tomorrow I have a meeting regarding the most beautiful piece of land and house I’ve ever seen. The possibilities are endless- studio and barn and stone kitchens resting as if buoyed by enchanted air on organic soil. . . almost 100 acres. My very own “almost 100 acre woods” so to speak.
It’s just a meeting. . . and I can’t help but know myself so well that I can almost foresee building up walls so I don’t fall in love. . . because I’m always afraid of those other paths, the other choices and the other places that I would also love. . . how will I ever choose? Somehow when everyone around me says it. . . and when I try and tell myself. . . that I don’t have to choose just one. . . something doesn’t quite believe it.
If I’m quiet and listen with the most open and un-expectant wholenss of my being. . . “I [will] hear it in the deep heart’s core”
“L’erba voglio non cresce neanche nel giardino del re”
x
. . . into my favourite season of all. . . because as much as I adore browning myself in the hot sunshine and inevitably begin to loathe (in a manner of speaking) the freezing cold temperatures, I adore autumn beyond words.
The smell of the air, smokey and earthy. . . like the delicious and indulgently expensive candle from Diptyque, Feu De Bois (firewood). It mingles with the ocean, which is entirely wonderful in the way it carries a different scent not just every season, but every day. It becomes a part of the falling leaves, apples and berries fermenting on the branches that will be touched by frost soon, or in the fallen leaves that have begun to decompose and the scent fills the nostrils with a pungent and beckoning gesture- could it be the instinctual knowledge that the smell is of death and it will welcome us all eventually into it’s depths? All Hallow’s Eve will be celebrated soon and it’s beautiful to actually celebrate our cycles of life rather than fear the inevitable.
Snuggled up in wool and fleece, I recently stopped into one of my absolute favorite shops in the city of Portland’s Old Port. . . on the cobblestone part of Fore Street there is a tiny hole-in-the-wall cache of nautical antiques; a treasure chest that smells of salt and dust and is watched over by the most amazing Mainer with his 50 year old parrot, Singapore. She dips her wise old head and cracks peanut shells over the darkly stained wood by one of the few smokey-glassed windows above his head. When he sees that you’re different from the loud tourists, he opens up, becoming a veritable chatterbox and suddenly you feel as if you’re able to peer through the kaleidescope of what he’s seen in dark corners of the world- shards that are side by side and reflected into one another, mixed with things from every nook and cranny of our own expansive and varied country.
He mentioned that he may close up shop and head south. . . or answer the call of the sea again, and I’ll be a bit sad when one day the sign is gone and the store empty, but I wish him adventure wherever he goes. I purchased some pieces for jewelry. . . bits of old documents, brass tags with Russian writing, old compasses and tiny cleats; all inspiring beyond words and imbued with something uniquely special that is, in a way, priceless. I also found a simple wool fisherman’s cap to keep the chill at bay on these nights that are becoming colder, no matter how warm the afternoons are these days.
August days that are filled with trips to flea markets and the beyond-words fresh and local produce from Chase’s Daily in Belfast, emails and letters, writing and designing projects, nights with fires that send orange bits of ashes spiraling upwards to the sky full of stars, hikes and picnics under the mulberry trees at my family’s ocean-side summer house. I took a break from the packed-in peacefulness for a week of noisy chaos in Manhattan, where the constant stream of parties, museums, restaurants, boutiques and general sensory overload was sheer bliss. If I could find a way to go back and forth between the simplicity of coastal Maine and the constant and inspiring bustle of the city, I think that would be perfect for this Gemini soul. . . sea and city. . . juxtapositions. . . extremes. . . these are words that resonate within me. PJ Harvey’s Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea remains one of my favourite albums of all time- and now I fully understand why it resonates so much.
Now back by the sea, I’m scrambling to fill baskets with the last of the blueberries and mulberries as I’m eating them by the handfuls these days, the burst of flavor tastes like home. In the midst of hauling rocks for the construction of new garden walls, gathering sun-golds before the slugs get to them, leaping like a mountain goat over the craggy coastline, feeling the wind in my hair, I try to find the time to keep cranking out pieces of jewelry. Admittedly, it’s hard to don my leather apron and head to the workbench when the weather is breathtakingly beautiful and fills my body with that inspired quality that only comes in the magical days of autumn. . . but if I balance outdoor adventures with studio time, I feel much more accomplished and responsible, but still childish and nourished!
I watch the pine needles glowing as if lit from within in the late afternoon sunshine, back from a hike, with the rest of the day’s hours promising to hold mason jars of sun tea, soft grass underfoot, tangles of vintage chains between my fingers and the light of the acetelyne torch ushering in nightfall.
wishing magic of all kinds for everyone. . . and lastly: http://www.misprintedtype.com/v4/images/links/imagem.php?imagem=00.gif
