Searching for Buffalo

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“Searching for Buffalo” / oil on canvas / Patricia Saxton

Several years ago I’d lost my way, so I ran away from one life, back to myself. Ten days turned into three weeks; three weeks turned into six months. It was probably the best gift I’d ever given myself ~ in essence, permission to do what I love; permission to follow my spirit.

It was a time before I became a mother, before I owned a home, before all the responsibility that comes with those kinds of major territories. I had my business, which I packed up (files, computers, printers) and took with me, along with my two cats, a heart that was tangled up in a very wrong place, and a strong desire to feel good, to spread my wings, to reach higher. It was the right time.

After my initial excitement, I will tell you this: panic set in. Friends had helped me drive across the country to the most magical part of the southwest, where I’d rented an incredible home owned by two artists situated on the edge of a national forest, and after I got settled in, and they left, there I was ~ face to face with nothing but myself, my dreams and the sound of coyote calls in the night. I was there to do something I’d often imagined ~ doing what I loved in a beautiful setting, unhampered by schedules, with no distractions, no blockades, no big worries, and with sudden, deep dread, I thought, “What if I fail?” “What if all this creative passion I’ve felt inside is just a cosmic lark? What if I freeze up, if inspiration doesn’t actually flow? What if I’m just kidding myself?” And the answer was, “Well, you’re about to find out.”

So I went to work doing what I set out to do. Following my instincts. Moving as the spirit moved. Every day I hiked, I swam, I painted, wrote and played the piano. I was a river overflowing. I could hardly keep up with all that ran through my veins, onto the canvas, the paper, the keys.

I made friends who introduced me to healing practices beyond measure, other friends who showed me the back roads. I became intimately engaged with the soft, red, craggy earth and rocks that loomed high above and all around. I ran with the open sky, I searched for buffalo, and I discovered a warrior inside.

There has never been any turning back from this experience. Bumps in the road, absolutely. Hard times, sure. All the stuff of life. But I can go back to this place in my mind at will. I can feel the warm rock beneath my back, the big sky above. I can recall the warrior. I can pull up the magic. And most importantly of all, I can know what’s possible if we give it permission.

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Dear Mr. Crowe ~

Pardon my departure from art, poetry and all things positive, but this does relate to creativity, so I’m still within my realm. By writing this, I hope to save people from wasting their money needlessly. I know I’m not alone in voicing my opinion ~ but another voice can’t hurt. So…. without further ado:

noah

 …………………..

Dear Mr. Crowe,

Please tell me why on planet Earth you would devote your unquestionable talent to a film like “Noah”. And, by the way, I would most definitely ask the same of Sir Hopkins. You are two highly regarded, earned-your-stripes actors with big box-office draw – no need here to prove your worth. And I’d find it hard to believe you were in need of cash. So… why? Why did you make this film?

Did you really (really?) find the script dramatically compelling? The schizophrenic style (am I an Epic or am I a Sci-Fi flick?) somehow riveting? Were you energized by the idea of co-starring with glowing-eyed stone creatures? Was there something stimulating about creating potential controversy? (That said, I think the controversy here is far less “religious” than it is about a story gone wrong; so maybe that wasn’t your goal.)

And why do I feel like I was somehow conned? Considering the fact that for most folks these days a night out at the movies is nearly equivalent to the cost of a small vacation (yes, I exaggerate, but theatre prices are exaggerated, so there you go), one would hope it would be worthwhile. I just can’t fathom your intent. The movie was weird. Period.

So maybe I should have done my homework. My movie buddy said, “Well what do you expect from the guy who directed Black Swan. It was bound to be disturbing”. But I saw “Noah”, “Russell Crowe”, “Anthony Hopkins” and a few snaps of previews that looked like good, meaty biblical-era-type-epic-stuff, and thought, ‘yes! I want to see this!’ Who directed the thing didn’t cross my mind. (Big mistake, Ms. Saxton) If this has taught me one thing, it’s to be better informed next time I drop a little green on movie tickets and popcorn.

But the question remains: Why, Russell?

Sorely disappointed,
Patricia  ~ and I’m guessing a whole lot of other people, too

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A Plethora of P’s / #69: Palette

proactively punctuating life with the plausible, powerful possibilities of positive thought presented through a plethora of “P’s”.

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Palette is defined as a range of colors, especially those typically used by an artist. But we all have what I think of as a personal palette. Our palette can reflect how we feel ~ or project how we wish to be perceived. What we wear, the colors in our home, foods arranged on a plate.

And surely our personalities have color too ~ the sunny, the brooding, the comic, the serious ~ the whole wide range. And within that, are the shades of our moods. And around all that, there are the colors in our aura. (Imagine, what a kaleidoscope of brilliance we all must make together!)

And beyond all that ~ beyond what they may represent, beyond their gift of making the world more, well, colorful ~ colors, in my opinion, in all their tones and hues and flavors, are essentially magical. They can calm and soothe, they can excite and energize. They can heal, and they can disrupt. They’re emotional. They tell stories. They’re loud or soft, subtle and sensitive, harsh, tender, generous; they’re unyielding, protective, submissive, lighthearted, stormy, hot, warm, cool. They are infinite and inexhaustibly interchangeable. There are worlds within worlds of just the color red alone. The whole spectrum of expression is unfathomable.

So, with all that possibility, you can mix your palette to your heart’s content ~ a dash here, a broad stroke there, a sprinkling of this, a spot of that. (Note: mixing with love and a generous pinch of harmony produces the best results.) However you please, there’s magic for the making, if not only a lift for the spirit.

(see our ongoing Plethora of P’s here)

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Seizing the Moment to Do Nothing

Last weekend I spent an entire day reading a book. (I’m a pretty avid reader, but even by my standards, this was a lot.) Not because I didn’t have anything else to do. Life’s administrative duties were still there, lurking, prodding, waiting in various degrees of perpetual disarray, clamoring to be sorted, cleaned, tended ~ things I’m normally all too willing to oblige with great habit of responsibility and an ever-present urge to be productive. This doesn’t even count the paintings wanting to be painted, the stories to write, music to make, dreams to chase. Toss some work in there, too.

For a good 12 hours, I abandoned all of it, hermitting myself inside the pages of a book.  “Just because.” Phone off, computer off. Very unsociable, actually.

And life went on. It was lovely.

I’m not suggesting that reading resembles a waste of one’s time (au contraire!), but it does involve letting go of more “pressing things”. That said, I’m always a bit envious of people who seem capable of being unproductive with great and natural ease. But it’s never too late, and I’m still learning. Balancing the have-tos and want-tos and need-tos and can-waits. Knowing when to be and when to do, and trusting that it all has a place in this beautiful, chaotic, imperfect dance of life.

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……………………….

Beauty and chaos
Light and shadow
Sun and moon,
The dance of life.

Balancing
on shifting sands
on best intentions
Drinking from the well
of change ~
Ebbing, flowing,
Breathing, being,
Marvelously
Magnificently
Irresistibly
flawed.

~ P. Saxton

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Friday Night Book Club: Confessions of a Book Lover

She had me hooked by the third paragraph. As it should be.

Page 1, The Signature of All Things / Elizabeth Gilbert

Page 1, The Signature of All Things / Elizabeth Gilbert

A friend of mine taught me the art of judging a book by its very first line. Of course, while that is very telling, we generally give it a little more time ~ at least a full page! Sometimes a lot more than that. But the truth is, I’ve become more discriminating over time. If I’m not adoring a book, I’m less apt to finish it than in years past, when I felt mysteriously honor-bound by some kind of self-imposed commitment to follow through. But no more. Fortunately, there’s no shortage of good books, so all this haughty discernment works in my favor.

And really, there’s nothing that compares to a settling in to a comfy chair (or the floor, which is often where I plop) with a cup of tea and an excellent book. Oh the places you go, the people you meet, the things you feel. The joy! For better or worse, I confess to often preferring a good book to live company. Depends on the company, naturally, and the timing. Sometimes the book outranks all.

But I have another confession. After years of tv drought (I’m really and truly not a tv person. I really and truly don’t know what’s current and cool to watch, and I have so much else to do! Who has time! But …), I discovered Netflix and Downton Abbey. Watched all 4 seasons in about a month. Then I discovered Breaking Bad. (WOW!) Again I watched all 5 years (or however long it was) in about a month’s time. Yes ~ I binged. I loved every minute. And instead of picking up a book, I watched. There, I’ve fessed up.

But here’s the flip side – there just aren’t nearly enough great shows as there are fabulous books, so reading is still king on my hit parade.

(Alright, so maybe this wasn’t such a dramatic confession, as the title lead you to believe. But it was a good title, wasn’t it! Go on, give me that. :  ) )

It did get me thinking, though, about what makes any of it worthwhile, whether words on a page or moving pictures on a screen. What draws me in to some and not to others? (keeping in mind that I’m highly fussy) It’s the same for each medium and it’s very simply, purely and only about great storytelling. That means brilliant writing. Personable, intriguing characters. Interesting plots, invisibly rich details/filming. You’re immersed. You’re engaged. You care.

You have to care. Or it’s not worthwhile.

And thankfully there’s a wealth of it out there, because it’d be a terrible thing to be bookless.

………….

For any book lovers out there, we gather on the first Friday of each month, if you want to read along virtually. So far we’ve read the outstanding And the Mountains Echoed (Khaled Hosseini), the fascinating The Reluctant Fundamentalist (Mohsin Hamid), the not-as-compelling The End of Your Life Book Club (Will Schwalbe) ~ and now it’s Elizabeth Gilbert’s The Signature of All Things… which as you probably figured out, had me hooked by the third paragraph.

I also have a list of books on my reading room page of this blog ~ as well as a GoodReads author page (also with a list) if anyone wants to connect over there.

Peace, love, happy reading.

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Wonder, Awe, Magic and Mystery

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It’s really something, how we’re all a part of this magnificent tapestry called life… Now and then I’m just in awe of the magic and mystery, life’s worlds within worlds, the great, the small, the simple, the intricate; all the colors, the tempos, all the shapes and designs, all the laughter and tears, the hunger and thirst, imagination and rhyme, fire and ice; from the highest cloud to the deepest sandy floor, the majestic falcon to the tiniest, bland moth, all the faces young and old, all the hearts that beat … all of it a wonder; a gift best woven, wrapped and tended with love, from right here, where each of us stand this very moment.

If not for love, I sometimes think, none of this might even exist. Inexplicable, maybe so, but in the grand scheme of things (and even the not so grand), if not for love, with love, what for?

 

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The Passionate, Controversial and Fabulous Dian Fossey

She loved children and animals. She loved men. She loved, more than anything, the gorillas of Africa. Dian Fossey was a woman who followed her heart. Or, perhaps, she was discovering her heart.

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I sometimes wonder how people follow that heart, that passion, with an intensity such as hers, in a way so remarkably driven that one separates from any sort of “real life normalcy” ~ and how interesting that, conversely, it has the effect of changing our “normal” world with insights and awarenesses otherwise left unknown. These are the true trailblazers. Dian Fossey certainly qualifies.

It could be that her unhappy childhood (in particular a cold, strict, unsupportive stepfather) provided a sense of “rootlessness” allowing her to leave civilization behind for the bulk of her adult life. She became wholly dedicated to primate research and conservation, living among Rwanda’s gentle mountain gorillas  ~ and, I understand, a menagerie of other animals ~ for close to 20 years.

Her life’s work provided stunning, groundbreaking research about gorilla behavior and, over time, earned her a reputation for ruthless dealings with poachers. In 1967, Dian founded the Karisoke Research Centre. With the help of National Geographic photographers and countless television appearances she focused world attention on the gorillas’ plight. She began raising money to pay for anti-poaching, and in 1978 set up the first ranger patrols in Rwanda.

In the end, her passion cost her her life. She was murdered by an unknown attacker in the early hours of December 27, 1985, in her cabin at Karisoke. 

An extraordinary woman who left the world a better place, Dian’s account of her extraordinary years in remote Africa, Gorillas in the Mist, was published in 1983. Hollywood made it a box office hit in 1987.  She would have been 81 today. 

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Why We’re Like Snowflakes

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I tend to subscribe to the notion that we’re all unique. Like snowflakes, no two of us are alike. But, science being science, this concept has been put to the test. Turns out I really enjoyed what it came up with, and I thought you might too.

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Fill it with Gratitude

There’s a lot of emphasis on commercialism during the holiday season ~ not that we’re intentionally insensitive to the meaning of Christmas or that we’re shallow, materialistic creatures, but that we want to give.

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We want to make others happy with our gifts, we want our children to squeal with delight, our family and friends to appreciate the thoughtfulness of a special something we’ve picked out especially for them. It’s actually a lovely tradition begun with a certain three kings bearing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, just perhaps gone a little wild.

With that in mind, I’m feeling pretty pleased with my choice of “gift” for the guests of my annual holiday gathering this year. My daughter and I started our own gratitude jars a little less than a year ago (it’s almost time to open them up and look inside!), and I thought, hmmm… yes, a perfect gift to make for our friends. Homemade, fun and constructive to boot.

I like imagining how they’ll be filled, all those pieces of folded-up paper with notes scrawled about people, things and moments they’ll be grateful for during the year ahead.

It’s a fairly well-respected concept that gratitude reaps harmony; it elevates our spirit and sense of inner peace, opens the gates for greater abundance. I’m pretty sure all that might even be scientifically based ~ something physiological happens that changes our chemical makeup in a positive way. But whether it is or isn’t a precisely proven fact, one thing I know for sure is that genuine appreciation and feelings of gratitude are uplifting. That writing them down makes the vibration linger longer, and re-reading them allows you to feel grateful all over again.

There’s only good to be had from this simple exercise. And as it’s been said, “There is always, always, something to be grateful for.”

So I hope they use their little jars, well and often. :  )

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Poetry as Ruler of the World

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“I say, ‘Get me some poets as managers.’ Poets are our original systems thinkers. They contemplate the world in which we live and feel obligated to interpret, and give expression to it in a way that makes the reader understand how that world runs. Poets, those unheralded systems thinkers, are our true digital thinkers. It is from their midst that I believe we will draw tomorrow’s new business leaders.” ~ Sidney Harman, CEO Multimillionaire of a stereo components company”
― Daniel H. Pink

I stumbled upon this quote this morning, and it reminded me that when I read Daniel Pink’s “A Whole New Mind” a few years back, I was (given what I do) thrilled at his theory that right-brainers will rule the future. There’s a place for the creative, the innovative, the out-of-the-box thinker ~ more than ever! And not just any place, but a valued place. And not just a “dusting off the weariness of life” kind of valuable (although that’s important!), but a place that moves, shakes and shapes our world.

Of course, we all have elements of both; right and left brains. And perhaps because of a genetic blend making me feel fairly balanced in that department, I dislike labeling ~ or assuming, for example, that if someone is logical they aren’t creative, or someone who’s creative can’t be logical, because that’s simply not true. We have tendencies towards one or the other, most definitely, whether innate or learned, but both aspects reside in most people’s brains to some degree, and I presume for good reason. (So when my very creative daughter complains about having to learn Math, I insist that she needs to exercise that part of her brain to stay healthy and wise and grounded, and not end up with both head and feet in the clouds. “Use it or lose it” has real meaning here.)

That said, and putting aside my own personal glee at the prospect of “right brains” leading the future, the theory does have merit, especially when you consider how many previously human-held jobs have been replaced by increasingly efficient, computerized functions – freeing up some of us to be more creative and others to flounder for their bearings.

And while I’m not completely convinced that poets should be managers, I am convinced that there’s enormous opportunity for unlocking the floodgates of our ingenuity when more menial tasks are automated. And I think most people perform better when they’re inspired, rather than watching a clock, regardless if they’re mathematically or artistically driven ~ both of which can be dry or highly creative functions, depending on any given person’s combination of atoms and molecules, environment, and spirit.

To do anything well, to grow, stretch boundaries, reach the moon  ~ to live better ~ we need to think big and welcome a fusion of the intuitive with the intellect. And really, it’s always been so, when great things have been achieved, but maybe we’ll honor it more. Maybe poetry will change the world!

So why not change even today ~ open your mind to the galaxy, and get to work.

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