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Women Holding the Long Lens

Monday, January 11th, 2016

women

I’m visiting family and marveling at how long my grandchildren’s arms and legs have grown, how my daughter has become an inventive and creative cook, and how my ex husband has turned into a gentle friend. As this year just begins to unfold, I’m aware of the longer arc, and of the graceful way life changes the way the path looked …way back then.

I’m reminded of the story of how an apparent tragedy occurs, only to become s portal for a fortuitous event, that then morphs into the doorway for another downturn. Age at least provides a lens for the long story, and presents an option not to get too caught up in the drama and apparent truths of each chapter of this wild and beautiful journey.

On this annual solo road trip, I visit family, see old friends, and will end up with seven close women friends who have been a group for over 35 years. We’ve watched each other meet obstacles, embrace blessings, and survive dramas great and small. Perhaps to balance out the complexity of our own sagas, we always pepper our reunion with as many movies as possible, separated by walks on the beach, home cooked food and less wine than we used to drink.

In our seventies, we know we face losses in the upcoming episodes of our reunion series. One of us has already lost a partner to a sudden, deadly heart attack. Another is recovering from a knee replacement and can’t make it this year. What will it be like when our numbers thin? How will we all get to our destination if we’re disabled? Who will die first, and how will we deal with that?

These kinds of questions are a reality of aging, and yet so far there is a saving grace. We have each other. Friendships forged at a progressive Episcopal church we all attended back in the day, our shared values run deep. We taught each others’ children in Sunday school, and so we care who they’ve married and how their children are doing. We also care whether each woman is finding joy, discovering new meaning, and whether she can take a good joke.

We all have common political views, and so we complain about the state of the world. But these are women who are change-makers. We haven’t given up. Back in the 70’s we named ourselves the Women’s Quilting and Terrorist Society, which we thought was funny then. Now we just use the initials, but the desire to shake things up is still very much alive.

Everything has changed for the one whose husband turned out to be gay and still is her best friend. For the one who lives close to the bone, after using all her savings taking care of her father. For the one whose bitter divorce was healed by a surprise passionate romance and marriage, ending in her partner’s sudden death.

And nothing has changed. The big arc of our lives is trained by faith in the unseen. The dramas in each chapter have been tamed by good humor. And the shards of old stories are held in a sacred pot by women who will treasure them, laughing and crying together until we can’t do it in person any more

This year I salute these women and all women and men who come together in groups, urging you to put these meetings first, even when it’s hard to put the important ahead of the seemingly urgent. Every time you meet, you put money in the pot. And the older you get, the wealthier you feel, finding that life is made, after all, not of victories or defeats, but of the stream of love embedded in the entire adventure.

 

This post is also available on Huffington Post at my author archive, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/pamela-hale/. Your comments there or here are appreciated.

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Posted in feminine leadership, happiness, seeing oneself, shifting how we see, shifting paradigms, Tools for seeing ourselves, Uncategorized, women's empowerment | 10 Comments »

5 Lessons From Living With Limits

Tuesday, August 4th, 2015

89591-PH-SS-043I’m getting a graduate course in living with limits while recovering from my foot surgery. Since I can’t put any weight on my foot for six weeks and am getting around on a scooter and crutches, the lessons are varied and deep.

I’ll bet many of you know the drill. If you’ve broken a limb, had a knee replacement or been otherwise disabled, then you know the lessons appear to be mostly physical. I’ve learned to sleep propped up, with my foot elevated. I’ve had to learn to maneuver my scooter, and carry things in a tote bag I put on the handlebars, carry liquids in screwtop containers and bathe in a plastic chair in the shower with a showerhead on a hose.  My “nest” in the living room contains everything I need to keep occupied and pretty happy.

Of course there are other learnings I’ve generalized from these limitations, lessons I hope to take into my “regular life” as a lucky, normally able-bodied person:

1. We are adaptable beings! I’ve watched myself invent creative ways to get around restrictions. Like figuring out how to make chicken soup without burning or cutting myself, or falling. I want to remember how adaptable I am and approach what I used to call “problems” as a chance to be creative.

2. Time is relative. When you can’t do much and have stripped life of driving, errands, household chores, hours pass much more slowly. I want to remember this, since in my old life I kept convincing myself that rushing and pushing would somehow create more time. The opposite is actually true.

3. Slowed way down, I notice more. The land around me is even more precious than before, so I keep binoculars in my nest. Really looking and noticing wildlife is my way of traveling outside my “confinement.” I want to continue to heighten my powers of observation and seeing.

4. Dependent on others, I am full of gratitude. My husband bringing me the mail and a drink from Starbucks feels like a major event. Dear friends who call or visit are heroines. I see how much I normally take for granted, and want to remain grateful and receptive.

5. My limitations show me what is really important, and I see that all I care about is what has heart and meaning. I could watch junk TV or eat junk food, but I do almost none of this. I want to walk that path of heart and meaning and just let everything else fall away.

All these lessons are so clear and easy to take in now. The challenge will be to live them when once again, I am on the move. Why is it that we seem to need hardship to really learn? And then back in ease, we forget so easily.

A lot of that return to old habits is just that: habitual behavior. To break a habit and replace it with new behavior takes repetition, rewiring of the brain. Will this recovery period be long enough?

What are the habits that hardship has inspired you to break? What have the lessons been that have come to you when you’ve been limited?

Recalling those lessons now, how can you form a new habit, new actions that will form the life you desire? So many of the patterns we blame on the outer world are really our coopting, our trance behavior where we give up our will. We give up what we say matters, just because it’s easy and familiar.

If you could pick one habit that you think falls into this category, what would that be? And if you could pick one practice to change that habit, what could you begin doing?

For example, if you want, as I do, to choose activities that have heart and meaning, then you could begin the habit of asking yourself every time you’re choosing to watch TV or take a walk or get a snack or pick up the phone…Will this choice bring me heart and meaning?

That way, even though every life has some limits, you might just find you’re freer than you thought!

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Posted in consciousness, Creativity, creativity and empowerment, healing, mindfulness, seeing oneself, shifting how we see, spiritual practices | 916 Comments »

Ode to Serena and the Mastery of Power

Monday, July 20th, 2015

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I’m a big tennis fan, and so Wimbledon on TV was a bonus during this time of recovering from foot surgery. Feeling rather powerless and in need of some inspiration, a second bonus was spotting the invisible battle going on while Serena was winning the singles championship at 33.

Watching the outer battle…I mean, wow. The woman is a national symbol of the potential for feminine power. I remember watching her play with her sister when they were teenagers, the only black feminine faces in a privileged white sport. Not only have they both risen through the ranks, Serena has navigated the politics of sports, become an international star, and now has maintained and surpassed herself. She has overcome injuries, illness, inevitable aging, incredible competition—and is dominant in the world of athletics. That’s power.

Still, in her final match I watched her battle the personal demons that have come out to haunt her on international television in the past. As she admitted in her interview, her biggest challenge is not physical, but mental. Despite all her achievement, training, hard work and success, mastering herself is the hardest work of all.

I have compassion for her in this struggle. Tennis was my sport, and my biggest enemy was myself. I could rip myself apart faster and more viciously than any critic could have managed. I never did master myself through the crucible of tennis.

Watching Serena reminded me of the Hindu story of Arjuna, Krishna and the chariot. Lord Krishna drives a chariot onto the battlefield and Arjuna is a passenger seated in the back. Arjuna represents the embodied individual soul and Krishna, the higher Self– going into the midst of a battle between the armies of our “lower nature” and our Divine nature, on the inner battlefield. The reins are the mind, the horses the senses. And the whole operation works depends on collaboration between them all. (https://chandrugidwani.wordpress.com/2014/02/09/the-significance-of-the-chariot-with-krishna-and-arjuna/)

I saw Serena’s real battle was to harness and channel the huge power she has amassed. It can be used, like all power, for destruction or for good. The bigger the power and the more fully we enter the bigger area, the more intense the tension gets. Looking through my lens it was not, “Will Serena beat Garbine Muguruza?” as much as it was “Will Serena let Arjuna keep the reins?”

Under pressure, we are all tempted to regress into the habit of allowing our ego or smaller self to grab those reins, triggered by whatever bugs us the most. When Serena’s serve goes sour, it must feel like her power is betraying and eluding her. Her ego must want to scream out obscenities and try to force the issue.

The maddening thing is, the opposite is required. The real battle is to create enough quiet to remain the neutral witness, to listen to higher instruction, to trust that magical flow is just outside our reach, possible once again if we relax and allow it. Letting go over forcing the chariot. Trust over fear.

It’s a mighty challenge for every one of us, collectively and individually. And at the top level of sports, we see the truth: that in a battlefield where every top player has already achieved top fitness, strategy and skill, it comes down to the inner stuff.

What we’re all after is Realization, or whatever you’d like to call it. Peace, happiness, joy, flow. We’ve all had it, and we’ve all lost it. Every one of us is on that battlefield and the skirmishes won’t stop, whether we’re playing on a tiny neighborhood court or in the halls of Washington.

Who’s driving your chariot, or piloting your plane? Are you even acquainted with that higher Self? You’ve met her in those moments where the magical flow just swept you along through difficulties you didn’t think you could master. That’s what I’d call your Arjuna, your Divine Self. You could just call it The Friend. I call it Big Pam, as opposed to Little One.

How can you allow the Friend to take the reins again? Well, I think the first step is always, Just STOP. When anger or panic or pushing or striving or forcing has got you by the throat, just STOP.

Now breathe. Just breathe right into the feeling, wherever it lives in your body. Give it a chance. Give it a little space, a little pat. It’s just your own private angry toddler. Surely you won’t let it drive. You know how that ends. DUI’s or worse.

Now ask. Ask your Self, your heart, for help driving this unruly vehicle. Ask, and it shall be given. Maybe you won’t win the match. But you will have practiced your power serve. You will be one step closer to what I see Serena mastering: authentic power.

Finally, thank your inner Self, your master charioteer. Serena thanks her Jehovah God, which used to annoy me. But now I get it. “It is His strength I rely on,” she confessed. You can call your charioteer Joe if you want, or Delilah. But when you have surrendered the reins and harvested the reward, give thanks and then try to keep doing that.

Your inner crowd will stand up and cheer.

 

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Posted in bringing out your gifts, centering techniques, coaching, conscious evolution, consciousness, feminine leadership, Imagination, overcoming fear, returning to essence, seeing oneself, self-healing, shifting how we see, shifting paradigms, Tools for seeing ourselves, women's empowerment | 5 Comments »

Going Home Again: A Lesson in Compassion

Tuesday, May 26th, 2015

home again

I’m driving along the same street I traveled for years, to take my kids to school and soccer practice, going right by our old house. Only this time my three grandchildren are in the car. Everything is the same, in a sense. Only the trees are a lot taller and I’m a lot older. The spiral of life has gone around a turn, and I’m at the same spot again, only at a new level. Deja vu, but not.

I grew up in this area, and still harbor the visions of the familiar streets framed the way they were when I was as little as my grandkids. I pass the wall with the holes at the top, where my grandfather lifted me up to peek through. One of my first memories. We pass the graceful house where my mother and I lived with her parents after my father was killed. Those grandparents probably saved the day.

I remember being in the thick of parenting, right in the middle of planning three meals a day, doing endless loads of laundry, trying to figure out why only single socks emerge from the dryer, and attempting to explain some of life’s deeper mysteries and heartbreaks to two growing girls, without breaking apart their hopefully secure foundation. Now I’m driving carefully, hoping I can get these three to school at the right dropoff place with all the stuff they need and any arguments solved so they can have a happy day.

My ambitions have been simplified, along with my life. My daughter is the one who must manage a daily schedule so dense that any illness or breakdown or minor crisis will use up the slim margin of time and energy she has available. She is usually sleep deprived, always vigilant, and missing the luxury I have of timing a walk in nature, a meditation, and maybe an afternoon nap.

I am full of admiration for her, and for these three passengers of mine. My daughter and her husband have taken what I gave to her and revved it up a notch. My daughters are better mothers that I was.

I am trying to catch any shreds of shame about the mistakes I made and coat them with love and compassion. After all, that’s what I want my daughters to do. See their journey as mothers the same way they might see the whole journey of life: a partially blind expedition into the unknown, armed with good intentions.

By the time I drop the three precious ones at school the last day, before my flight home, tears spring up and flood me. After worrying about whether I could manage all three, I have done it. Now I’m sad to go. Next time I’ll volunteer for a longer stint.

The tears also signal my grief at being a special event grandmother who lives far away. I must visit their lives instead of being a daily part of them. My influence will come in bursts, rather than being part of the orchestral melody of their growing up. I hope the theme of my influence has to do with being true to your own true self, honoring your creativity, and putting your relationship to the natural world ahead of the artificial one.

I cry because I see that as a grandmother, I have led many lives. Probably ones I don’t remember, with each of them. And then within this one, there has been my life as a child, then as a mother, and now as an elder. The observer in me is pleased. All the strands have woven together in a feeling of gratitude. It is good to be home again.

 This is a reprint of a favorite post for theSpiritedWoman.com I wrote last year after babysitting for my grandchildren. This year I’m missing them. And, I’m still trying to learn the lessons of how to have compassion for myself.

Is there a way you can “go home again” and re-visit a memory, coating it this time with compassion?

 

 

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Posted in Compassion for ourselves, consciousness, loving ourselves, Photography, seeing oneself, shifting how we see, shifting paradigms, Tools for seeing ourselves | 3 Comments »

What is Your Blue Star?

Thursday, April 16th, 2015

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The Hopi people we met in Arizona on a spiritual tour with Carla Woody (http://www.kenosis.net) allowed us to see and photograph a petroglyphic symbol of a blue star that appeared long ago, to signal their way home. The story they told us was that when they emerged through a sipapu or opening in the earth in northern Arizona, they met Masau, the guardian of the earth, who told them they could inhabit this world if they would abide by his instructions.

He told them to make migrations into the four directions, and after spreading far and wide he told them they would be signaled back to the place of their emergence.(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hopi_mythology)  According to the Hopi records they inscribed into petroglyphs and according to their oral tradition, they migrated far into Alaska and Canada, west and east to the oceans, and south into Central America. Some of them stayed there and became the Mayans; others stopped in the pueblos on the way back and created communities there. When the blue star appeared, some of them knew if was time to return to Northern Arizona, the place of their emergence, and to form villages there. These are the ones we visited.

It’s a powerful story, and one that traditional Hopis believe is truth, not myth. They are still following their original instructions and living simple lives, planting corn (some of them still by hand, with a planting stick) and faithfully continuing their kiva ceremonies. When the faithful ones pass on, they join the katsina spirits, who live on the sacred San Francisco Peak, near Flagstaff. Every winter solstice they dance and do ceremony to welcome the katsinas back to the villages. Every summer solstice, they give them a ceremonial sendoff.

In the photo above, taken on Hopi land, you can see an ancient symbol of the migrations–three of them–in a spiral that took thousands of years. To the right, you see a person, and in the middle you see the blue star.

The Hopi have come home. Life at home is not easy for them. Promises have been broken and they have suffered and sacrificed. But they are staying true to what is central to them, what has heart and meaning. That is the place home is–not just a physical location.

Where is home for you? When you arrive at the center of your being, which I know you have, what signs do you have that this is your inner home? Even if there are uncomfortable things, sacrifices, even suffering that has been involved in you returning home, hasn’t it really been worth it? Isn’t it what life is all about?

What is the “blue star,” the signal that tells you it’s time to return to your real self, to cease your wanderings, to return to being the one you where when you emerged from the womb and the one you will be the day you pass from your body? Is there a call, a signal that tells you it’s time to make your way to the center again? How do you hear or see or feel that call?

Never feel lonely about being called to return. You know that even if it doesn’t seem like it when you’re out in the grocery store or at the movies, other people are wanting to return home as well. Every human, I believe, has a longing for this. And I, for one, am grateful to the Hopi people for reminding me that right here in our own back yard, we have an example of spiritual lives grounded in significance.

 

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Posted in conscious evolution, learning from the Hopi people, Photography, seeing oneself, shifting how we see, Tools for seeing ourselves | 11 Comments »

How to Make a Great Decision

Monday, February 9th, 2015

path

Sitting in sacred circle with a group of women, I listened to stories told by a group ranging from 19-90. Do you resonate with some of what they shared?

“I’m bursting with energy, but confused. How do I prioritize all I want to do?”

“I have a list of things I love, but I’m not doing that list.”

“I’m so distractible, interested in everything. I need to focus.”

“I have physical symptoms that tell me I’m not on the right path, and it’s still hard to trust doing what I love and know to be true.”

So what is the theme? It sounded to me like the question, “How do we see our path, and then how do we follow it?” This is an important and recurring theme that follows us through life.

Is the answer to discipline ourselves? To crack down and force ourselves to focus and choose? I think not! That is the old way.

This circle, facilitated by dear friend Elise Collins Shields, was an honoring of St. Brigid, descended from the Celtic goddess of the hearth. And so I asked Brigid to whisper in my ear about what we as women leaders, who are immersed in complexity, need to do. How do we discern in the new way? Here is what I “heard:”

As goddess of the hearth, I say, build a fire within to warm and bless your heart’s home–the place inside where you are who you’ve always been and always will be. This is a place outside time and space, a place only the heart knows.

Sit by the hearth, the place of warmth, comfort and safety within your heart and have a fireside chat.

Say to the Universe, “In this great journey where there are so many possibilities to manifest, I wish to liberate myself from outdated stories and beliefs and embody the IAM, The One, the Beloved, the Truth.“

Now ask–no, command that the Truth within you enter this room with eyes open, head held high, and speak what is next for you. Listen and “take it in.” Embody that Truth.

Then, rooted in and embodying that Truth, you will conduct a mediation with the mind, which will be a great help to the Truth in working out the third dimension details.

This is the right order of things.

This message from Brigid has stayed with me, and it reminds me of some important things I want to remember:

  1. The heart is the first place I want to go when making any decision. That is “the right order of things.”
  1. The heart is fearless about moving forward and telling me the Truth, and that will always come in Love.
  1. My mind is useful as well, and is a wonderful implementor. I don’t have to worry that my heart will lead me down a scary or impractical path, because the mind will always help with the strategic, clever and practical ways to manifest the heart’s truth in the “real” world.
  2. We all know more than our mind admits. So another question to ask   myself is, “What if I just did what I really know is next?”

This kind of discernment and decision-making is a great gift for a heart-centered leader. It will save time in the end, and move us forward in important ways.

Will you join me in making decisions in this way? Try it and let me know how it works for you.  I look forward to your comments.

 

 

 

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Posted in authenticity, bringing out your gifts, calling, coaching, conscious evolution, consciousness, feminine leadership, Guided imagery, heart-centered leadership, meditation, returning to essence, seeing oneself, shifting how we see, shifting paradigms, spiritual practices, Tools for seeing ourselves, women's empowerment | 2 Comments »

Lobo’s Last Lesson

Monday, July 21st, 2014

 

 

L's bedWe owners know intellectually that our dogs’ lives pass by much more quickly than our own, but when they begin to fail, it’s utter torture.

Lobo wasn’t a big fetcher, but over the years, Jon had convinced him to go out to get the morning paper and carry it back to the house for a treat. This was always subject to Lobo’s mood that morning, and his periodic refusals were evidence that he could hold himself above bribery. Sometimes he’d go at it with real enthusiasm, throwing the paper up in the air or ripping it to shreds. Other times he’d decide to take it over to his outdoor bed, as if he was planning to lounge there with his coffee. But eventually, he just didn’t want to spend his waning energy on this ridiculous routine. He’d bark at Jon to remind him to go, but then he’d sit on the step and just wait.

Horseback rides with Jon were once a non-negotiable. It was evidently a manly thing to do to go out with the neighbor men, even when it meant trotting for miles, lying down in the shade and panting when necessary, and begging water from Jon. Even in later years when he’d be sore for days, he was not about to be left behind. When his arthritis became obvious, Jon left him once with me. He kept scanning for the horses in the distance and howling and crying. He knew he couldn’t do it any more, but it was as bad for him as it is for some elderly people to have their car keys taken away.

For years when we took him to our place in the mountains, Lobo would be delighted to take advantage of “ranch rules,” which allowed him to get up on the furniture. But eventually, leaping up on our bed was impossible, and he was relegated to the rug.

When he started refusing to take walks, we knew something was really happening inside that big dog body. He would lie on his outdoor bed and just stare at me with his ears down, a clear “No, thanks.” He would go with Jon up until the very end, when we had to agree with the animal communicator that he was getting ready to leave his body.

Lobo’s last lesson was how to die well. He did what he wanted, following his own instincts rather than our wishes. He was extra affectionate, approaching us almost every day just to stare into our eyes. He talked more, developing sounds that became an understandable language. And when it became clear that there were no options left except his suffering, he had loved ones around him singing and drumming and feeding him all the treats he wanted. I would love such a farewell.

We sprinkled Lobo’s ashes in his favorite places around the house. Some under the mesquite trees where he buried bones, treats and the horse brushes he had stolen. The  container of ashes had sat for weeks on a little kitchen shrine with a Day of the Dead dog figure with a paper in his mouth. Next to it was a card from the vet that always made us laugh. It was to Jon and Patty. (Patty was Jon’s first wife back in the 70’s. Someone’s records need updating.)

As I write this, Jon is away on a fishing trip, and the house is absolutely silent. No need to go out and remind Lobo not to bark. The house hasn’t been cleaned for two weeks, because there’s no dog hair. If Lobo were here, he’d be depressed and would be doing a lot of waiting up on his outdoor bed. And so I tell myself there are advantages. The squirrels and birds are happy he’s gone. But I haven’t been able to get rid of his outdoor bed. Sometimes when I drive in, I think I see him there, scanning the yard, making sure the area is safe for me.

Surely we’ll get another dog. And surely we will love that one, and cry again when that one dies. But I know we’ll never forget Lobo. Just like any member of the family, there are no substitutes.

He was indeed, my teacher.

Lobo

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Posted in consciousness, death and new life, dogs as teachers, healing, Making friends with death, seeing oneself | 3 Comments »

Lessons from Lobo #5

Wednesday, July 9th, 2014

 

Lobo snake bite 

As protective and fierce as Lobo could appear, sometimes he was a big baby.

He must have heard Thunder speak to him like a great god who came ripping over the mountain growling and barking with a voice big enough to send him under the dining room table or huddled behind my office desk. Our Tucson monsoons are convincing for sure, but no amount of reassuring made them easy for him.

Jon made a big mistake when Lobo was a scared puppy who refused to venture into our swimming pool: he threw him in. From then on, Lobo would run along the edge barking at the water we’d splash up at him. He’d wade onto the first step and lie down there at the end of a long, hot walk in the desert. But no amount of cajoling would convince him to go deeper. He never blamed Jon; the trauma had been inflicted by the Great Pool God, who had sucked him in and pushed him under. For some reason the Pool God did not scare humans, but that was probably due to their stupidity.

Unfortunately, one fear Lobo had to learn from experience was his fear of rattlesnakes. One day when Jon was fortunately home, he heard a yelp unlike any he’d heard before. Lobo came inside foaming at the mouth, and hid under the dining room table. Jon could see two fresh pinpoints of blood on his nose. Clearly, Lobo had gotten overconfident.

After a couple of phone consults with neighbors who had various home remedies, Jon called the animal emergency hospital. “Don’t give him any antihistamine. Don’t give him anything; just get him here,” they counseled. $1800 and two vials of antivenom later, I picked him up the following morning. In this case, weighing 120 lbs. had been an advantage.

We decided that just in case he hadn’t gotten the message (after all, he still chased coyotes, mother cows and the neighborhood hawk), we’d give him snake training. We met the snake trainer out in Oracle, where he parked his truck full of penned rattlesnakes he had de-fanged himself. We’re talking the wild west here.

First, he put one of those evil Collars on Lobo, so that he could shock him if he didn’t pass every snake test: sight, sound, and smell. He put a wriggler down and took Lobo on a leash nearby. He turned around and ran; it was a pass.

Then he put a rattler in a burlap bag and annoyed it somehow, so that it rattled. Lobo got it. (Anything to avoid that Collar!)

Finally, he hid the bagged snake underneath Jon’s truck and called Lobo, unleashed, over toward the truck. Lobo leaped into the truck’s open window. An A+.

After that, on summer evening walks, we’d have Lobo lead, which he always did anyway. If he veered off the path, we followed him. In addition to being an amateur cattle herder, a rabbit population control officer and a coyote wrangler, Lobo was now a certified snake guide. When we’d find one in the yard, Jon would use our long snake tongs to hoist it into a big bucket, and he and Lobo would drive it a few miles away to vacant land and give it a new home.

And Lobo wore his snake nose tattoo proudly, probably figuring it was a badge of courage. We never had the heart to tell him that we saved his life, probably for the second time.

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Posted in dogs as teachers, overcoming fear, Photography, seeing oneself, shifting how we see, shifting paradigms, Tools for seeing ourselves | 4 Comments »

What Kids Taught Me about the Active Imagination

Thursday, May 16th, 2013

 

Since I was in love with photography, I wanted everyone else to be as well (nothing like the fervor of the converted.) So,I decided to teach small group photography classes in my living room.

Right away, it was clear to me that I raced through the part about f-stops and dove into explorations about light, the energetic nature of matter, and the spiritual elements of photography. After listening to me for one lesson, an adult student approached me and said she thought her son should study with me.

Billy was learning disabled, though in those days there was no label for that. Frustrated by school and in need of a success experience, Billy would “get’ the right-brained way I taught photography. Would I give him lessons?

I had another close friend with a daughter Mary, who was also having learning problems. So for $5 an hour, I worked with the two of them every week for 1 ½ years.  As a former classroom teacher, I had already formed a strong curiosity about why certain kids weren’t learning. Now I was studying all I could find about the new discoveries about the right and left brain. I felt I was being led on a treasure hunt.

The exercises I designed for Billy and Mary became the basis of curricula I would design and teach in both public and private schools. As an artist-in-residence for the South Pasadena, CA school district, I had the privilege of doing a photography project with 60 5th graders. It was called “Seen one Rock, Seen ‘Em All,”( a brazen slam at Ronald Reagan, who had made that comment about national parks.)

I gave each student a rock, and led them through a guided imagery exercise where they allowed their active imagination to play with the inner picture of that rock, allowing it to become part of a larger scene and story. I had them draw the scene and write the story.

Now the fun began. Their next challenge was to figure out how to make a photograph of that drawing, using the rock and other objects. “That’s not fair!” some of them began to protest. “You didn’t tell us we’d have to make this into a photograph! I wouldn’t have thought of something this complicated if I had known!” said one.

The student, Jack, showed me a drawing of a rock that had become an island surrounded by water, topped with trees, and blown by a strong wind causing big waves. “How am I going to do this?” he said as if it were obviously impossible.

It was a class in problem-solving, so I hinted that he might think of movie sets and dioramas. I teamed the kids up and gave them a week until the day we’d set up a simple photo studio and make the photographs, which they would then print themselves later in the studio I had now rented.

The photo above is an example of the student work, which became a school exhibit. Anna “saw’ her rock (at the top of this article) ‘turn into” her ballet slipper, well-worn from all her attempts to make it into a toe shoe, successfully poised on top of the rock it resembled. The hardness of the rock matched her hard work. The beauty of the shape matched the beauty she captured in her treasured slipper. Beautiful, I thought, and a deep message about how important dance was to Anna.

As for Jack, I couldn’t wait to see how my biggest protester would solve his problem. And so I grinned proudly when, on the day of our shoot, he walked in  with his partner, holding a plastic tub he would fill with water, tiny trees he’d made of paper, and a hair dryer.

Seen one rock, seen ’em all? Sorry, Reagan. I don’t see them that way. And neither do kids, who can see more than we think, when we give them a chance to keep their imaginations alive.

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Posted in bringing out your gifts, children as teachers, creative imagination, Creativity, creativity and empowerment, Guided imagery, Imagination, nature as mirror, Photography, seeing oneself, shifting paradigms | 9 Comments »

Passages

Friday, May 3rd, 2013

 

In my 30’s I began to photograph in earnest. Now that was back in the ‘70’s, so picture me stepping out in a safari-like photographer’s vest and smoking brown More cigarettes. (The More bohemian and rebellious, the better.)

I set out to explore the other side of the tracks. Mind you, I was raised in San Marino, CA, bastion at that time of white privilege, the John Birch Society (sorry if some of these references are too representative of another generation) and suspicion of “others not like us.”

I feel shame as I write this, but it’s my history.

I had lived in NYC and taught public school there for three years, so I was well “over” San Marino. But now in my adult, parental state (and back in the state of CA) I had only moved four miles away, into South Pasadena. Lawns still looked green, houses gentrified, and attitudes were changing slowly. I was in the mood for a rebellion.

I went north, into the “ghetto” of Pasadena at that time, an area full of lovely old Victorians neglected because of poverty and segregation. My camera was my passport. And architecture was my proof that I was documenting unappreciated treasures. I gained entrance into a new neighborhood and a new form of education.

What was valuable about “the old architecture” in society and in my own being that had been neglected? And what needed tearing down and renovating? What was family about? What if all the races lived together and formed one? I photographed these questions.

It was a time of great opening for me. My Victorian grandmother had passed on, and so had her way of life and viewing the world, graceful as it was. My parents appeared confused: pleased to offer me two lamb chops for dinner at the mahogany dining room table, and willing to work hard for my excellent education…yet mired in the ‘50’s view of life. I was just now trying to emerge from it.

The photograph you see is just one of the many photographs I took during that period. I had a show at a hip Pasadena gallery, showcasing several years of 35mm architectural photography. I considered it a tribute to a history that was passing, evolving.

I chose to show you this photograph because I took it in a beautiful old Pasadena classic house that I admired. On the chaise, upholstered in the perfect fabric for that period, lay a book that had been seminal for me: Gail Sheehy’s Passages. After all, I was in one.

Out the window lay some other land, one that was natural and still impressionistic and undefined for me—but one that was beckoning me. So I colored it with Marshall’s Oils, to represent new life. The path ahead.

What is your ‘old world’ now that you wish to honor as it passes and evolves? What would you photograph to represent it? And how does the new one look? What will be your passageway into that new way of seeing, that new life?

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Posted in conscious evolution, Creativity, creativity and empowerment, death and new life, inner landscape, managing change, Photography, seeing oneself, self-healing, shifting how we see, shifting paradigms, Tools for seeing ourselves | 7 Comments »

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