Lightly attached to their hosts, bromeliads were everywhere once I realized they were there . On the trees. Seeming to hover in the air. And then I found a few in the ground, a little careful observation and I realized they had been knocked from the trunks by the resident black bears. Yes! In Florida the bears are in the wilderness , too! Such awesomeness is in the World!
A few weeks ago I was slogging through the Florida marsh on a hike. Quite different than my hikes in Montana. But the experience of inspiration is the same. High in a dead trees near the end if the hike was an Osprey’s nest. Twigs and branches assembled together to create a place of protection for a family. In the bright evening light it glowed, magic hanging in the air.
If you are driving between Island Park, ID and Ennis, MT keep a look out for art. This weekend I was in Jackson Hole to sketch . I made one small pastel on the trip.
The drive into Ennis was blustery and the landscape moody. I rolled down the passenger window to take a picture while driving (shhhh…) and that’s when I lost it. That pastel drawing was sucked right out the window !
A gift back to the landscape, I guess.
All that’s left of it is this one quick photo taken with my phone .
Honor the Universe.
I have recently been reminded of the root of the word courage. From the French corage, which means heart. When we love deeply, we find our courage. Today I am in the place of corage.
The spirit of New Orleans seeps into you if you give it a chance. It’s the reason visitors want to gather T-shirts and coasters and voodoo dolls, trinkets and beads and any other talisman before returning home, where their courage must be weak. New Orleans has a spirit of hopefulness beyond ordinary hope. It is a place where commitment and perseverance shine, where value of place and it’s specificity winds together with people and environ to make something that is not repeatable anywhere else . It is a place where tragedy is worn beside hope, and love next to hate, peace outshines war. It is a place where all that is good in us pushes back against all the potential negatives.
New Orleans shines with our humanness. As a place, it deeply contrasts my home of Montana, Which is why I value any visit here. It reminds me that beauty comes in all forms, that wildness so easily visible in the mountains and rivers and grasslands still survive within us as we stand up for our beliefs of what daily living should be like – and what we should commit to for the long haul.
Being here requires gumption expressed in many ways. Look into Bourbon street and recognize it’s bacchanalian presence. Early in the morning the night before is washed and swept away, and the stain of disregard remains. It only takes a walk to the next block to be deep in the neighborhood of respect and care, where sidewalks may be cracked and old, but are clean and free. In New Orleans a cordiality still remains as people cross paths, walk their dogs, say hello to strangers , contribute to the street with beautiful flowers cascading from baskets and balconies.
The point of all this life, is not to judge in relation to good, to single out, or hope that the bad May disappear. This hope is an unrealistic idealistic condition we should all recognize as impossible when we think about the qualities we hold within. The point of all this life, the place called New Orleans, is the manner in which it exists given the struggle of life . I feel in New Orleans a rise beyond good and bad, a rise of culture that’s potential moves toward the good in spite of the bad. To move beyond our strife toward a belief through courage and commitment to move toward grace.
We can see New Orleans in pictures. We can imagine, we can accept or judge. It may be a place that pushes against our beliefs , our senses, our taste at the tongue. But what I love about New Orleans is that it is real, striding, gathering, grasping, pushing on. Making itself new every morning yet remaining it’s singular self, giving me courage as it seeps Into me.
There is a pilgrimage I like to make once a year to the far North edge of the Great Salt Lake in Utah. Like most things that are a challenge to our senses, this landscape is an acquired taste. But once experienced, it’s a place that is difficult to forget, and for me, it’s the phenomenal magic of the place that keeps me returning. Snow, rain, wind and blistering sun.
A horizon line that at times is only recognizable between the mirroring of sky on flat water.
A flat land that tumble weeds blow across and snow squalls dance through.
When we are children we wonder who we will become, when we are adults we wonder who have become.
Between Becoming and being…we are all apart of the extensive continuum.
We are constantly becoming ourselves. And Simply being along the way.
I have been dreaming of Utah these past nights. Not those kind of dreams you have when you are wishing you could go somewhere. Not the melancholy type. But the kind of dreams that are had from experience, when your subconscious is so full of an experience that it pours out of you after you have had it. The dreaming is rich of the landscape. They are not full of saga or people, or any far-fetched narrative. They are full of the place, the feelings, textures, smells, and colors. Every night after I close my eyes I relive the place. The overwhelming beauty.
I have never had such realistic and vivid dreams before of a real place, portrayed in a true and actual dynamic. I am wondering what this means for my psyche. Have I found my spirit home? Or was the experience simply overpowering that my subconscious is relishing the intensity of the memories?
Utah. I await the next adventure.