CREATIVITY AND OTHER LIFE QUALITIES

Looking Forward to Seeing You Again

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Tue, 28 Jun 2011 19:36:00 +0000

Dear Friends,

I’m considering going off the grid for a stretch of time while working on my book. Then again, I could surprise you with a post any day. I know I owe you pics from the trip to Alaska…

Though I won't be posting as much--using that creative time for writing instead--I'll be around, monitoring, available, approachable as ever when you message and email me with questions. I want to keep up with your journeys, so I've reserved time in my schedule to check in at your sites and contemplate your postings--listening more, commenting less for a while. Consider it walking (and writing) quietly at your side. Does that makes sense? I hope so.

Meanwhile, here are a few books I’m reading now that you may wish to add to your library.

VOICES OF THE SOFT-BELLIED WARRIOR, A Memoir by Mary Sarcino. I can’t put this one down. If you are a survivor, if you care about a survivor or work with survivors, this is a must-read. It’s a story of great courage, healing, and generosity. (Available at Amazon.)
A BOOK OF HOURS, Thomas Merton. An old classic expanded.
ANIMALS IN TRANSLATION by Temple Grandin and Catherine Johnson.
TAO—THE WATERCOURSE WAY by Alan Watts with the collaboration of Al Chung-liang Huang.

I’m very much looking forward to seeing you here again in the not too distant future. With gratitude and great love,

Diane

CREATIVITY TUESDAY: A Story of Love, Loss, and Healing

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Wed, 22 Jun 2011 18:15:00 +0000

Here's something I'm working on, with prompts for your writing practice at the end. This section is called,

ONE. LOVE

Before Patricia’s terminal diagnosis, one of the first serious challenges we shared as a couple was the death of my basset hound, Iggy. That day Patricia waited at home for good news to follow what we hoped would be another routine trip to the vet’s.

While I spoke with Doctor Corley, Iggy slipped and slid in my arms. The dog had arthritis and painful hip-dysplasia, so she was working hard to find a comfortable position on the cold metal examining table. I had gotten in the habit of laying one of my gardening shirts across the stainless steel surface to help with her footing. But this time the shirt wasn’t much help. She nosed the side of my neck for attention.

Her breathing sounded and felt in my embrace like she was trying to drag herself up out of a muddy bog, as if her heavy hound’s coat had been drenched and was pulling her down with the weight of an old dog’s accumulated illnesses. I tried to hold her up, not knowing about other drowning deaths I would one day witness. Even then, Iggy’s gurgled-wheezing sounded to me like she was drowning.

Her coat wasn’t wet at all. In fact, it was almost as soft as the day my ex-husband and I first brought Iggy home. We started eastward across the San Gabriel Valley before the sun rose, worried we had missed her, that she was already gone. As we drove, the sky’s tint began to lighten, stars faded, and the purple-blue silhouettes of the San Gabriel Mountains soon appeared out of the darkness like sleeping giants. We were losing time.

There had been eight pups when we found the old ad the day before. By the time we called that same evening, there were just four. Only one was a girl. The next morning we had to get from the western end of the valley across several cities to the eastern edge, to catch the dog breeder before he and his family took off on a two-week road trip. We were so eager to see the puppy and perhaps bring her home, if she was still there, if no one had taken her.

On the opposite side of the freeway, workday traffic was already backing up. “Must be an accident,” I said. Rick nodded. Cars lurched towards Los Angeles. I bit at a hangnail, ripping it back too far, and poked at the radio. My cuticle stung but the traffic report on our side was still clear.

When we pulled near the breeder’s address a few minutes early, Bruce Roberts was prepping a double-decker-sized RV in front of his house. In the time it took us to drive by, turn the car around, park in front of a neighbor's curb and get out, Bruce hoisted suitcases, fastened bikes, and stowed boxes of provisions. We were both careful not to slam our car doors at that hour. I looked at the RV again. Bruce was gone. We all but tiptoed toward his driveway. Gazing across the lawn through the open front door of his house, I could see an amber lamplight glowing restfully inside. There a woman was anything but restful, packing and hustling about.

A toddler wearing nothing but a diaper hopped out onto the porch and ran across the lawn like a little goldfish escaped from a fishbowl. By then I could see Bruce was on top of the RV. So we hurried towards the child, afraid he might run out to the road, not that there were any cars on the side street at that hour. The baby’s mum chased out after him waving a t-shirt like a net with which to capture a little goldfish. We greeted her. Bruce climbed down and joined us. I wanted to ask if the girl-pup was still there. We all said hurried hellos and happy-to-know-yous while trooping up the steps, through the house, and out to the back yard. The mother flipped on some floodlights and left us to return to her packing.

Outside in a large pen, two adult basset hounds stood baying, their unmistakable deep salutes sounding both curious and protective, “Ahhhhh-roooooh! Ahhhhh-roooooh!” For all their stoutness, the sire and dam were large specimens, both in their primes. They reminded me of a couple of draught horses, stable, stocky and strong, yet graceful as they ran along the fence-line like ponies on parade. Their white-tipped tails were festive banners. With the adults in the pen were a large puppy and a little one, no others. Two more must have gone after we hung up the evening before. The breeder brought out the big pup, a male. He was a wriggly tri-color with dark brownish-black markings around the eyes, a chestnut saddle, and white legs and feet. Robust and long, he was a good size for four months. I stared at the huge sire, whose ample penis just about dragged on the ground. Then I looked over to Rick. “We were hoping for a female,” he said.

I held my breath.

“Female? Oh. Well, she’s just a runt,” the breeder said, plopping the male back into the pen to be inspected by his anxious mum. “You have first-pick of what’s left. I thought you’d go for the male. But sure, if that’s what you want.” Out came the little girl.

She was quite small, also a tri-color, but with a soft reddish-brown around the face, and beautiful magazine-photo eyes. She started right over to me. I’m on the small side, and guess dogs may mistake me for a child. They catch my attention, or I catch theirs, and they gravitate my way. Wagging with enthusiasm, I could swear Iggy was smiling. Sniffing the ground like a cartoon, she stepped on one of her ears, tripping and rolling forward, then hopped up as if nothing had happened, and, with the momentum of the tumble or her embarrassment, ran faster towards us, her ears like a flying nun’s cap in the breeze. (Did you ever see "The Flying Nun"?) She would, in the course of her early years, trip and roll forward like that many times.

Wearing her thick soft coat like a cozy-blanket around her neck and shoulders, she was the cuddliest, cutest thing. After lying on her back at our feet for a good tummy rub, she stood for several pats and hugs, helping herself to a few slobbery licks. Then her big floppy paws padded a circle around us in the long grass before she dashed toward the house, nuzzling open the screen door. The toddler met her there and they wriggled and hopped about, squealing like long lost pals.

“Now, you’ve gotta keep your eyes on a basset,” said Bruce as we made our way to the house. “They have a mind of their own, and it pretty much follows their snout. They’re amiable enough, but you must keep them on leash when they’re not in the yard, because they can be over-enthusiastic when they get on a scent trail. They’re notorious for getting lost.” Inside, the puppy quickly made the rounds, thumping with her big feet on the hardwood floors and tiles while the baby toddled after her...

For Your Writing Practice:

1. Tell about a first meeting with someone who struck you favorably or unfavorably. What were your first impressions?

2. Write about something very sad...adding comic relief to give the reader a break at some appropriate juncture ("They don't call it comic relief for nothing, folks," I've recently heard).

3. Tell about a type of dog or other animal that you know very well, adding traits about the species or breed that are unique, and which you've experienced in a very personal way--remember to write what you really know...not just what you've read, and not just what you've done. (If animals aren't your thing, substitute a sport, hobby, town or something else you've experienced uniquely, over some time, and in a very personal way.)

Good luck and happy creating.

CREATIVITY TUESDAY--Enough Inspiration for One Day?

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Wed, 15 Jun 2011 06:23:00 +0000

I frequently find myself saying, "You wake up in the morning and never know what you're going to find in a day." You might think, because it's the last day of a writer's conference in Homer, Alaska, that you know what the day will bring. You have the agenda and you know what your plans are for later. But the fact is you may have no idea.

The 2011 Kachemak Bay Writer's Conference was a creative experience rich as the Alaskan sea with halibut and king crab, and dazzling as her sky through midnight clouds infused with the light of the late-setting sun. In memories, notes, and contacts I've made, I must be taking away more treasure than I know. And I'm bound to dredge and sift, as many conference presenters advised, in weeks, months, and years to come, writing directly and indirectly from the inspiration here. But, or AND driving home from the conference can be an inspiring experience too, when home is even temporarily in Homer. I should mention that we're staying at a most comfortably appointed room overlooking the ocean at the Name-Withheld-Inn-and-Spa. I could go on about the spa, but I won't. Because I intend to keep that little nugget a secret for a while.

So, we left the conference and were on our way home. Driving down the road that curves towards the inn, happily nestled into a pleasant conversation about our plans for tomorrow, I looked out at the road, then over to our left. There I glimpsed the rear end of a large horse-cow-elk-like mammal with long bristly hair. I motioned to Lisa, saying, "Look, look, look!" No other words would come until I finally sputtered, "A muh-muh-moose, Hon, a moose!" To think, the day before she laughed when I warned her about keeping her antenna up and making noise while jogging in the area so she wouldn't surprise a moose or bear foraging in the woods.

It was big and lanky, the tall back end of it was, as it disappeared into the shrubs. Lisa had read and told me about an article just as we were leaving California, that cautioned: this is calving season--females with calves are particularly hostile to anyone cornering or otherwise disturbing them. We pulled into the spa driveway to see if we could watch the moose from the safety of the porch. But there was no sighting other than the bushes and small trees rustled and brushed about in the moose's wake, like big fans and pom-poms. So we rolled back out of the driveway to spot the beast near the garage in a neighboring garden, tugging and munching on the salads growing there. The animal's legs were long as a horse's on stilts. It was, well, gawky in the beguiling unkempt way some youths and elders have about them. It didn't seem to care about the car or our stopping to watch from the road for a while.

We lingered just long enough for Lisa to roll down her window while I took a few photos. Then Lisa edged us back up to the inn. We zipped out of the car, careful not to slam the doors any harder then we had to, and skittered up onto the porch like a couple of trick-or-treaters eager to ring the doorbell. By the time we made it there, all signs of the giant, including the rustling of the bushes and trees, were gone. We entered the inn and made our way to our room, quiet as a couple of nuns on retreat, yet excited and giddy as two school kids accepted to the college of our choice. In the room we congratulated ourselves on the sighting, all but high-fiving, as if we had anything to do with it.

We were soon interrupted by the calls of a young eagle whose elegant flight-swoops and turns conjure images of the most gifted young athletes, their lean, strong, gracefulness nothing less than perfect. The eagle has built a nest in the tree outside and high above our room. We started toward the window to gaze up at it again when something bobbing in the ocean pulled our sight downwards instead. In the high tidewater below, a sleek otter lolled about, munching on sea morsels, appearing fat, dumb and happy while floating on its back in the breeze. The otter's whiskery face was fluff-scruffy comical in the sunlight flickering off low-lapping waves.

Taking a cue from the otter we had a snack. Then Lisa paused to upload the images of the moose onto one of the laptops. Sated and thrilled about what we caught with the camera, we settled down to work. That is to say, I tried three or four times to sit and write about the moose and otter sightings. But I kept popping up from my seat, to go to the window, complaining about the huge distraction of the sea. Lisa laughed at me as she has for days while I haven't been able to write more than scribbles. The ocean pesters. Finally, as I gave up on longhand, turning on the laptop and waiting for it to boot, I glanced over my shoulder one...more...time towards the water.

"Something big, something dark, moving out there!" I called to Lisa, who was by then steadily typing at her workspace across the room. Reaching for the binoes like I was grabbing a fire extinguisher, I added, "I saw fins. Dolphins? Porpoises?" Lisa rushed to meet me at the window. "It was big," I said, trying to focus, "but I don't know what it was. At least a couple of them." I didn't utter what I was hoping, trying to catch them in my sites. "There!" But they were just skimming the surface. I still couldn't tell what they were.

"I see them," Lisa said. I tried to hand the binoes to her. "Not porpoises," she added, refusing the eye-gear. While I had been fussing, trying to get the creatures in view, she got a good look at the dorsal fins. "They look like orcas."

"What? No way!" I've been peering from our window and terrace for whales since we arrived four days ago. We have a whale study-trip planned out of Seward in a couple of days, and the take off and landing on the water here in Homer for a bear-sighting trip tomorrow. Even with all that, it seems important to me to experience whales from our room. Then I spotted the dorsal fin of one, rising high out of the water. "They might be orcas!" I almost shouted. And then the white patch at the eye, one, two, three times. The slick black whales rose, one of them a third of the way out of the water, reflecting the sun like an obsidian-black Lexus in the rain. Hoo-RAY!

At last, the small pod of whales, probably a cow with two calves, a female calf from last year and a new one, slipped back down into the water where we wouldn't see them again.Yes, you get up in the morning and have an idea--but you really don't know what you're going to find in a day. This is Diane Solis, signing off from Homer Alaska, feeling that's enough inspiration for one day. However, it's only after ten p.m. here and the sun won't go down for a few more hours.

LIFE-GIVING RELATIONSHIP Wednesday..in a Life of Quality

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Wed, 08 Jun 2011 16:34:00 +0000

1. The best relationships are those that start out as friendships because…

2. The key element in building a life-giving relationship is trust because…

3. A healthy relationship is one that builds up the individuals in it and never tears them down. Explain.

4. People in mature, fulfilling relationships need each other because they love each other, and never the other way around. Explain.

5. Sensitivity in a caring, mutually nurturing relationship is a two-way street, otherwise…

For exploration: Take any of the statements above and tell why you agree or disagree. Or, go ahead and take the statements in a different direction completely. Be creative, spontaneous, and don’t worry about punctuation or making sense. The important thing is to write--and arrive at a new or familiar place to think, feel, explore, and Be.

For further exploration: Read what you wrote. Underline words, phrases, or sentences that stand out for you. Rest with them. Contemplate them. See if you can find the poem, story, or essay revealing itself in your words, in YOUR thoughts and feelings, from the experiences of YOUR life.

Thanks, peace and all good,

Diane

Tuesday Creativity in our Relationships at Home and at Work--Keeping it CURIOUS...Even Under Pressure

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Tue, 07 Jun 2011 22:57:00 +0000

First a Question: What do you think it means to go from the DANCE FLOOR to the BALCONY and from the BALCONY to the DANCE FLOOR in never-ending cycles throughout our lives?

Another question: Have you ever noticed in work situations as well as during personal or family crises, the more intense it gets in what may seem like a hopeless situation, or the more we’re under pressure to meet an impossible deadline, the more impatient we may become--the more abrupt, rude, or even cruel our actions?

It’s an odd way to handle things. Because that’s when we really need to practice patience and consideration. It’s ironic isn’t it—choosing to behave in ways that actually increase the pain and frustration instead of lessening them for ourselves or others?

What if we try something else? What if we use our natural sense of curiosity to find a better way to work things out in stressful or emotionally painful situations? As mammals, humans and other creatures are born curious. Think about it. We come out of the womb not knowing a thing. And in a little while we’re searching with our mouths for the nipple, hungry for the unknown taste of nourishment, and for what it feels like to be satisfied. As our senses develop, we gain increasing awareness and curiosity about our surroundings through them. When our eyes finally open and learn how to see, the search is on to take in and explore all we can in order to survive and thrive in this strange amazing world. Curiosity is a natural healthful gift for experiencing and navigating through this life.

In fact, as animal behaviorists and child psychologists will tell you, the happy infant or pup is usually curious, alert, interested. As they develop, the curious ones are going to be the most teachable and or trainable, depending on the species and stage of development. Whether with a paint brush in elementary school, a box of tools and duct tape in middle school, or at a robot-building competition in a high school setting, creative problem-solving often starts out as “serious play.” Fast forwarding, if you talk to successful artists, educators, business persons, and scientists, and I’ve worked in left- and right-brain capacities with more than my share of all of these, curiosity is at the heart of all their most successful creations, discoveries and innovations. Necessity plays a role, of course, but with or without necessity and the pressure to succeed for whatever reasons, the “winners” have been and remain curious about many things.

Now let’s back up the truck a bit. You want to know how animal and human behaviorists spot the unhappy, sick, or unhealthy baby or pup in a group? One of the things they’ll notice is an obvious lack of curiosity which may have at its heart or may, through a series of unhappy circumstances, result in fear. Some animals then go on to become fear-biters. People too, if you think about it. We go into “attack mode” under pressure, instead of being patient, kind, considerate. It’s hard to be creative when we’re attacking or feeling attacked, isn’t it? Under those circumstances, curiosity seems kind of silly or inappropriate. Wow, here comes a predator! I wonder, what if I… “Chomp!”

When creativity and curiosity go out the window, do you know what goes with them? A friendly and healthy sense of humor. I say, “friendly,” because sarcastic humor may replace it. Sarcasm is a tricky thing. Some will disagree with me, but I don’t think it has any place in a business setting—or in a loving relationship, for that matter—built successfully on trust. I’m sure many of us could go on and on, pro and con about that. Perhaps another time. I’ve seen sarcasm used to make a point. In the hands of an expert, say a Mark Twain, it can be a useful device. The problem is, many people, even in leadership positions in families, social settings, and church or work situations are far from good at being sarcastic. The thing is, their timing sucks and their motivations can be questionable. From those lips, sarcasm quickly becomes an implement of cruelty, intentional or otherwise. It might get a point across efficiently under pressure, “Snap! Zing!” But zingers can be pretty ineffective when it comes to loyalty over the long haul. I’m just sayin’.

So we lose our curiosity and our creativity. And a healthful friendly sense humor seems to go out the window with them. What next? Well, when we lose a sense of humor, there’s a certain amount of our heart or “soulfulness” that follows. Pretty soon our way of being becomes quite colorless in our relationships with others, including our relationship with our higher power, if that is our belief, and in our relationship with our Self.

Instead, here is an invitation to stay curious and keep it creative when we’re under pressure, whatever the situation at home, at work, or in our travels. Curiosity keeps us open, so some of the pressure can escape. And that helps to keep us from blowing up, or worse, from shutting down as individuals, as couples, as members of work teams and other community organizations. Bottom line, curiosity helps us to continue to learn and grow in situations that challenge us, so that the stresses and other difficulties in our lives, when combined with a healthy curiosity, can be real gifts and graces for our development as humane beings.

For further exploration:

Tell about a predictable, even seasonal time of stress or pressure in your life. What if you try a curiosity-practice, to creatively prepare for the experience, and reduce your likelihood of just reacting anxiously or even snapping angrily in the moment.
Revisit a disappointment in your life. Who said what? How did you react inwardly and outwardly? How did it feel? Rewrite the scenario, and this time respond with curiosity before, during, and after. This kind of re-visioning is how elite athletes refine their game to prepare for big athletic events, and handle whatever comes with skill and finesse, by the way.
What do you think the “dance floor to the balcony” question means?
Observe a child or other young mammal, even your own inner child or inner artist. Tell about their experience of curiosity in the next week or so.

Good luck and happy creating!

Monday Love, Compassion, and the Sweet Taste of Humor

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 15:26:00 +0000

Love and Compassion are good Qualities for Mondays at work, at school, just walking around on the planet. We all need love and compassion, the creatures of the earth and the earth itself need our compassion and care. Sometimes we forget to be compassionate towards others. Sometimes we even forget to do the compassionate thing for ourselves. The Beatitudes or “Sermon on the Mount” have always spoken to me as a road map for love and compassion in modern times.

Blessed are the poor in spirit…
Blessed are those who mourn...
Blessed are the gentle…
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness…
Blessed are the merciful…
Blessed are the pure of heart...
Blessed are the peacemakers...
Blessed are those who have been persecuted for the sake of righteousness…
Blessed are you when people insult you and persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you….

Setting Monday aside, there must be something in the air, or maybe it’s the changing seasons, but this past week five of the people we love and care about reached out to us in their grief.

In honor of all they’re going through, I thought to post a poem originally published in 2005, just after my dear Pat passed away. Yet, it's still evolving. The Beatitudes were a touchstone for us as we both built lessons for our Social Justice students around them. Pat was especially fond of “Blessed are the pure of heart…” It was her mantra for the days when she was ill, and never fails to remind me of her unselfish love and compassion for others.

OCEAN PILGRIM

D.M. Solis

She’d swallowed a lot of brine in her lifetime

and was at last coughed up

entangled in the churnings of kelp, frayed ropes

and torn sails on the shore at my feet.

I believed the sea had delivered her to me

in all her flawlessness and sorrow

right there as she was on that spot

surrounded by her fragments--

shattered pieces mother-of-pearl

and exploded sea glass glinting up at me

like incandescent stars she rescued

from the ocean floor

with broken seashells from her travels,

relics from the cruelest storms.

I took her home, tried to nurse her wounds

and make her strong again

as if that strength could come from me.

As much as I could

I loved her, and to my surprise

as much as she was able, she loved me back.

But before long she needed to return

to the ocean, setting her own course alone.

And the love itself? I asked.

If this was the Love

we longed for, she replied,

wouldn’t it be a better union

if she returned
when she was better for it?

It would be there when it would

if it could, if it should be.

With so many nets of my own
to untangle

I had no choice but to let her go
and see how the tide would flow.

Meanwhile I watch the shoreline
from my window

or sit up on the roof
when my day’s work is done

gazing at the place
where the sun falls into the ocean--
I pray for her and me
I think about love and hope
and I let it flow.

Finally, if you’ve been reading the blog for any length of time, you may know I like to leave things on a positive note as often as I can. Today is my brother’s birthday. He is one of the most generous-of-heart and compassionate people I know, and has been a blessing to me and others all his life. I’m remembering a time, one of many, when his compassion came in the form of humor.

I had been under a lot of stress with student-teaching and final exams. I was trying to study and was feeling very cranky. My brother came into the patio whistling a "Mr. Bluebird's on my shoulder" kind of tune and greeted me cheerfully. I only grunted. I guess he could see my frustration—who couldn’t? He offered me a piece of cream pie from the extra fridge in the patio. I all but snapped, “No thank you!” He quietly served himself a piece and sat down across from me at the patio table.

He took a forkful of his pie, and then another, and another…. And what my brother proceeded to do with that pie…well, I can’t tell you without telling the whole gross funny story. But he did it all with straight-face and it was more ridiculous than I’m sure you can imagine. It still makes me laugh remembering. Sometimes on the worst days grieving Pat, when it was just too much, when for healthful reasons I needed to “snap out of it” or at least take a break from the worst of the sorrow, the memory of my brother’s whimsical compassion came back to me and truly lightened my burden for a while. Happy birthday to my dear brother.

A few prompts for journaling/discussion:

Tell of a way compassion can be shown in unexpected, or nontraditional, even humorous ways.
Recall a movie-scene that shows “strange compassion.” Tell what happened? (I’m thinking of the slap fight between Sally Field and Olympia Dukakis in “Steel Magnolias” or the entire movie, “Calendar Girls.”
Which of the verses from the Sermon on the Mount resonates most with you and might be a mantra for your rough times or for showing compassion for others or a fragile world?
Tell of a time when the best you could do to show love and compassion was just to “let go and see how the tide would go.”

With great love for all my brothers and sisters--and that includes YOU,

Diane

Honoring the Environment as a Life Quality

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Sat, 04 Jun 2011 22:37:00 +0000

Quotes on Nature...then...a Song of Sustainability

i

seek to know
why

after all I have done
to hurt her
does the Mother continue
to embrace me
~Charlie Mehrhoff

Imagine a place on Earth so awesome,
So vast so pure,
We can hardly breathe its air.
Imagine the Earth alive with morning,
Shimmering white nights,
No end of sky,
No end of sea.
~Carole Forman, "Antarctica"

Too much industry
too much eats
too much beer
too much cigarettes

Too much philosophy
too many thought forms
not enough rooms--
not enough trees
~Allen Ginsberg

Wherever you are is home
And the earth is paradise
wherever you set your feet is holy land...
You don't live off it like a parasite.
You live in it, and it in you,
Or you don't survive.
And that is the only worship of god there is.
~Wilfred Pelletier and Ted Poole

I'm going to leave a heart in the earth
so it may grow and flower
a heart that throbs with longing
that adores everything green
that will be strength and nourishment for birds
that will be the sap of plants and mountains.
~Rosario Murillo

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glint on snow

I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain.
~Joyce Fossen

THINK FAST

(a Song of Sustainability)

It started a long time ago with plastic forks and knives,

Soon evolution brought us silicone-implanted wives.

Now infomercials sell us perfect souls in flawless lives…

And we’re so wise we interact with nuclear beehives.

CHORUS:

What do we do? Think fast. You have so much power.

What do we do? Think fast. Don’t waste our finest hour.

No one else in history could see the things we’re finding all the time...

And no one in our family tree held keys like yours and mine.

We have a new religion of invented wants and needs,

Inspiring a market of our bottled lusts and greeds.

We tithe at shopping malls, ignore the suffering ego breeds…

Tomorrow’s just within our grasp, our children are the seeds.

CHORUS:

What do we do? Think fast. You have so much power.

What do we do? Think fast. Don’t waste our finest hour.

No one else is history could see the things we’re finding all the time…

And no one in our family tree held keys like yours and mine.

Soulful Friday

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Fri, 03 Jun 2011 21:49:00 +0000

It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye. ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery

This morning I began a sweet walking-meditation. Having reached the crest of a hill, I decided against a longer walk to the lakefront, turning instead to continue the contemplation all the way back down the narrow trail. But my meditation was soon interrupted.

Ahead, some thirty paces below me on the trail, I saw a moderate commotion just under the brim of my hat and heard the "Phrrrr! Phrrrr! Phrrr!" of a horse coming up the trail. I looked to see a large palomino flustered, thrashing this side to that on the narrow pathway ahead of me. His rider, a lean strong-looking woman, was managing the horse, but with visible effort.

I tried to see which side the woman and horse were going to take. I would move to the other side. But weaving and thrashing as they were, it was unclear. They were quickly getting closer. Should I stand towards the shrubs and get pushed off into who knows what? Or stand towards the street and take my chances with the rail and traffic speeding up the hill? Decision time. I opted for the shrubs.

I braced myself and stood steady as the agitated horse and his rider approached. Raising my hand slowly, I took off my sunglasses, then my hat, resting it in front of my chest, slowly lowering it to my thigh. I didn't square off with the animal as a predator would, but let it get a good look at me as I turned slightly sideways, like a deer, a fellow prey animal. Wouldn't you know, just steps in front of me the horse calmed right down.

"Good morning?" the woman said. "How are you?"

"Hiya," I replied. "I'm fine. How are you two?"As the horse went by, my eyes met with his gaze. Its whole demeanor was calm, curious, soft by by this time--all so sweet.

"We're fine now. Thank you very much for knowing what to do."

Truth be told, I didn't know, just sort of figured it out. Anyway, I looked up to see the woman's great big smile. "Have a good day she said," and off they went, two ponytails of the same color casually wisping up the trail.

I once saw a young girl slapping and pushing a horse this way and that on her first meeting with the animal. The horse pushed her back, only harder. After she bounced off the wall a few times, she opted to work with another animal. Great, that left me to work with this now agitated critter. So I introduced myself, breathing softly towards her nostrils. I had read about it in a book by a woman who was writing about horses and their behaviors before the horse whisperer and others became popular. I did not move to touch the horse until she moved into me. Then I leaned into her side with my hands and my shoulder. She didn't resist or push, but "gave," absorbing my energy and supporting me, moving very dance-like where I needed her to be.

I told my father about the incident later and he said the girl was obviously scared. He went on to tell me, "When people are rough that way with large animals, trying to show them who's boss without even taking time to sense where the horse is coming from, they're afraid. A horse won't mind if you're afraid. But if you are and you try to bully it, it's going to think you're stupid, or a pest with bad manners, and it's not going to cut you any slack."

At the bottom of the trail I met many pilgrims of Indian descent, dressed all in white and having a graceful morning walk, the bright linens and silks of their garments looking like veils in the breeze. Three men were in front. I smiled at them. They broadly smiled back, their beautiful teeth glistening ivory in the sun. To the women I said, "Morning," and they cheerfully piped up, reminding me of when I was teaching and would come upon a group of students, "Good morning! Good morning! Good morning!" they said, eight good mornings, eight blessings to carry with me on my way.

For your journal/discussion:

1. Tell about a time when you were afraid, and weren't sure what to do? What happened? How did it work out?
2. How is it that the heart sometimes knows more than we do?
3. What blessings have you discovered on your pathway recently? How might you attend more, to be more aware of the gifts and sweet encounters before you?

Go and BE Love

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Wed, 01 Jun 2011 00:29:00 +0000

Something I'm working on now. Readers have asked to know more about the voyage with my previous life-partner, before she passed on, what we went through before Pat transitioned. Here's some of the story--with a warning: While life is much sweeter for me these days, with so much healing done and ongoing, this is not an easy read. If you or someone you know is going through a very rough patch, you may wish to skip this for now. On the other hand, you may know someone who would find this helpful. There are some journal questions at the end you or they could try instead, or in addition to. Thank you, with great love.

BLACK 22, RED 38

(First Entry)

D.M. Solis

We got the results from the CT scan,

so the biopsy's hollow needle

through her chest wall

a stingray incision.

The tumor surrounding

her pulmonary vein

like a small knotted squid.

A nick, just a nick to the vein

she’d have “bled out”

strapped upright to the board

this tsunami she hasn’t crested.

“Peace and fun!”

Her new mantra, perverse as

Life’s turning tides

swirling then storming.

She had a red top as a child

spinning and spinning

so abrupt, the moon, sun, and stars

shot out like targets at the arcade…

all darkness. How long ‘till we know?

My inelegant inarticulate mantra,

“Help us. Help us. Help us.”

All this too soon.

Didn’t she deserve more?

Well, you know my prayer.

You’ll decide. No point trying

to make deals or convince you.

You adore her too, don’t you?

Help us. Help us. Help me see.

How does anyone brace for--

the mind absorbs as much as it can

and then you can’t believe it’s happening.

Through the walls I wait while she tests.

Overheard, her oncologist tells another

he is going to die. Why?

Who lives, who’s finished? Who suffers this way?

She loves roulette, “laissez les bon temps…”

His brain, “Black 22,” her lungs, “Red 38.”

She has a strategy, praying for time

to fight long enough, for them

to know what they’re doing.

She isn’t quitting—so much work yet to do.

But what if her work is helping them learn?

And what if mine is holding her hand?

Is this why we came, was this the plan?

So I could give injections, clean up the

disappointments and hold her through this?

Anything else beneath the waves?

She got through the biopsy

with no problems. Gratitude. It hurt a lot.

They asked if she was ready.

She told them firmly

the way she talks to you sometimes

soft but direct, pointing
at the sky,

they must do a good job

no mistakes, no second chances.

The doctor seemed nervous

and tense. He was sweaty.

She told him with her gentle voice

the way she talks to me sometimes,

her smooth gentle palm on his forearm

she has faith in him, and in God.

They made her hold her breath

with her withered lungs--three times.

They told her she must stay alert,

and very, very still, without breathing,

that once they went in, it would hurt

but coughing was NOT an option

and neither was passing out.

She did her job. And they did.

Three little pieces of calamari

floating in a saline container

they showed her before the lab.

And it is cancer. And it is inoperable.

All this IS happening to her

to us. Where to from here?

A brand new life from the reject box.

We’ll figure it out. We’ll get there

even through all this murky bilge

this sea.

“Help us, help us, help us.”

You know my prayers before I speak

You know what’s coming

how this tsunami will hit

and all we’ll need

to thrash about in it.

Help me hear…
my mantra interrupted

Your voice without a sound

these words in my heart

“Go and BE Love.”

Is it enough now?

It is all there is. All there is.

It is everything.

For your journal/discussion:

1. What are the big "Why Questions" in your life now? It is okay to ask them.

2. Choose a relationship or acquaintance from your present or past. What is or was the purpose of this? Why did you meet? Why did you come into each others' lives?

3. What does it mean to you, to "be there" for someone? I once met a woman who said she couldn't be there for someone the way I was for my beloved--that she could be there for a while, but not like that. What are your limits? No judging, just write what you feel.

To Care or Not to Care, THAT is the Question...An Invitation through My Lyrics with a Challenge from Lady G

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Sat, 28 May 2011 20:58:00 +0000

I wrote this song a few years ago when teaching social justice. Reflecting on the icons of the present and the past, the melody and words return.

TO CARE OR NOT TO CARE

Life is tough wherever we go

Taking its toll on our innocence.

We're so desperately searching for heroes

To show us a way that makes some kind of sense.

CHORUS:

To care or not to care?

The answer lives so deep in your heart.

The question is everywhere...

The answer lives so deep in your heart.

Candles melt from the inside out

Showing us where the real work begins.

Every heart learns what love's truly about

When we reach past the fear we may feel deep within.

CHORUS:

To care or not to care?

The answer lives so deep in your heart.

The question is everywhere...

The answer lives so deep in your heart.

Bridge:

See a mirror when you look up at the sky,

One tender mirror, if you ask the question, "Why?"

Everywhere there are people in pain--

Look into their eyes, see the heart of all hearts.

Can you reach out in love, hope, and faith

Be the hero who simply steps up and does your part.

CHORUS:

To care or not to care

The answer lives so deep in your heart.

The question is everywhere...

The answer lives so deep in your heart.

Lady Gaga is good at marketing AND I think she's sincere. Children...people need something to believe in and we all need to know that our story, our fringe, disenfranchised, heretofore un-included story is being told and being heard. Lady Gaga gets this across. If she's strategically leveraging, with her needs and ours as fulcrums, to market her brand, I guess everybody wins. Her message will live or die by whatever bears out over time. It always does.

I like that the media gives her a pass sometimes, because her antics or her costumes are just so irresistible. I like that the critics condemn her for fudging on Madonna's song, then Madonna comes out and gives her the "way to go, Girl." I look for substance in her "shock-jock" (disk-jockey, no pun intended) style. It's there--she's a solid writer and a good musician. She's creative, knowledgeable, and still learning. Her heart seems to be in the right place. She took a stand on bullying before everyone else jumped on that train. Her message is mostly positive. I appreciate those things about her and her work.

Children...people still need something to believe in. They...we could do better. But we could also do worse. I don't think she wants us to believe in her or to need her (underlined three times). I do think she challenges us to listen, not just to her, to each other, without judging. She can be critical. She calls for non-judgment with discernment. I have to give her props as an artist and as a person for that--and for getting past her fears, for having the guts to put herself out there on a number of levels in spite of her fears. I think she challenges us there too.

In the past she was like John, eating locusts in the desert. Her monsters (Lady G's pet name for her die-hard devoted fans) were mostly fringies. Now mainstreamers in increasing numbers are listening too. There are gifts and dangers in that. I sometimes think she keeps it shocking not just to get attention (she's got plenty), and not just to take the attention away from her admitted self-consciousness, but so she can stay on the fringes, where her people are. I do worry, when I watch her in concert, that she may have to keep "up-ing" the shock factor...because people get numbed out after a while. I do.

I hope her message never gets lost in the entertainment. I don't think it will, because her monsters feel she really cares about them. I'm not a monster--well, not one of her devoted legions yet. I am listening though. And I do appreciate what she's trying to do. I could be wrong, but she seems sincere. Time will tell. Here's hoping she's fearless enough to be committed to her craft, her message, and to her monsters for the long haul.

For your journal/discussion:

1. Do people need something to believe in? How so? Why or why not?
2. To care or not to care? How do you respond to that question? Be general. Then be specific--tell about a situation in your life where caring or not makes all the difference.
3. Bullying. Courage. Fear. Hero. Chose one and tell about it for five minutes.

For the Journey Outward and the Voyage Inward

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Thu, 26 May 2011 01:08:00 +0000

This post is for travelers to places found on maps and for adventurers of the heart, for those bold enough to journey outward, or brave enough to voyage inward, possibly even gifted enough to go both far away and deep within at the same time!

If you're planning to travel this summer, whether taking several day trips, some longer vacations, or a planned or unforeseen voyage of the "life-map" variety, and you wish to keep a travel journal or log, here are some questions to get you into your travel reflection mode. You can answer them literally, metaphorically, or both. Answer all, or only some. Tell about the places you’ve been and places you yearn to be. Share your answers here or keep them for your eyes only. Either way, I’m wishing you joyful discoveries.

In due time I'll post follow-ups to this list with replies to some or all of the questions by a few amazing adventurers I know. Meanwhile, here are the questions...For YOU!

Briefly introduce yourself as a traveler. Try to tell one thing many of your friends may not know about you.
Tell about an event or two in your life that shaped your desire to learn about other places/people, or about yourself through travel or exploration.
Give the short itinerary of your first trip or adventure that was out of the ordinary or which stands out as the beginning of traveling for you.
What did this trip do to inspire or kindle within you a desire to travel more?
Give advice to young people or newbies planning a first adventure to someplace exotic, overseas or far-away, whether geographically, philosophically or socio-politically. The “other side of the tracks” or border may be very far away for some.
What, in your view, is the “Ugly American.” If it’s a myth, how do you think it came into being? If not a myth, how can you help other travelers avoid this pitfall?
What is your idea or vision of a great trip?
What has traveling taught you about other people/cultures/countries—be as general or specific as you like.
What has traveling taught you about you?
Add a question I didn’t ask, but should have…a “Why” or “How” question, maybe?
What is the next adventure you have planned? What are you hoping to discover...about others or other places...about you?

Bonus tip: Next time you depart or arrive over the ocean, study it, pay attention. Although I avoid the cooped-in feeling of the window seat, especially on longer trips, I’ve always dreamed of finding whales from a fast-moving jet. The time before last, coming back in for a landing off the coast of Santa Monica, I was doing my little devotion, I guess you could call it that, with my forehead pressed to the pane--and what do you know? I spied a cluster of five huge “things” moving below, under water. We were flying over too fast to be certain, but they could have been whales or very large schools of fish. I only hope they weren’t submarines--that would be a disappointment to me. I checked the migratory paths for the season, and like to think they were gray whales.

Happy trails and pleasant dreaming!

A Sandwich a Day?

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Thu, 19 May 2011 16:42:00 +0000

Dagwood Sandwich, from Linda Stradley's web site, "What's Cooking in America."

Sometimes creativity is found in ordinary places, doing routine things, like making a sandwich. You may have read Lawrence Sanders, the crime novelist whose protagonist-private eye invented amazing, juicy sandwiches. Then he contemplated the details of a crime while savoring what he made with an imported beer or a good glass of wine.

For Your Journal, tell about a routine or methodical task you enjoy that allows you to be creative or contemplative. Where or when does some of your best problem solving, day dreaming, or creative thinking occur? Doing maintenance on a bike or your car? During long drives? Changing the water in the aquarium? Folding the laundry? Taking a shower? Or in the moments before you're fully awake, when your mind is still drifting back to earth?

For contemplation, try accomplishing one task this week while clearing your mind, letting your thoughts drift away or roam free, opening a space for Creativity to find you. Or just work in stillness and awareness, experiencing the Now.

MEMORIES AND MYSTERIES (with New Journaling Prompts Added)

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Sun, 15 May 2011 17:39:00 +0000

We landed the Lear Jet on a small airstrip in Socorro, New Mexico. I was a passenger with a few other presenters I'd invited to facilitate new employee orientations. I specialized in organizational development and training. In a room not far from the landing strip, I discovered an antique wooden chest and wondered what was inside. As my musings evolved, I imagined a story unfolding. Eventually, I wrote a song about it which I now use to teach discernment, life re-visioning, and social justice. Here is the song:

Memory or a Mystery (a Waltz)

In an old cedar chest left inside my hotel room
I found a tapestry made on a loom.
Created by someone I never will know--
I thought I heard a voice from long ago.

Chorus:
My life is changing me even as I weave,
And when this day's only a memory or a mystery
I hope the cloth that I've woven is still speaking well of me...
When today is only a memory or a mystery.

When the roads I have chosen are woven in my life
So many colored threads will show the signs
Of deep summer kisses and blue pearl moons
With each love and heartache my soul ever knew...

Chorus:
My life is changing me even as I weave,
And when this day's only a memory or a mystery
I hope the cloth that I've woven is still speaking well of me
When today is only a memory or a mystery.
Copyright 2000, D.M. Solis

Coincidentally, Socorro is the town where my mum was born. It was while doing the "corporate thing" on the trip to this town, that I reconnected with my ancestry. In my Italian Marco Brelli pumps and Evan Pincone petite suit, I stood high on a bluff overlooking the changing colors of the desert on the mesas in the valley below. The sun was hot but the breeze was cool. In it I could almost hear my grandmother's voice from my childhood, how her soft humming would ease my restlessness as she cradled me in her arms.With the fine red dust of Socorro on my shoes, I took the corporate jet back to California. Not long after that my passions for the arts and social justice led me on a new adventure that would change my life completely.

For Your Journal (A few timed writings--don't worry about spelling or punctuation--just write):

1. Tell about a moment in time, what I like to call "a threshold moment," when you could see your past and your future, when you knew the next step was going to literally or figuratively take you from one phase of your life or journey to the next. (5 minutes.)

2. Tell about a mysterious box, bag, curtain, door, pathway, road, garden, room, corridor, elevator floor, lobby, or alley. (5 minutes. Go for 10).

3. Tell about a loss, frustration, failure, or sadness you've been holding onto from long ago or yesterday. Tell how your life would be improved if you cold finally, really let it go. Describe the act of "turning the page" or taking a new road. What will that feel like? What would it mean to you or others if you could do that? Where might it lead you? (Take all the time you need.)

"People With the Interesting Answers, Are Those Who Ask the Interesting Questions"

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Fri, 06 May 2011 00:51:00 +0000

Maxfield Parrish, Daybreak

A few quotes from Art & Fear--Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of ARTMAKING. Because learning and growing in our relationships with others and ourselves are accomplished through a number of creative processes, the messages within these quotes are relevant not only to the arts, but to the work we all do, living our lives from one season to the next, facing challenges, discovering insights and inspiration. So I thought I'd offer them for comment or contemplation below. Perhaps you have a few you'd like to add?

Writing is easy: all you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until the drops of blood form on your forehead. ~Gene Fowler

Artists don't get down to work until the pain of working is exceeded by the pain of not working. ~Stephen DeStaebler

When bankers get together for dinner, they discuss Art. When artists get together for dinner, they discuss money. ~Oscar Wilde

To see far is one thing: Going there is another. ~Brancusi

When my daughter was about seven years old, she asked me one day what I did at work. I told her I worked at the college--that my job was to teach people how to draw. She stared back at me, incredulous, and said, "You mean they forget?" ~Howard Ikemoto

The answers you gt depend upon the questions you ask. ~Thomas Kuhn

When you start on a long journey, trees are trees, water is water, and mountains are mountains. After you have gone some distance, trees are no longer trees, water no longer water, mountains no longer mountains. But after you have traveled a great distance, trees are once again trees, water is once again water, mountains are once again mountains. ~Zen Teaching

Computers are useless--all they can give you are answers. ~Pablo Picasso

Over the long run, the people with the interesting answers are those who ask the interesting questions. ~Bayles and Orland

Peace and all good,
Diane

Honoring Your Abilities and Gifts at Work and Play (with 9 Questions for You)

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Mon, 02 May 2011 18:26:00 +0000

So much of my father’s creativity went into cooking on the weekends and into creating and problem solving at the lumber mill the rest of the week. Though a talented artist, cooking and carpentry became practical ways to channel his creativity while attending to our basic needs. But there were great reservoirs of his artfulness that went untapped and unused for lack of time, mostly.

As uniquely creative individuals, in order to live fully and healthfully, whatever our gifts or talents and which ever ways we choose to contribute to the world around us, it’s important to honor our abilities by exploring activities we enjoy doing or by nurturing our talents. At home, in the studio, and/or on the job, no less than at an art museum, seminar or spiritual retreat, there are many ways to do this while taking care of business and getting the job done. I’ve developed some practical methods through the years.

Here are a few questions to help you sort through some of this. These are simple but powerful questions for nurturing your gifts where you are, and for making subtle or dramatic changes that will increase the creative quality of your life.

What are you good at?
What do you like to do? (1 and 2 aren’t necessarily the same things)
What kinds of situations or environments bring out the best in your skills? Which bring out the best of your personality?
If you could design your dream job, what would it include? List ten aspects of it.
What are three aspects of the dream job you could incorporate into your current work or living situation(s)? Tell how. Then choose three more… What are three aspects of the dream job you could incorporate into an avocation to do in your time away from work?
How have the difficulties or challenges in your life contributed to your creativity, whether through problem-solving or research that did or might take you in new or different directions?
What are some things you can learn or notice about yourself or your gifts by focusing on the joyous or even humorous aspects of your life?
What are ten places, skills, or topics you’d like to explore, that you’ve never had time for?
What are five activities you like to do, that you haven’t done in a long time or that you would like to try again?

Trip from Seward to Homer, overlooking flats
beyond trees submerged in Great Earthquake of 1964, Copyright 2010 D.M.Solis

I’m curious about what you may discover or rediscover while answering a few or all of these questions…and about next steps you might explor for honoring your abilities and gifts. Good luck and happy innovating. With great love,

Diane

*An AVOCATION is 1. something a person does in addition to a principal occupation, especially for pleasure; hobby: Our doctor's avocation is painting; 2. a person's regular occupation, calling, or vocation (from Dictionary.com)

EXPERIENCING THE GREAT GENEROSITY

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Thu, 21 Apr 2011 15:39:00 +0000

On a drive recently, as is sometimes the case, I let the road and the car take me away from my destination, and found me on a path overlooking the foothills. Gazing up at the grasses, wildflowers, and trees blanketing a hillside, I rested there to contemplate and Be with the morning, with the bird songs, with the breeze. Soon the hush of a soft mist fell over the landscape.

Whenever I pause in nature, I remember what it was like when I first began to articulate the experience and intimacy of the Great Generosity there.

For Your Journal/Discussion/Contemplation today...

Tao: Use one or two of your senses to describe something that cannot be seen, or heard, or held, yet is all around and within you. Love, for example.

Intrinsic: Describe the essence of a person or place you love, respect, or honor, revealing aspects that are part of, or peculiar to, or so deeply signifying, that if removed, this person or place would cease to exist as who or what they are.

Grace: If you could stop one way of being that really isn't working for you, what would that be? Why? If you could activate one new power within you that would dramatically change your way of being with or experiencing the world and those around you, what would it be? How so?

Have a beautiful day. With great love,

Diane

INSPIRATION from JOHN STEINBECK

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Wed, 20 Apr 2011 17:35:00 +0000

Old Town Salinas, Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic

I’ve been researching the novels, movie scripts, and letters of John Steinbeck for a project on which I’m working. While in Monterrey recently, the research took me inland to the National Steinbeck Center in the Salinas Valley. If you’re ever out that way, it’s well worth the trip. There is so much treasure folded in among John’s letters, inked onto the margins of his original and copied manuscripts, even nestled into "Rocinante," the actual truck that was modified for his drive across the U.S. with his beloved dog, Charlie.

National Steinbeck Center, Attribution: Lord Harris

I was struck by many things at the center, among them this quote,

Books: One of the few authentic magics our species has created. ~ John Steinbeck

In his handwritten notes, John revealed that the central message of EAST OF EDEN is contained in the Hebrew word, timsel, which was translated for him as, “thou mayest.”

Among Steinbeck’s related letters, in one dated 29 January 1951, he indicated his objective for the writing of East of Eden. “I am choosing to write this book to my sons. They are little boys now, and they will never know where they came from through me unless I tell them...I want to tell them directly, and perhaps by speaking directly to them I shall speak directly to other people…”

John Steinbeck, Awarded Nobel Prize in1962 (Swedish Photo, Public Domain)

“…One can go off into fanciness if one writes to a huge nebulous group, but I think it will be necessary to speak very straight, and clearly, and simply….”

For me, these words capture the essence of Steinbeck’s style, as well as the deceptively uncomplicated richness and depth of his writing. As writers and creatives, as leaders, teachers, and mentors, as human beings communicating in relationships with others, we could all do well to apply John’s fundamental message, “speaking straight, and clearly, and simply.”

Using Dreams and Chance Encounters to Enhance Our Creative Visions

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 14:18:00 +0000

Author: Akaporn Bhothisuwan, Creative Commons Attribution, 2.0 generic

So this morning I wake from a quirky dream in which I’m driving through a wilderness outside of an unknown town. I come upon a bend in a river where several grizzly bears and golden retrievers, the red ones, have gathered. Other spectators who’ve arrived at the scene are afraid of the bears. The bears and dogs are pretty much all the same color, though the bears outweigh the large dogs by hundreds of pounds. The beastie pups are not afraid of nor hostile towards the bears. In fact, the animals are all playing together in the river, splashing and chasing each other through and all around it, running up on the banks and leaping back into the blue, splashing so water droplets flicker around them like golden sequins reflecting the sun, shimmering everywhere. One bear scurries out of the water, chased by a pup, and runs smack into the side of my vehicle, jostling me a bit. Unharmed, the bear turns to chase after the dog. They both leap into the water. I wake laughing as I often do.

Attribution: Creative Commons org licenses by 2.5 deed en

Later, while having coffee, I pull my animal medicine cards from their shelf to see what shamans and writers like those from the Navajo and Apache tribes of my ancestors have to say about these critters. What does it mean when a dog or a bear crosses our path, or visits us, or bumps right into us in our dreams? I discover messages that are potentially important for my writing in general and for a specific story on which I’m working. More about that later, with a take-away message or two for you.

Today is the day the housekeepers come. Like a good little heart-smart lady, I head to the Corner Bakery for my oatmeal with walnuts and almonds, and soy chai latte. I’m having breakfast while jotting down the Bear-Dog dream in my journal, describing those big dogs and bigger bears, telling about their silly enthusiasm for the water and for each other. Looking up from my journal for a sip of chai, I see the spectacle of a gi-normous, playfully immature Harlequin Great Dane right outside my window--I’ve been told they are eternal puppies. His big head is eye-level with mine as gives his mum-person a bit of a workout. She hitches him to the patio gate, shaking a mock-stern finger before his eyes, and mine, telling him, “Be good now, so I can go inside and order our breakfast.” Can you sense my happy surprise? It’s as if this exceedingly large dog has come to be tethered so near me at this precise moment so I will pay attention to my dream and to my own journal entry.

Creative Commons, Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 unported

Here’s what the animal medicine cards have to say about these critters: Bears represent the journey inward where our intuition and creativity reside. They can signify the need to turn inward while visioning about new projects. I’ve been doing a lot of visioning for my creative work lately. So, the message for me: While I’m consciously doing this work, I should also go within, using my usual meditation time to tap my subconscious, focusing specifically on my writing and other arts during some of my meditations. Bears can symbolize for all of us the importance of turning inward while envisioning how we may need to proceed...

Dogs represents loyalty and faithfulness, as well as compassion and empathy. The purpose of my life and my life’s work has been and continues to be a loving and compassionate interpretation of the Great Creator’s constant “For You!” My spiritual director, acts out the most wonderful “For you!” from a loving Generosity you can imagine. The gifts are all around us, and we’re so busy, often too busy or distracted to take them in. My stories and poems help others see, hear, and feel. At the moment, I’m working on a narrative about a family transitioning through a particularly knotty problem. The dogs in my dream, and perhaps at the coffee shop, are underscoring for me the importance of being loyal to the purpose of my work—to faithfully, with compassion and empathy, help the reader see these characters and their struggles, so the gifts and lessons of the story-journey can be communicated, and, hopefully, received. Dogs in our lives or dogs that cross our paths can remind us to be faithful to our purpose, and to see others, even the tough or wild characters in our lives, with empathy and compassion, and a good sense of humor.

After working on the story for a few very productive hours at the coffee shop, then running some quick errands, I arrive home to a clean house and a note from the housekeepers--we have a swat team because our steady person retired. She was WONDERFUL. We’ve been looking for a solid one since. The note reads, “...I'm sorry I broke this thing.” Sitting beside the note is a small deer antler, ten inches or so in length, from my collection of unusually beautiful treasures. The story of how I came to have this antler, and what the animal cards tell about the deer, is pretty interesting, if I do say. And those, my dear friends, are a story and message “For you!” for another day.

ENDINGS AS BEGINNINGS..and ALWAYS, LOVE

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Sun, 27 Mar 2011 15:04:00 +0000

I was going through some old magazines, collecting for my files of images, quotes and typefaces for serious collage playing. Here are a few new favorite quotes from a couple of months worth, telling of the value of seeing endings as beginning, and about a key quality of life, LOVE. I thought I would share them for your retreats and conversations, for your journaling and contemplations. I hope you will enjoy them with my love.

(The Artist is Tyler, the Photographer is Titrung.)

"Every exit is an entry somewhere else." ~Tom Stoppard

"The births of all things are weak and tender, and therefore we should have our eyes intent on beginnings." ~Montaigne

"Time is a created thing. To say 'I don't have time' is to say 'I don't want to.'" ~Lao Tzu

"There are a hundred paths through the world that are easier than loving. But, who wants easier?" ~Mary Oliver

"Withouth warning as a whirwind swoops on an oak Love shakes my heart." ~Sappho

(I have an all-time favorite from Sappho, I must remember to add here sometime. I've framed it and given it to the love of my life.)

"Of all fires love is the only inexhaustible one." ~Pablo Neruda

"The weight of love / Has buoyed me up / Till my head / Knocks against the sky." ~William Carlos Williams

"This is a deep, permanent human condition, this need to be loved and to love." ~Annie Proulx

"Dance with me...dance with me...all night long... / We are the music...we are the song." ~Nikki Giovanni

"I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world...." ~Frank O'Hara

In the Stark Light of An Azure Sky...All of Them Ours

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 16:15:00 +0000

A version of this poem was published a few years ago in Totem. It was written before we entered Iraq. Note the date. History is repeating itself...again these days. With sadness, here is my poem.

PETUNIAS

18 March 2003

D.M. Solis

Last night

the ultimatum.

We hold our beloveds

and wait.

Petunias in our courtyards
are fragile as the silence
nesting a child's prayers
these days.

Wind whooshes
hard ice
parting my hair
so my scalp stings

as petunias hunker down
in the stark light
of an azure sky that seems
too bright to be ironic.

Everywhere flower bursts
are pushed down
against the brittle ground
by a searing cold.

There will be horrors
and monarchs boasting,
dead sons and daughters
all of them ours

where even the petunias
will be drenched
in humanity's
shame.

DO YOU HAVE A FAVORITE PLACE...to Dream, to Create, to Recharge Your Battery?

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Thu, 24 Mar 2011 01:43:00 +0000

I'LL HAVE...THE WORKS

Readers of the blog know that my beloved and I have been traveling up and down this coast and others in search of the perfect place for us to live and create. Last week we returned to a familiar spot, a lovely retreat on the Monterey Peninsula where visitors can see black-tailed deer grazing among tall redwoods, rare shorebirds from the dunes, and experience rocky adventures above mystical coves while watching playful otters, seals and sometimes distant whales. One morning of our stay, I took a pass on the robust breakfasts prepared for guests at our retreat and made the short drive into old town Pacific Grove instead. I had read in my travel book about a very good combo coffee shop and bookstore, “The Works,” and wanted to check it out. Noted for evening poetry readings and concerts, morning seemed like a good time to explore the place before heading inland to do some research. And so it was.

While the fog from the sea drifted away from the Victorian town where Steinbeck and others once roamed, my toasted bagel at The Works was a tasty raisin and whole wheat with cream cheese for protein. The chai latte was one of the best I’ve had. On a tip from one of our friends, I’ve been taking mine all soy, no water. Kudos to the coffee shop, that’s the only way they do their soy chais. I tasted the rich, not heavy, flavor of the brewed tea all the way through.

The ambiance of the big open living room reminded me of my first home. The Works sits on a corner lot, with a manicured miniature garden blossoming outside. You can see it, and a good cross section of the town, from a row of windows that stretch all the way along two walls of the shop to meet at the far corner of the room. For a visitor, I felt easily at home at The Works while the morning sun cast long easy shadows over the quaint coastal village as soft sunlight streamed in gently from every window. With my breakfast half-eaten, I pulled out my journal and began writing. Johnny Cash, James Taylor, Bob Marley, and other musical wonderfuls accompanied my musings.

The wall and window trimmings were cheerful oranges and limes mostly, highlighted by an artful collection of Asian-themed paper lanterns suspended from beams across the open-ceiling. The furniture included plenty of wooden tables and chairs which were comfortably worn-in, as well as two cozy leather love seats resting like metaphors of bear-hugs right in the center of the room. Another patron sat on one of the couches reading the paper, and another at a table. I took a table at one end of the windows so I could see everything going on inside and out. Another writer soon took a table nearby.

There was a concert scheduled for that night. But to my way of thinking, the real show was what was happening in the shop that morning, through a steady stream of locals who stopped inside, and in the low-key but very kind way the barista attended to each one, including me, helping me feel like one of them.

One woman shared a coupon with the barista for the Pacific Grove foodies’ version of a Whole Foods Market in town—which she was so pleased to receive. An elder guy ducked in just to tell her a corny joke—the barista didn’t get it, then did, and was so sweet about it. Another woman forgot to have the customer loyalty coupon stamped the day before, and came by just to take care of that. The barista easily obliged; and the customer decided to get another coffee and sit a while before trudging on to work. Since I was having breakfast late and feeling light-headed after driving around a new town in a rental car, I was a bit foggy ordering my breakfast and then trying to get from the coffee shop to the adjoining bookstore, which wasn’t open yet—the hours were clearly marked but I had on my travel watch and hadn’t reset it from the last trip. The barista, who was most-probably accustomed to out-of-towners and folks who haven’t had their morning coffee, never made me feel as awkward as I might have in some other setting.

I returned on another day to check out the bookstore as well as the paintings and prints by local artists displayed and sold there. I had an afternoon snack at the coffee shop first. The barista was just as kind, and the chai just as perfect. The cheesecake was, well, it was wonderful. I should have gotten the barista’s name. You know, I always make a point of telling management about extra-outstanding workers. I missed an opportunity, twice. So before I strike out all together, I’ll make sure this piece gets to the owner. I’m sure they’ll know who this particular barista is. And I’ll tell you about the bookstore itself another time. That’s a sweet part of this story for savoring later….

Monterey is an area that nurtures and energizes us. The Works is a new favorite place there. I'd love to read about some of yours because I'm always exploring and hope you are too.

? As the weekend approaches, here's a question for your journal, to discuss with others, or to add to the comments here: Tell about a favorite place you go, it could be real or imaginary, to dream, to create, to recharge your battery, or just to rest for a while and Be.

Life is Always Teaching Us...Something

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Fri, 25 Feb 2011 15:43:00 +0000

Embracing the Qualities of Life I've been blogging about here, like love and compassion, creativity and learning, I wake very curious about the day, knowing that right where I am and around every corner, in each encounter there could be something to give, something to learn, someone to touch, someone inspiring me, and so many places to taste, feel and see. I can never get enough of this Life thing.

(When available, photo credits are given in file names.)

The processes on the journey aren't always fun, although they can be pretty funny, if I stay curious and try to keep a sense of humor, even when I'm the butt of some joke, even my own, whether I intend to be or not. Sometimes, often, things don't go as planned. I don't always get what I wish, what I pray for. But I always learn something, and I never know what that something is going to be. The opportunities for growing are limitless and surprising. Isn't that outstanding?

Here are a few examples of random life-lessons I started listing a few days ago, ones I had time to write down as I went along. Take a look, and consider yours. Pay attention, and take notes when you can--because Life is an amazingly Generous Creativity, always teaching us something.

1. I'm waking up, listening to Pema Chodron on independent radio. She's talking about the Buddha's smile... Yesterday, coincidentally, I was reading her book, When Things Fall Apart, one of many I bought in the aftermath of the greatest loss (I've written about it previously here at the blog and in many poems and essays). I want to take Chodron's radio advice, and smile like the Buddha, like Mona Lisa before speaking and reacting, even when things don't go as planned, even if they fall apart. In challenging times, when the opportunities to learn and grow arise, after the Tsunamis, we can practice in this way, regaining our focus. We can resist reacting in ways that bring more pain. Being "courageous warriors of Love," we model for others how to be warriors too.

2. Walking along, a girl who's been consistently if unintentionally harsh and unkind, even "a mean girl" at times, has written in all caps on her locker, "ANITA (name changed) IS AWESOME." I find that much of the world's cruelty seems to stem from issues of very low self-esteem, and from the fear and anger that go hand in hand. So here is another opportunity for me to focus on compassion, modeling it for Anita and others, giving feedback in my role as mentor and facilitator, being honest, direct, and kind, from the tender places where I, too, have suffered.

3. I have much work and a lot of correspondence to catch up on. I might be a bit overwhelmed. Out of the blue it occurs to me again, that when I approach each task and every letter as a bridge, a very special opportunity to connect with this heart and that one, linking all of us with Love, the mountain is not so daunting.

Those are just a few. I'm sure many life-lessons have been unfolding for you too. More later, Dear Warriors, with great Love,

Diane

My Wish for You...

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Fri, 18 Feb 2011 22:07:00 +0000

Rumi's verses below bring to mind the way deep love and deep loss can open us up, rendering us vulnerable as children, open as a newborn taking in the world, her beauty, her stillness and Sacredness. Some believe all children are born mystics--we just forget how to hear and see along the way. If such openness to the Sacredness all around and within us are forgotten from our childhoods, perhaps a gift or Grace of deep loss is that while we may heal, the gift of transformation remains. In contemplation we return, never again forgetting what it's like to re-experience and live in the world in this way.

So, finding this lyric poem from Rumi's "Ghazels," I wish to share it with anyone who has a few moments to "open up your heart" and take love inside you (again)...

Water and Wine

by

Mevlana Jalaluddin Rumi

With Your sweet Soul, this soul of mine
has merged as water does with wine.
Who can part the water from the wine,
or me from You when we combine?

You have become my greater self;
how can smallness limit me?
You've taken on my being,
how shall I not take on Yours?

Forever, You have claimed me
that forever I may know You're mine.
Your love has pierced me to the depths,
its ecstasy entwines both bone and nerve.

I rest as a reed flute laid upon Your lips;
as an ancestor of the flute I lie against your breast.
Breathe deeply in me that I may sigh;
Strike upon my strings and tears glisten.

Sweet are my tears and sweet my sighs;
worldly joys I return to the world.
You remain in my inmost Soul
whose depths the mirrored heavens reflect.

O pearl in this mussel shell:
O diamond in my darkest mine!
In You, this honey is dissolved,
O milk of life, so mild, so fine!

Our sweetnesses, all merged in You,
sweeten infant smiles.
You crush me into rose oil, drop by drop;
nor do I complain beneath the press.

In Your sweet pain, pain dissolves,
for I, Your rose, had this intent.
You bade me blossom on Your robe,
and made me for all eyes Your sign.

And when You pour me upon this world,
it blooms in Beauty, fully Divine.

~Trans. Helminski with Hastie

The images in this post are in the public domain, but the authors are credited; click on them to view the authors names within the file names.

From the Junk Drawers of Our Memory...

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Sun, 06 Feb 2011 22:46:00 +0000

In her book, Leaving Resurrection, Eva Saulitis writes about her work in the waters of Alaska, searching for and studying killer whales. We were lucky enough, on a trip kayaking in the glacial flow off Ailik Bay, to encounter these mystical visitors from the deep, a serene pod of four killer whales. I tell you from experience, they can be very elusive. One minute they’re here, then they dive and sound, coming up way, way over there. The next minute they are gone, not even a whistle or click on our hydrophone lowered into the water.

Saulitis writes similarly about memory and thought. She describes thoughts and images like photographs that resurface or haunt us as if from the junk drawers of our memory.

Many of us go about the events, tasks, errands, work, and diversions of our day without really noticing the random thoughts that dot our screens, like static on a monitor in a seemingly random pattern throughout our day. We get these images, snippets of memories, snapshots of places we’ve been, the faces of people we’ve loved, or quiet images, the park bench here, the tablecloth there, the window then. Sometimes we try to recapture them to contemplate alone or share with someone later. But, like the orcas in Alaska, the visiting memories have gone to the deeper recesses of our minds and we have to wait until they resurface some other day, if they come again at all.

Some memories are touchstones that remind us where we come from, how much and how deeply we’ve loved, what used to be important or still is. Some make no sense at all and don’t seem to mean a thing. “What made me remember that?” we may wonder, curious about what triggered that funny, passionate, or completely “charge-less” memory. What if we stop to notice and attend to them? Do you think, if we connect the dots, there might be a picture, a theme, an added purpose, dimension, or path of discovery flowing through our day-to-day lives? Could these be gifts from our subconscious for waking us up or calming us down?

Every few years or so we clean out that junk drawer in the hallway. I could be wrong, but it seems to me it would be beneficial from time to time to explore the things that have poked out from the drawer. Sometimes it’s fun to open it up and enjoy the quirky odds and ends we’ve collected there, first kisses, times we laughed so much we cried, the parade of characters in our lives. Some feelings need to be honored, given a place more special than a junk drawer we hardly notice, often forgetting it’s there.

Journaling is a great tool for this. Another technique involves a few supplies for creating collages, whether from family photos or pictures taken from magazines. This is a useful way to visually capture the thoughts that stem from our experiences. Talking about the collages with someone else is an added way to honor them. And posting the collage somewhere in our home, whether a quiet corner or right out in the living room, takes these thoughts from the junk drawer to a place of greater awareness or importance in our lives.

Some pictures just need to be filed away, to address later. And some need to be tossed altogether. One exercise Saulitis did with a couple of her traveling companions, was to write on scraps of paper the things they wished to leave behind. They even had a ceremony where they burned the scraps in preparation for a new phase of their journey. Over the years I’ve facilitated a number of similar ceremonies, reflections, or prayer services for my students, from formal “healing of memories” to college-rejection-notice-burning-parties, to retreats culminating in turning the page (and closing the book) on painful relationships, and other symbolic gestures to represent letting go of old fears or regrets that are preventing our growth in some way, keeping us from moving on.

Music can connect us to special times in our lives. Music can also bring hurtful memories to the fore. A popular retreat activity has been a CD swapping party where participants share in small groups a song or two from a CD that brings memories they’re ready to let go of, then the small groups gather in a large one, and everyone trades from several CDs they’ve brought along. On a broader scale whole groups or even schools can participate and use this as a fund raiser, contributing and selling CDs for a dollar or two. Finally, individuals can always just box up their own CDs and donate them so they’ll have a recycled use where someone else can enjoy them.

But don’t forget to go and get yourself some new tunes, whether energizing, mystical, enjoyable, or relaxing…sounds for the next part of your voyage and your next encounter with new or ancient visitors from the deep.

(Except where noted the images in this post are in the public domain. The orca images are government photos--I couldn't find an author. If you click on the others, I used the names of the photographers in saving the files, so you should see them. If any questions, let me know.)

"Like Sands Through the Hourglass..."

noreply@blogger.com (D.M. SOLIS) — Wed, 02 Feb 2011 16:32:00 +0000

One of my favorites, by Rene Magritte. What's one of yours?

Time is flying. With a new year well underway, and a year of birthdays begun, it’s good to pause and consider how the timbres and tones that color our memories are affected by the people in our lives at the time. It could be that I have just experienced one of, if not the happiest and most memorable birthday in my life so far. That’s saying a lot, because there have been some “doozies,” as my college roomie, Maria, used to say.

Some of the sweeter celebrations still bring happy tears to my eyes because of things that have happened since then to the people I’ve loved. Going back to childhood, there were so many birthday parties of school chums and neighborhood friends, my siblings and parents, other relatives, and mine. It seemed we were always participants at one celebration or another.

I haven’t provided journaling prompts here in a while. For anyone who wants to give it a try, here you go. Choose one, two, or all five. Write for five minutes, then write for five more, and maybe five more…. (No need to comment here, but feel free if you discover something about this process that might be helpful to others. Thank you.)

1. Tell about your most precious birthday so far. Use all five of your senses.

2. Write about a birthday where you wish you could have a “do over.” How might you do it differently today or next time?

3. Recall three birthday parties you attended in your school days or just last year. Tell about each one. What was similar? What was different? Be descriptive.

4. Tell about a family, neighborhood, school, or work character and how they stood out at one celebration. See if you can build to a climax or crescendo. Go ahead and exaggerate. Use all the hyperbole you want.

5. Plan your dream birthday. Walk on the wild side and land on the moon if you like. Or take a quiet walk in the mountains and sit down with Jesus, the Buddha, or someone you miss. What do you want to tell them? What do they have to tell you? Listen….