John O'Donohue's Words of Blessing

Digital image Whidbey Island Rainbow by Ann Johnson

......
May a flock of colours
indigo, red, green
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight

May the nourishment of the earth be yours
may the clarity of the light be yours
may the fluency of the ocean be yours
may the protection of the ancestors be yours

And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you
an invisibe cloak
to mind your life

~~~John O'Donohue
from "Beannact" (Blessing)

Between Tides

I've lived on islands much of my life, my first eighteen years on Oahu, my latest twenty two on Whidbey Island, and, more than anything else, to me it means a subtle, ever-present awareness of two worlds so different that they often seem in opposition.

The core experience, for me, is that of walking on the beach, walking a fine line between the fluidity, the expanse of the sea hidden by the mirror of the surface and the seemingly solid land. The beach itself is littered with physical remains of what has lived and is now gone, shells, bones, seaweed fronds, feathers. It has a starkness, a blunt challenge to life in either world.

At one time, after an intensive marine biology course, I could name just about any species of animal or plant you might find there, and those who can endure the drought and heat or chill of air alternating with the flood of salt water are relatively few, compared to the richness of both land and sea. They're tough, often relying on solid shell houses to guard themselves. Or they move easily up and down through the sand, hiding their soft bodies from the air.

The sea itself is mystery, a blue or gray green expanse broken by a fin, or the head of a seal, watching with huge dark eyes. Strange shapes come out of it, pulled up on the end of a fishing line, or tangled in a net. There's part of me that wants to dive into it, to live there, at least for a while.

I remember some scuba diving lessons that ended with a descent to 100 feet in the clear Hawaiian water, the bright colors and intricate shapes surrounding me. And I remember diving in other, darker waters, the sensation of sinking down, away from the brilliance of the surface into a place without boundaries of any kind, where it seemed that anything could come out of the dim distance.

I wouldn't want to be without that world, in its literal form as sea, and in its mythic and spiritual form as a surrounding reality that is much larger that this physical life. And I like living here, in smallness and ordinariness.

But most of all, I like walking within the tide zone, where sea washes over sands that shift to erase every footprint, giving a sort of anonymity to the journey. This feels like home.

Solstice

Digital Images by Ann Johnson

A gift from one of my Waldorf students lights the way this Solstice. The hearts of children eternally shift us into hope-filled living. We are filled with gratitude for all that surrounds us. Light returns to turn the Wheel.

Solstice Blessings

Laugh with the Gifts

Frozen earth this morning
Foggy blanket covers our valley
Deep maroon dock seeds remind me of inner bounty.
Amber leaves lead me to the goat barn
Chickweed laughs with the cold and wet, so happy, so content.
I will take her lead
I will be thankful for this day
And laugh with the gifts I am receiving

A shamanic exercise to connect with the gifts this day offers:

• Walk outside near where you live


• Find a plant that is thriving in your surroundings


• Sit or stand near this plant


• Notice your breath and breathe a few natural breaths in and out


• Now shift your perseption and take 7 more breaths, breathing in the breath of this plant and breathing out, offering your breath to the plant.


• Notice how this plant is growing, everything about it. How it comes up out of the earth, what colors are present and imagine its root below the ground.


• Now for just a few minutes, imagine you are this plant, thriving here in the energy of the earth right now.


• What is your breath like? What do you feel? What thoughts come to mind? What sensations? as you embody this plant...


• When this is complete, give thanks for the plant and this day.

~Julie Charette Nunn

Mara of the Apple Tree Garden

Mara promised to post soon. Her harp photo is courtesy of an amazing photographer, Mary Jakubiak, resident caretaker of Whidbey Institute's Chinook Center. The image of russet grape leaves at the gate is by Ann Johnson.

Whidbey maple leaves--Kate Poss

This simple collage reflects the light we so need as we approach our darkest days. With gray skies and drizzle plentiful now in this autumn season, it lifts our spirits to walk through the woods and see the bright reds, yellows, purples and golds among the dark evergreen.

Collage by Kate Poss. Digital image by Ann Johnson.

Prose from the Cosmos - Shirley Jantz

November 4, 2008


Clear, starry night
follows Moonlight through the fog
radiantly revealing what's to come


Obama reaches out with humility
lifting America,
with those that dream a new destiny


May we answer the call
and once again be proud
of what this country stands for


Facing challenges creatively,
seeking peace and innovation in these times ~
So this Earth and the hopes
of our children have a chance


Coming together
across red and blue,
Black and White,
It is Time


~ Shirley

Our Local Home, Our Planetary Home

Digital image by Ann Johnson

Just returned from a gathering with David Spangler who spoke about the spirit of home and Obama's election. Penelope Bourk (http://www.penelopestuartbourk.com/) surrounded Thomas Berry Hall with her wood-and-weaving sculpture series about the Odyssey and Homecoming. Her reflections deepened the experience of each piece by extending a prompt for reflection to the viewer.

David challenged us to think of making pilgrimage around our home with intention of attending to all details that nurtured us there. Looking with new eyes and heart in a mythic way, I began to write of my homecoming tonight to a small place extended to me that has become a very temporary home. I had to leave the cottage that was my home, studio, and nurturing work space for others.

David spoke of the longing for belonging, for being at home right where we are. How do we ground ourselves and dig in to the place right here? He also spoke of being open hearted and extending hospitality......even in relationship to those with whom we disagree, with those who voted for the other side, with those who experience the world differently. We are commissioned to be loving and inclusive. To be continued.....

History in the making for Islanders and All

Digital image by Ann Johnson

Samhain, Dia de los Muertos, All Saints/All Souls

Digital images by Ann Johnson

We enter the season of fruitful darkness. It is time to rekindle the light inside and to recognize it in ourselves and honor it in Others.

Dendrite Food: Art-Making, Nature, & Children

Ask Esther James, a Whidbey Island resident, about her work and she will tell you she is a virtuoso potter. Trained as an art therapist, she prefers the title "art doula." Doula provides a clearer definition of the process of birthing-through-art one's experiences and knowing. "Art making and relationship to Nature is dendrite food, stimulating brain growth," Esther says. Her organizing questions are about how Nature teaches, how we can insure that children have access to nature and art, and why this access is a requirement for humanity. http://www.gfone.biz/gfone1/gft/GFT6Y.html

Art therapists in America usually attribute their lineage to Margaret Nauman or Edith Kramer, but Esther told me the story of Edith Kramer's teacher, Freidl Dicker-Brandeis. Freidl was part of the Bauhaus school, and studied with artists like Klee and Kadinsky. During the war, Freidl was taken from the ghetto and then moved to the concentration camps. Being an artist, she brought along a suitcase of art supplies. She was permitted to work with the children of the camps to restore hope. Just before she and the children were whisked away to the gas chambers of Auschwitz, she gathered all the children's art work and hid the two suitcases of 5000 drawings to be found later.

Esther James is now in the midst of writing two books and working on her legacy project. As she approaches her 82nd birthday, she is working on "The Flowering of Death."

Intention

Digital images by Ann Johnson

I figure that I am one of the maybe . . . what? . . . 5%? 10% of the world's population that lives on an island. And in the United States, one of the 1%, maybe? I take a certain pride in this fact (though I may be stretching the numbers a bit.)

What is it like to live on an island? To be an "Island Woman"? I think one thing that has come about from my quarter century on this island is that I can feel the boundaries of my world in my body. I can feel where the water meets the land. I can sense north, south, east, west with my eyes closed. As I've gotten older, I notice the light more and how it moves across the days, months, and seasons.

My felt sense of being on the island is one of being contained. Sometimes this feels safe, nurturing, nestling - like I just want to hunker down, dig in, pull the blankets up, and sit tight. Other times it is claustrophobic and I feel like I can't move big enough, can't move far enough, can't move fast enough because the island wouldn't be able to hold all of it.

I think, too, that it depends on which island one lives. Whidbey Island, in the Puget Sound, in the Pacific Northwest. This has been my home for more than half my life. I know it intimately, its beaches, its forests, its lakes, its few mountaintops, and its bogs and valleys. I am visited by Deer (three does and two bucks just yesterday), Crow, Rabbit, Raccoon, Heron, Eagle, and if I'm lucky, Coyote. I can look out my kitchen window and see Possession Point, and beyond that the mainland town of Mukilteo with its traffic lights changing from red to green to yellow and back to red and yet beyond that I can see the Cascade mountain range. The world extends and is held - a Grace given.

Michaelmas, St. Francis and Nurse Logs

Digital images by Ann Johnson.

At a forest retreat in October, we move our bodies in a line over moss-covered paths, in silence. Not minding rain. The sloping path to the Wetlands Trail allows for alignment with our seasonal descent following Autumn Equinox and Michaelmas.

We bring balance

and courage

and light.

The Feast of St. Francis opens the door to this week. Our lives are that "instrument of peace."

Make me and instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

Where there is injury, pardon;

Where there is doubt, faith;

Where there is despair, hope;

Where there is darkness, light;

and where there is sadness, joy.

I note the many forms of moss and lichen, the mushrooms, the Nurse Logs. Renewal is evident as new plants emerge from the decaying logs. The air is cool. At the bottom of the trail, the land levels out at the swamp. My body relaxes into the lowland, weight supported by the cushioning ground in all its richness. Out of this deep dark comes new life.

In another season I walk this same trail.

A glow catches my eye

and I turn toward the light.

In the dark marsh, I hear trickles of water.

On the surface of a small puddle

light is reflected from a break in the overshadowing cedars.

Here in the darkness

is the blue sky looking up

clouds traveling across the watery surface of blue

- a bright shimmer raises out of the ground.

Bioluminescence of deep places.

The season of rains has come. It reconstitutes my life and work. I want the deepest parts of myself to flow to the outer edges of my life - to nourish that place where I touch the world.

Today sounds like spring.

Clouds have parted and the song sparrows

insist

on a celebration!

I'm grateful for the invitation.

Mary McLeod: Beautiful Writing of an Island Scribe

Calligraphy Wall Collage by Mary McLeod. Digital image by Ann Johnson.

I have been a calligrapher for over thirty years, having been hooked during a materials of art class in college. My first teacher, in 1976, was master calligrapher Lloyd Reynolds, and I have continued my studies with many inspiring teachers since that time.

My husband Doug and I have lived in Langley for thirty one years. I grew up on or near the east shores of Lake Washington, with mountain views, so the move to Whidbey in 1977 was a perfect place to live and raise our family. With children grown, I enjoy more time to pursue my art. I teach part time as an art teacher at South Whidbey Intermediate School. This teaching position has given me the desire to integrate my calligraphy with other medium. It also affords me the opportunity to work in my studio when I am not teaching.

I love my studio. It almost feels like a treehouse. Lush bushes fill the windows on one wall of my studio, and the window over my work table looks towards the water and Mt. Baker. I feel truly blessed to be able to work in this lovely spot. I can go up there some evenings for what I first believe will be an hour or less, and before long four hours has gone by. Pictured on this blog is the far wall of my studio. Written on this wall are inspiring words by Julia Cameron (The Artist Way)which affirm me each day as I work in my studio.

Michaelmas 2008

Digital image (Michaelmas Daisies) by Ann Johnson

"We can shepherd the consciousness without seeing the sheep." ~David Spangler 9/29/08

Island Journey - Shirley Jantz, Whidbey Island

Collage by Shirley Jantz. Digital image by Ann Johnson.

Island Journey

The energy that brought me to this Island

was playful Dolphin energy, that said,

"Go where the Mountains meet the Sea"

Reiki, T'ai Chi, Nature's Ways

put me on this path, following guidance of the Redwoods

A Lightworker for this Earth, this Island called for three years, or more...

to "Leap" from tradition, trusting in the Universe

Heron greeted me, Hummingbird delighted me

Whales came in dreams, beckoning me to Langley's Shores

Taking this 'life purpose' all too seriously, they showed a softness,

a letting go of carrying the weight of the world

Doing less, more is accomplished;

Life purpose still centering choices

Poetry and painting, singing, teaching and being,

this Island life allows balance and richness, community and quiet

that this Soul yearns for

~ Shirley

9-10-08

(***Note: Apologies to Shirley. The Blogger program reformatted her poem's alignment. ~AJ)

Island Women's Presence and Teachings

Digital images (Rose; Rose Hips) by Ann Johnson.

There are wonderful teachers on the various islands with lives in commitment to the green world and the gifts of elders. Until their voices arrive on this page, consider checking out the wisdom offered by Julie Charette Nunn at www.crowsdaughter.com/, Penny Bauer at www.bauerstudio.com/ and Mara Grey at www.natureweaving.com/. Traveling from Scotland to our island, Fionntulach, an anam cara and carrier of the Ceile De tradition, holds retreats during the year to bring spiritual teachings of the Ceile De order-www.ceilede.co.uk/ . Mhairi Killin's silver work on Iona is found at www.asodanaiona.com/ . For a pilgrimage to Iona, spend the time with Vivienne Hull, http://www.ionaretreats.com/.

Wild Ethics

Digital image (Druid's Cape) by Ann Johnson.
Quite awhile ago I read David Abram's The Spell of the Sensuous, and find myself returning to it occasionally. His website is a wonderful reference for me for considering sense of place, preserving oral tradition, change and transformation...... You may wish to check out http://www.wildethics.org/.

Where the SoulVoice Sings

Digital images (Fungus Cascade; Entrance; Double Bluff) by Ann Johnson.

Water, Land, Spirit, Creativity

Hi Ann,
You ask about living in a place surrounded by water and how that affects me. I find that my emotions are as the tides are, ebbing and flowing with my own mid-life tides. I find that I love being on the water, kayaking, swimming (especially in Maui, but also in Goss Lake) and being on the edge of water--standing at the shore. I just discovered that I thrive when I'm living on the water, as I did for three weeks as a cook aboard the Snowgoose Alaska in late July/early August. There is simply nothing like it and like a mermaid, I am passionate to return to life on a boat.

Regarding connection to the land here on Whidbey--we (being my husband Bill and I, along with our teenagers, when they join us) enjoy the land most when we can walk along the beach or on trails through the woods. The land at the Whidbey Institute and at the Whidbey Island Waldorf School, for instance, create a sense of peace, of nothing else existing but the place we are in. We feel noursihed by the green mosses during the gray months of winter. We are tickled to find leathery shelf mushrooms growing on trees like elf shelves. We find this great peace, too, at Ebey's Bluff, at DoubleBluff Beach, Maxwelton Beach, the Langley Waterfront, our local beaches along Saratoga Passage (especially in the full moonlight during clear February nights!) and in the Saratoga Woods. We simply cannot go long without connecting somehow to the wild land around us. Bike-riding is another way to enjoy the land here and feel the cooling breezes on your face as you fly downhill after hardwork uphill. I like to smell the sharp scent of cedars when the sun hits their bark.

Has this sense of the land changed over the years? Certainly! When we first moved here eight years ago we longed for the sere, open space of Southern California and the Eastern Sierra; it took us probably six years before we could actually come to love the closeness of forests and the way the treeline looks against the sky. It wasn't until this summer that we could truly love the high country in the North Cascades. We still miss rivers here on Whidbey and drive to the mainland to get their energy when we need the river spirits.

I have been attuned to the natural world since I was a little girl. I always felt right when I was in nature. Now I need it to keep me sane and in tune with my own thoughts. If I'm away from nature for too long, I become scattered. Living here on Whidbey with forests and water all around help maintain that balance. Thinking about that now, I notice the breezes blowing in through our deck door and long to be outside!

Isolation vs. community? At 53, I need a little of both; we get community by going into Langley and hanging around Island Coffee, shopping at the Star Store, visiting the Post Office and the Library. There is community 'round the table at the salons we host. Isolation--I like the quiet times when I can ruminate on my own thoughts, look a the way light shines on a tree or watch the crows eat apples in our backyard. We head into Seattle if we want a bigger community--say a concert.

Social justice and sustainable practices? I read about them and think about them and like people and music who/which promote them. I want to visit the guy who converts cars to run on vegetable oil. I will compost. I'm riding my bike more. I'm not loud about it--I believe that folks have to find their own ways at the right time--sometimes I find that though it's the RIGHT thing to do, I find it refreshing to talk to folks who are politically incorrect. They can, at times, seem happier not going around serious all the time. I'm a big fan of the god, Bacchus, I confess!

A distinction between creative and spiritual? Hmm. Mainly my creative work is cooking and it's a spiritual feeling, too. I feel spiritual in nature and am inspired to create funny cartoonish postcards of what I'm seeing, such as fir trees reflected in the teapot on our Coleman Stove.

With regards to 'connections to other than human life,' I most certainly feel connected to the trees, the land, the plants, the bugs, the birds, the mammals, our pets. I don't even question that connection--it's what grounds me. Humans, depending on my state of mind, are puzzling and interesting to figure out. I am endlessly connected to their stories.

I feel the best when I know I can earn money creatively. That really gets my juices going! Thinking about finding new sources of income is a drain on me spiritually and creatively.

I'll make you up one of my postcards and get it to you before Nov. 1st. Thanks, Ann, for this rambling moment.

Love,
Kate

Voices from the Islands: Whidbey, Bainbridge, Iona, Lopez and Orcas

Digital image by Ann Johnson.

You are invited to share with other island dwellers. In this collaborative process, you will also be assisting me in my semester's work. I am working on a Masters of Fine Arts in Interdisciplinary Arts through Goddard College's west coast cohort.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

We share a sense of living in a place surrounded by water. How does that force work in your life? How connected do you feel to the land and in what ways? Has this changed over the years? Do you attune to the natural world more or less than before? You may want to consider isolation vs. community and how that is for you on your island. What are your concerns right now about social justice and sustainable practices? In what ways do you make a stand? Loudly? Quietly, behind the scenes? Do you make a distinction betwee creative practices and spiritual practice?Most of all, I wonder how creative processes, connection to other-than-human life, and spirituality work in the daily lives of Island Women of all generations.

Let's begin from a non-verbal place for the Island Invitational. The other phase of the project is "making." Please make something small - 2" x 2" up to 12" x 12" - using color, collage, assemblage/found objects, clay, sculpture, digital image, woven natural materials, painting, drawing, poetry, writing........you get the idea. Something that expresses you in a way that words cannot. I would love to have objects for an installation piece. If I can exchange mail information, maybe that could happen. Otherwise we can create a virtual gallery. Please post the results here with your thoughts by November 1.

Several people are concerned about posting directly online as a contributor. I will contact people with the option to bring, email or mail the Island project to me.

I will be adding names in continuously, so that we can have many islanders take part.

Thank you for being part of the process!!! More later.....

~~~ Ann