Much Love Monday

Shipping lines in the early 20th century were known to employ certain techniques to get passengers: one was to paint an "impression" of a destination through words, slogans, quotes. To think about the implications of such travel is to recognise the almost inarticulate allure of "words, slogans, quotes". By words are meant first-hand accounts; the stories we hear from friends, or friends of friends; slogans, "If you can make it in New York, you can make it anywhere;" quotes, "When life gives you twists and turns, chic yourself up in Italy!"
We are tactile, emotional creatures: we retain that which has been given to us in heart-shaped containers. It is easier for us to patch together our impressions of a place, than it is to recite facts and figures, which are manifold and always changing, anyway. And so it goes for a person's life; we can have an impression of it. We seek to make ourselves intelligible through the stories we tell about ourselves, to ourselves, to others. Hence the allure of the myth of the cliché, which does the talking for us.
Often, though, people's lives do not fit the cliché. They are often asked to explain themselves: their goals, life, identity. People want to know: if something is different, where does it fit in the larger map of things? Sometimes, the outline of a life is clearer to see, sometimes, not at all. It's like having that shipping brochure, then being on the boat for the very first time, feeling the lash and confusion of the sea.
I think we are both like the brochure and the maiden voyage. As I get older, I notice quite a number of my seniors who are unwilling to accept the turbulence of the voyage. They seem to prefer looking at themselves from the outside, which makes them haughty and crabby because they are working against nature, the nature that wants to humble them. But to fumble and tumble on the waves will leave us with a beautiful paradox: yes, we may be weak, but we also find we are strong; yes, we may be sensitive, but we can also be tough.

It is reassuring to think, and to see, that as we age, we can begin to file down the contours between the extremes-of the voyage and the gentle impression, but I do not think that this ever means that we know ourselves completely. Sometimes, when we least expect it, the flood gates swing open, and the valley is consumed.
And as for the gentle impression of ourselves-I don't know if we really ever possess it; rather, this is what we leave on others. Other people form impressions of the voyages we make. What we do have, though, is the clarification of our intent. Like, the intent to be happy, fair, and so on.
The most important dimension of human thought opens up at the "beginning" - beginnings are a seeking without knowledge of the ultimate "end". Beginnings are open, not fixed - and thus, rich in possibility. But here's the twist: something is only a beginning with relation to an end or a goal (all this, as per Gadamer). It is the end that gives meaning to the beginning. So, not only do we lack control of the impression of ourselves, but it would be fruitless to have one, as this would make redundant the purpose of living, which is to find that answer.
It should be all right to not know where we're going - so long as we have the navigation of good character. There was a beautiful article written on The Millions this week about a writer who is finding employment, against the odds, in an area she could not have foreseen a few years back. Why would we have to know how it will all pan out? We can skip to the end of a book, but not a life, because we've only just begun writing it. So, for today's Much Love Monday, I love beginnings. Whenever we need a new one, all we need to do is imagine all over again.

 Elements.

Much Love Monday

"[They wrote] an elaborated, painterly prose. It raids the world for materials to build sentences. ... It is a spendthrift prose, and a prose of means. It is dense in objects which pester the senses. It hauls in visual imagery of every sort; it strews metaphors about, and bald similes, and allusions to every realm" (from here).
I like that commentary on Victorian writers, because it stresses the activity of the writer: writer as engaging with life. I also think it underlines one of the problems of the post-19th century age: raiding. Surely we can arrive at what we need without such Promethean charge?
What remains today is the pillaging; what is lost is the passionate look at life. Flannery O'Connor wrote a lot about that - and also developed a habit of looking. I sometimes get the impression that people today are afraid to look. What are they afraid they will see? We all know that imagined fears are far worse than reality. Yet it is possible to be fixated on projections without knowing it - and thus miss out on "as much as the world as can be got into" the eye, as O'Connor writes.
Is it even necessary to feel fear in our thoughts towards people or situations when we are not with or in them? It is exactly these thoughts that get us into trouble later: they lead us into Real Housewives delusions, like: "I am one hundred percent positive that you are insinuating that I am a bad person, even though you never said it." Even if someone insinuates something, they are the ones living in their made-up, negative story. A friend of mine always says: whether something's true about you or not, people will say it. Or, as we said in the '90's: They all up in the Kool-Aid and don't even know the flava!
To really look at someone is to have no expectations of them. This is such a tricky thing. On the one hand, we want to learn from our past experience of people. On the other, we don't want to be weighed down by heavy memories of them. So, the happy approach is somewhere in the middle. No expectations.
Other fears that block us in life come from the unexpected - which is exactly what teaches us not to expect. A tricky childhood. Fake friends. The prejudices of educated people! Maybe it is the shock of seeing such things that makes us want to be blind for a while. Some things sure are ugly. But the thing about ugly things is that they pass. And voluntary blindness is too sad for words. If hardly any of the world goes into the eye, we're left with "ignorance with guns."
We are called to see the world in this little life of ours. We are called to live it "to the hilt." It is never enough to observe: one must jump in and experience life. Experiencing means being open to feeling, even pain. But it's exactly when the pain begins that there is hope of something good happening - if we're ready to learn about our expectations. So, for today's Much Love Monday, I love seeing the world - which means experience, including that of vulnerability: "The moment that you feel that, just possibly, you're ... exposing too much of your heart and your mind and what exists on the inside, showing too much of yourself. That's the moment you may be starting to get it right." (Gaiman keynote address.)

Elements.

Much Love Monday

There are rules in life that oppress, and rules that set us free. Just like there are rulers who do the same. And now that I mention "rulers", one is reminded that in the rules and rulers share something in common with "straight lines".
But how many "good" rules are as straight and narrow as ruled lines? You might tell me that when plants go wild and crazy, one can train them by tying them to a stick, which is straight, and guide them into more harmonious forms. That may be true.
But where did we get the idea that things need to run in straight lines? How do we get from the Sanskrit word for king, raj to the Latin rectus, straight/right?
Let us, for the purpose of antithesis, now imagine a bent stick. Can it be a measure or standard for other things? That would be difficult. "Bent", through lack of standard application, is not universal. And why not a circle, then, as the perfect form to guide us? Now I shall be controversial, and say that measure is not always had by all people to an equal degree. Only the person who has measure can pass it on. Correct standards originate from a "better" source (hence the symbol of the king). They are  not circular because there is an attempt to continually improve, which does have a forward, upright type motion, as one attempts to leave bad habits behind.
That said, as one seeks the better standard within oneself, one might not necessarily move in a straight line. Sometimes one might even move backwards before moving forwards. For example, it is said that artists' failures give them the material for their later successes: through the failed expression, they learn about themselves, how to do better next time. That's far from appearing straight forward!
But Vitruvius writes in his Ten Books on Architecture that when the oars of a ship plunge into the water, they no longer look straight, but appear bent, due to refraction. So, what is straight can at times appear bent.
Similarly, what is not straight can be made to appear so, as in many examples of entasis - that old trick used to make columns in temples look straight when, really, they are slightly curved. Entasis, ἐντείνειν, means stretch tight, and you guessed it, "stretch", at least in English, is related to "straight".
Our perception of what is and isn't straight is sometimes skewed, given our context: ἐντείνειν also means "put into". We are "put into" a context in life. We are made free, and straight, by "stretching" out of our contexts. Good rule allows us to grow, not like wild beasts, but in a way that teaches us that there is order in life that takes our measure into consideration.
Έντείνειν looks straight, because it is bending in a context. So to come full circle to - and not! Because the point has moved on from - the question at the beginning of this post: which are the rules that oppress? The answer is: those unwilling to bend to the context. So for today's Much Love Monday, I love the opposite: rules and rulers with flexibility.

Elements: Animus.

Much Love Monday

This weekend, I enjoyed reading a potpourri of interviews at Aesop (via) with Gentlewoman editor Penny Martin, down-to-earth Michelin star-bearing chef Skye Gyngell, and Girls writer Lena Dunham. My interest lie not only in the women's noteworthy work, but also in how they have all struck out beyond the mainstream.
When reading one of those interviews, it occurred to me how much critics - those who write of others' achievements - have leverage with which to boost a career. For instance, by pointing out certain aspects of a topic or connecting it to another subject that may be more one's cup of tea, an enthusiastic journalist can give one cause to appreciate a work or vision one would otherwise have dismissed.
I have been thinking a lot about this recently as I've made a small return to the world of publishing. This weekend, I had to expose myself to the bestsellers of recent years, which is something I am adverse to do, because I think there is something off with the mainstream standards. I often wonder doubt whether these standards are a reflection of "the people" - if so, then which people? - and enumerate the number of "voices" not registered in the media.
M. Scott Peck wrote a book called The Different Drum, about how technologically aided communication has failed to build a true global community. His definition of such a community begins with self knowledge, before extending outwards. "The basic pretense of pseudocommunity is the denial of individual differences," he writes. To move my own observations from publishing to the internet, I find that because the latter is so hard to charter, it is a challenge to locate the like-minded. One is more likely to encounter people who are too busy, due to their visibility, to have the time with which to respond.
Since I was raised in a very international community - which I later discovered exists in but few and tiny pockets across the world, I expected I would always be surrounded by kind and interesting people from different backgrounds. I've realised that to find it again, I have to try to build it myself, hence this blog. The joy of the community is the exchange of ideas, which moves one out of stagnant thinking, and reminds one of the grand horizons of life - for it is never as small as bullying pettiness make it seem.
The internet is a great tool in this respect. What I envision the internet facilitating are extended dialogues, and heartfelt themes that are allowed to unravel. Because I have found that half the time, unless we take the time to get to know an-other's context, we are bound to misunderstand what we read or hear. It takes time, and repeated encounters, to broaden our constellations.
So, for today's Much Love Monday, I love the powerful communication of the internet. I hope that my engagement online will bring me to more happy thinkers who will enrich my life. As a sign of that, below is a picture of a little bowl someone dear to me brought to me from Turkey. That piece of Turkey came to where I live, and will now be viewed in countries all over the world. That's pretty neat!

Element: Animus dots.

Much Love Monday

Rilke wrote something to the effect that being particularly sensitive is helpful for a writer's craft. But we all know that being too sensitive is not particularly helpful in society. It can be difficult to get the balance right in life.
And just as I was thinking that this weekend, a travel documentary on television featured the Thai Poosam Kavady festival in South Africa, part of which involves walking barefoot on a scalding hot pavement. A tourist asked how it was that she seemed to be the only one having difficulty not being burned. Her host explained that she was to think of her 'principle' god, her mother, and "her sweet mother's love". I tried to read up on this explanation, but can only surmise that it is because Lord Muruga was helped by his mother to destroy the evil tree that those in the procession would think of their own mothers, who are the first to teach them the principles of godliness.
When I saw that regrettably short television segment, I thought about how important different forms of training are in order for one to get over one's self, so to speak. Like doing sports, or keeping a fixed sleeping schedule.
But my thoughts returned to how to be a better writer, a better communicator - isn't this something we all strive for? One of the things I am sorry I did not understand at one stage of my life is how important it is not to say negative things - about other people (i.e. even when such words might seem warranted), or even about abstract topics, such as politics. Comments are negative if the soil is barren: criticism can't change the internal qualities of soil, rather, by undertaking the hard work of formulating criticism, one will be working against one's own strength. In contrast, if the soil gives in to the criticism, the negative of the work becomes a positive in that the subject takes to the work, and makes the work their own.

Another aspect of communication on my mind these days was provoked by a series of blog posts about how to blog better (e.g. this one, via). I realise that all those rules apply to a specific kind of blog, not a blog like mine. I am often drawn to examining the same idea from different angles in different, written, posts. But I am sensitive to what other people are doing, because I often ponder what it means to engage with one's era.
Common advice to writers, be they of blogs or not, is to put the writing away for a while, before releasing it. Rilke did this to the point that he did not publish any poems that he was not completely satisfied with. I admire people with professional restraint, and often regret that while I took that approach with my professional writing, I seem to be all renegade about the writing I seek no profit from.
But something must be said of identity control. The larger one's heart, the more one is drawn in various directions in one's early years. While this may look messy at first, as time passes, one increases one's chances of weaving together the seemingly disparate themes into a grandly harmonious composition. The trick is to not get discouraged, and to remember the training.
If one is sensitive, one can take solace if one feels pain in that one has not become dulled to it over the years; for that means that one is still alive. One can further gather strength in remaining mindful of higher principles, like love, which, mystery of mysteries, will always help one overcome the battles - providing one is fertile, not barren, soil.
There are many questions we have throughout our lives. I would like to think that most of us wonder about communicating better, and living meaningful lives. I think the best answers to these questions come from the marriage of love of self, with love of another and others. And since it was mother's day yesterday, I'll tie today's Much Love Monday post to the concept of motherhood, which, in its ideal form, is all of those things. If one feels the challenges becoming too difficult, one can think of one's own long-suffering, life-giving mother - be she religious, abstract, or from birth - and hold on, in one's mind, to that image of love that wishes to release us from our woes.

 Elements: drawings; lace; magazine photo.

Much Love Monday

No matter how much one exercises being as nice to oneself as one would be to a child-in-growth, there can arrive the bleakest of moments, even when they contradict the most beautiful of days with a carefree breeze and an unidentified bird soaring between buildings, which may be a miniature hawk, or some kind of falcon.
And when those grim moments close in, one knows one must GO OUTSIDE, to watch a woman walk her prancing dog, and realise that one is part of a bigger picture.
Such an overcast moment happened to me yesterday. Experience has taught me that when I feel most tempestuous, I have but to wait for a "saving" ray of light - be it through a phone call, a visit: all one has to do is to keep one's eyes open. That is why I often think of the symbolic sun with sun-ray hands, like in those Egyptian depictions.
Yesterday, I went wanting to a lunch hoping to listen to people, to be brought outside of myself, and while that did happen, I was also asked a lot of questions, and I heard myself answering with such optimistic statements that I surprised myself. When prodded to say negative things about others, I decided to stop engaging with the subject on that level, so I asked, isn't it true that everyone has their own special gift? For instance, non-professionalism can leave room for relaxing conversation. And if someone is choosing to be antagonistic, isn't that their own problem? If they want to construct ugly pictures of other people based on twisted words, they are the ones who have to live in that ugly collage.
But my friend became worried about the mistakes we make in life - those times when we get it all wrong, for instance, if we believe in the ugly gossip. So I asked:
- How do we know we've made a mistake?
- We regret it, and don't want to make the same mistake again, we don't want to be defined by it.
- So, what kind of person would hold us to our mistakes? Isn't such a person showing that they have a problem with themselves? It is ultimately our choice whether we continue to identify ourselves with our mistakes, or move on.
Where I live, if one doesn't figure such things out, life can be rather punishing. But there is no need to fear other people if one generally wants to set them free.
And as for the other topic of the heavy rain clouds of self-doubt... one is not the centre of the world. If a grey period looms, one has but to look for the silver lining to see that one has been sitting, all along, in a large valley where there is sunlight, rain, clouds, and blue sky - the variety of conditions needed to grow flowers. The beauty of rain and its cleansing, therapeutic effect can be seen in Satyajit Ray's Apu Trilogy when a girl cries, and instead of her voice, we hear the tamboura, and it starts to rain, tears and rain, blending as one. I couldn't find that scene, but this one is just as beautiful.
So for today's Much Love Monday, I love spring showers: they help blossom whatever seeds one has planted.

Elements: Animus.

Much Love Monday

For today's Much Love Monday, I love the world in colour. And when I write that, I am thinking about the English etymology of world, which is connected both to man and to abode. So, to think of the world in colour is to think of man in his many shades, and where he lives, how he lives...
Spring's gentle breeze and longer sunny arms have transformed my flat into a beautiful place to be. The other day, I was playing around with a Kinder Egg toy that has a magnifying glass, and looking, for fun, at old issues of my Marie Claire magazines, when I realised I could use both in a MLM photo montage. There is something to be said of looking at pictures of places in magazines - it's like going to Musée de l'Homme; one sees not only a room, but how it is set up for life. But not all photos of rooms inspire me in this anthropological ways.
Marie Claire Maison used to be my favourite magazine, but a few years ago, I stopped being able to connect the photos with narratives of lived lives. The substitute I found to share with you today is an online version of this fun: An Indian Summer (via). If you visit, why not play this perfectly springy Jane Birkin soundtrack, which comes recommended by An Indian Summer's curator.
What I like about the selection of photos is that most of the blog posts contain photos with ideas that could be applied in any home: a tonne of pillow cases made from French tea towels, for instance, or different ways to feed the inner child through colour (this and this are my favourite examples).

When I saw those examples of colour use, I suddenly remembered the Mughal illuminations I used to admire at the MET (like this). I thought about my love of colour. Though I have white walls, it suddenly occurred to me that my flat is full of colour, from the carpeting and furniture, to the multicoloured books, pictures and bunting. I thought about how I have always felt a chasm between the cartoonish child-like aspects of self and the demands of professionalism. But, looking through AIS, I remembered colourful folk elements, which one can see even in my flat, and began to think of how precisely through such arts and crafts, one can keep alive the child and the sophistication of the adult.
The post that spoke most to me in this respect is Global Chic, which featured a Norwegian blog's collection of photos of global corners from readers' rooms and homes.
This is an aesthetic I can stand behind. I have already written about my childhood home, and my affinity for universal unity. In the latter post, I quoted Rabindranath Tagore, who wrote of bringing forth that glad acceptance which constantly carries in itself the giving out of the best that we have. But I still feel that the best that we have may require, in some cultures, a conscious effort to preserve older roots of what the culture is. While culture is rather complicated, especially as mankind keeps moving, I believe that we can talk of "cultures". My ideal vision of a "world in colour" is where everyone exchanges the glimpse of the world they have. We do not all have to be the same, so in this ideal picture, there is no power play, but a teaching of each other so we can remember those beautiful parts of our humanity that we want to keep alive, to pass down to other generations.

Elements: Animus.

Much Love Monday

For today's Much Love Monday, my thoughts are connected to Aspen's MLM post from last week, about Disneyland. The same day as her post, I'd read Ray Bradbury's defense of Disneyland for the disenchanted intellectual. His point was that rather than being the manufacture of ersatz, Disneyland "causes you to care all over again. You feel it is that first day in the spring of that special year when you discovered you were really alive. You return to those morns in childhood when you woke and lay in bed and thought, eyes shut, 'Yes, sir, the guys will be here any sec. A pebble will tap the window, a dirt clod will horse-thump the roof, a yell will shake the treehouse slats.'"
A few years ago, one of my colleagues whispered to me that she enjoyed watching Disney Channel's Suite Life On Deck, and that the breezy ignorance of one of the characters was a source of constant amusement for her. My colleague is a very serious person -  and suddenly, she was mimicking a carefree child millionaire, batting her eyes, asking: watchya doin'? When I finally watched the show, I laughed, too.
How old is too old for fun that is not overwhelming? There was a time I was becoming a stuck up college student, until one of my friends showed me how to watch comedy: one is to note the facial expressions, the timing and the catch phrases that one can employ oneself, to release a tense moment.
There is a light type of comedy that allows one to relax knowing that the ending is going to be happy and that any difficulties lead to lessons, not existential quagmires. Humour softens that which goes awry: a mother-daughter argument over a stolen purse leads to a funny street performance of their angry take on a hackneyed a song, which later gives the mother the big idea to take their squabbles to Broadway. That's kind of funny!
I wonder if there is a stigma attached to writing children's programmes: possibly discounted for being more simplistic than adult ones. But it must be noted that abstract themes (love, character building, etc) are spelled out in very concrete terms in shows for young people, themes which shows for more mature audiences never have to come to terms with. More mature audiences do not necessarily live up to the themes of courage, sacrifice and patience that shows for younger viewers address, humorously.
If you work with people, then you know how hard it is to both get the job done and be fun about it. So, people who write good shows for a younger audience must be very smart, indeed.
Goofiness warns that not everything is to be taken seriously, and that one can have fun even when trouble strikes. I think more respect is due to the genre that such Disney shows are a part of. "Disneyland ...has proven again that the first function of architecture is to make men wish to go on living, feed them fresh oxygen, grow them tall, delight their eyes, make them kind," writes Bradbury.

Elements: brushes: Animus.

Much Love Monday

That it is the paschal season for many, and hopefully, in my opinion, one of deeper reflection and introspection, has not kept me from looking outwards. What I mean to say by this is that ultimately, there are many ways by which one can come to that creative peace that has nothing to do with righteous indignation, but which allows compassion to flow forth, even in times of difficulty; there are many ways to feel our smallness and humility. And not all people who claim to be "believers" believe in the same God. I do not believe that we are to judge or to harm each other.
It has been a day of long conversations; this morning, we talked about everything from Roman battle techniques - a bridge was built in a day using swimming horses, rope, and rafts! - to reasons why much tradition has been lost in modern times, particularly in there being seemingly less large-scale work accomplished by a large number of people. But what I wish to remember the most is the conversation I had about change. I was saying how it is rather difficult when people do not allow each other to change. My friend said, it is harder when one doesn't allow oneself to change. If we are growing in life, we are bound to change. 

One of the things I have changed about myself is my relationship to my job. I used to have long, polemic discussions with myself about education, after doing hours of reading about changing methodologies and the history of learning. I felt like I did not fit in with the institution of higher learning I work for. But, I learned from a rather difficult class that although criticism is great for one's own knowledge of how and what to teach, the current environment is such that criticism must be kept to a minimum; rather, one ought to try to maximise whatever good can be found. I have formed my opinion about learning now, and what I consider the most effective approaches, but I have less of a need to communicate this. In other words, I am coming to accept in practice that the message is only received by the person who, of their own accord, was looking for such a message.
A simple way of saying this is that I am learning to let go - learning what is outside my domain, and learning that there are some battles I don't consider worth fighting. Ah! The adage, pick your battles...

I have also changed in the sense that I am more adamant about not wanting to go round remembering other people's weaknesses. It has helped that I am learning to express my woes in a calm way and not feel ashamed for naming them, because that has helped me release them. We all bear the responsibility for our thoughts and actions, and if other people want to act all strange, that is their decision, and there ultimately can't be anything threatening about that as they are the ones blocking themselves from their own happiness by acting coarsely. This weekend, after a wonderful couple treated us all to a wonderful lunch, someone at the table, eating that food, said, yes, giving is an act that is for your own good! Which I thought was a rather unthankful way of participating, and I felt embarrassed, but then I realised, that person is living out their own story.
So, the picture I chose for today's Much Love Monday is a piece of Turkmen jewelery, mostly because it is heart-shaped, but also because such jewelery represented rites of passage, the transition from one stage of life to another. And while I do not think I will ever be inclined to believe that any outward transitions, like going from being single to being married, are the substantial transitions, but, rather, the deepest ones occur when they are ready, despite outward events, I still like the idea of acknowledging change in an outward way. Not that I do this myself. Rather, I bear the symbols of my change in my thoughts - and that is the trick, not to slip back into old habits.
It is said that one of the greatest human challenges is memory: how to remember, hold on to, the right things, that will keep us from slipping into oblivion, forgetfulness. This idea comes to us from many ancient myths. Well, apart from remembering loved ones in one's heart, I think that an effort must be made to remember the course we wish to pursue in life, and to keep working on it, despite the setbacks which are bound to happen if we are honest with ourselves. We must also remember who we are, because there will be times when people will try to tell us we are other than who we strive to be. "Character building." I suppose that is what I am talking about here.
It is the most beautiful construction we can achieve, for if we do it properly, it will be beneficial to others around us, too, and that is a lovely thought.

 Elements: paper: pugly pixel; 
drawings, via pugly pixel: animus.

Much Love Monday

On Saturday, my friend told me about an exhibit on wood, the poster of which is posted below. She said it had all kinds of woodwork, and explanations of different barks - but also stories about wood, like Silverstein's The Giving Tree and the Chinese proverb: Keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps a singing bird will come...
So I thought if wood, that part of nature, can afford us shelter, firm branches for support, and all the colours their leaves bring with spring, are we not also to afford our friends such solid help?
What I am learning again (does that ever happen to you, when you learn something in life, but then, it turns out you keep having to relearn it in different contexts?) is that not everyone has the same understanding of friendship. Some people put concocted principles above their "friends": they do not love their friends unconditionally, but look at them askance sometimes, with that ersatz pity. They are like the pharisees of friendship.
And then, there are those few friends who are trustworthy, who live with their own imperfections so are more tolerant of others. They live in love, which is above that category of rules and measurements and keeping account. 
Sometimes it seems to me that any lesson that is not learned in love will have to be learned again: the lesson will be lost, until one comes to it with love. For example, if one teaches, it helps to be flexible about the syllabus if one is truly serving one's students. The element of spontaneity makes the class alive, and also shows the model of life; where there is meaning, the class will teach itself. Everything else is like going to the dentist.
If one looks at the world from a place of love, one wants to bring out the best in it. So that is what happens when people love each other, they become so beautiful.
For today's Much Love Monday, I love friendship, it heals and restores, comforts, teaches, blossoms and sings. And through it, we see that we only begin to live in and through each other.
In closing, here is a letter Ludwig van Beethoven wrote to his "Immortal Beloved":

Good morning, on July 7.

My thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved

I can only live wholly with you or not at all -

Be calm my life my all. Only by calm consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together. Oh continue to love me, never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.

Ever thine

Ever mine

Ever ours.

Elements: frame; needlework.

Much Love Monday

I've been thinking a lot about faith since two days ago, when I was trying to work out a million themes in one blog post. One of the main ideas I want to come back to is contained within advice from my favourite scientist, J.C. Maxwell: he says that rather than work for labour and wages, we ought to pursue "an inward growth of faith working by love, which purifies the heart and encourages us to wait for the hope of righteousness."
This is relevant to me, because sometimes I feel that I am going to disappear into what is to my little eyes the magnanimous wonderland of my dissertation. I find myself going down - by choice - one of those Alice tunnels, and faith is important to me for I want to believe that this strange labour of love will gain some larger meaning.
I consider that one can love one's work as well as love one's true love - just as one can love several countries all at once as well as love one's friends. These are all forms of different love - but it seems to me that we reach it through little steps of faith. When we start out, we do not know how it will all turn out, but we have the faith that if we don't earn fulfillment, we learn a lesson that will lead to it. To develop "an inward growth of faith working by love, which purifies the heart and encourages us to wait for the hope of righteousness" is such beautiful advice.
Faith is important, and so is the time needed for the good things to come to pass. I remember when I was in my twenties, so hoping that I would one day find my one true love. The Picnic Girl did such a lovely photo-story on this topic - what an inspired young soul. But we need faith in all areas of life: we need faith in our jobs, too. Because sometimes it is only faith that can carry us through.
Campbell's biography of Maxwell work, and life, is one of the best books I have ever read. Maxwell was a scientist of such achievement, that much of modern science is based on his equations. Above all, though, he was a man of great character and courage - and is courage not an expression of our faith? When Peter set out upon the Sea of Galilee towards Christ, he became afraid by the waves: afraid of all that was stacked up against him; he felt doubt. Our courage to cross the waves is a sign of our faith.
And if faith sounds too great a word, I read a related management technique in a newly favourite column, The Corner Office. Setting short term goals is easier than feeling overwhelmed by a goal that might seem hard to imagine reaching. You have to "feed the monster a cookie." There are many techniques to get the job done. We all know that adage about the journey of a thousand miles.
I'd still argue, though, that each step is a brick in a building of faith: for it happens so often that people, through doing good work, come to even greater gifts in life, like love.
So, for today's Much Love Monday, I love cultivating faith and working by love. We shall not want for anything, so long as we work lovingly and in good faith.

  Elements: buttons, needlework, frame 

and paper: minitoko.

Much Love Monday

I recently filled up all my notebooks, and had to go out to find a new one. Lo and behold, the one pictured below. It even sparkles. I was amazed at how representative it is of the mori girl aesthetic: the character is depicted outdoors, reading a book beneath a tree, or swinging in the woods.
Who is this character? I wondered. It turns out she is based on a real-life person, who first conceived of the character for greeting cards, "a cat-loving rag dress-wearing little girl in a giant bonnet." How funny! A coworker at the card company thought she should become a doll, and hand-sewed the prototype in order to convince the big boss. The character went on to be picked up in a book series, in which Holly is a ghost, whose "abode" is a 19th century painting, and who comes out to help a girl find her father, who'd disappeared in Guatemala on an archaeological dig. (info via)
The "real" Holly, née Denise Holly Ulinskas (she took on the "Hobbie" through marriage), writes children's books, like "Toot and Puddle," in which the characters explore different countries, always returning home at the end, saying, "A boomerang flies, but always returns home where it belongs."
She also wrote "The Art of Holly Hobbie" with gems like: "Each spring, [my son] would pick a bouquet of Dandelions for me. Small children are able to see how beautiful they are, while the rest of us have learned to take such pedestrian plants for granted. Now we have whole neighbourhoods of people waging war against the poor weed with trucks of chemicals. Do they know what they are doing? ...If such plants are to be lost in the pursuit of perfect lawns, I'd rather strive for imperfection."
In line with beautiful discoveries, I also found three nifty blogs this weekend: Shabby Blog with free jazz-uppy digital art; Eclectic Gipsyland, who I learned of via Marie Claire Idées, where she was featured for her Joseph's-technicolour type crochet wonders; eklektick, a fun art blog.
It can seem to be tricky to draw the line between the fun and games, and where one ought to increase the elbow grease. But I feel convinced that the key to life is finding the beauty that is available to us, and working to increase it. If the approach to our work is too intense, the outcome can't be good.
It seems risky, sometimes, to leave work undone and go out to play. But those who age youthfully all share a playful quality. Last week, I read on this oceanically-zen site a quote by Rumi, who is one of my favourite poets: Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray. And also this: To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong. Play is seriously important! So whence the fear, or self-doubt? Whence the hackneyed image of the sad artist, moved to create only when oppressed by emotion?
Somewhere, there is a woman writer who bears the same name as a character she released into the world, into the minds of children and some adults, whose name sounds like "hobby" and who travels and explores. After all, hobby once meant small horse, and it is with horse that one travels. For today's Much Love Monday, I love the serendipity of Holly Hobbie - and wish you a serendipitous week; may we to stop to smell the dandelions!

Elements: needlework; flowers; brush; background in photo.

Much Love Monday

For today's Much Love Monday, I love things old-timey. Specifically, I love rediscovering the radio, which has been a most welcome change.
There was a time, particularly in my college days, when I deliberately ignored television. If I sought entertainment, I would listen to the radio, mostly BBC4. And I can't believe that some of the shows have stood the test of time. The afternoon plays; Desert Island Discs (about the music celebrities would bring if they were to be stranded on a desert island); Woman's Hour. There are also great news bits, like this programme on the traditionally anti-government stance in the US.
I could quickly sound like one of those imbalanced souls who sings the praises of something just because it is old. As a friend of ours, who was an antique appraiser in Asia, used to say, "They created trash in the Qin Dynasty, too."
But there are some "advances" in society that I fail to take to. I feel such respect for what we call, if sometimes a little too broadly, traditional crafts and ways of doing things - like writing notes by hand, or making wine without dousing it with chemicals (there's a beautiful article about that in this month's Sweet Paul). It seems to me that the result is healthier that way.
And the radio! The art of listening to conversation... And letting one's mind build the picture. It is possibly even better than reading a book, because there is the vocal element, with all its intonations and accents.
I have been thinking a lot about which blog voices I seek on the internet, on the computer. Computer, after all, could be taken to mean thinking together. So, what are the shared topics of conversation, their sayings that overlap?
People reading books to lend meaning to their lives; talented young people with cameras who go out to appreciate nature; people working to respect each other, and successfully exchanging ideas and inspiration; lots of handicrafts - if we make with awareness, there is a chance that we awaken to the world. To my mind, these are old-timey topics (forgive my sense of humour in using that phrase). And by that, what I really mean is ways of doing things that make sense, and thus which stand the test of time. It is curious to think that with all this technology, we have come to think that we ought to leave behind the old things, when really, the technology could have been used to better preserve the ways of doing things that had already made sense.
I would feel alone, but everywhere I look on my circles of the internet, I see words like retro; knitting; weaving new friendships. Symbols of slow time, a time that is made real through the investment of meaning, more than money. What old-time activity would like to see more of?

Elements: needlework; starburst; ribbon; notebook; medallion;

magazine in photo: Marie Claire Maison.

Much Love Monday

A few months ago, a friend of mine sent me this Little Prince notebook from Greece; what I love about it is the Greek on the spine and the back. Have you noticed that I have begun to use certain Greek words in the original on this blog? Ever since summer, I have become an Hellenophile. I'd first been to Greece in the early '90's with my brother, when we took the wrong train back to Paris, and were detained so long at the border with Macedonia, that the train, with our belongings, almost left without us...
Back then, Greece was to me beautiful but dark and mysterious, a place where my brother's wit proved problematic for the cash-hungry taxi drivers. But since I now live, broadly speaking, in the region, I felt some kind of fraternity in Greece, as if we were united in φιλοκαλία; which means love of the beautiful. "Beautiful" in this region is a particular approach to life which is the essence of serendipity: it is not direct, and heaven forbid if you have a goal and want to execute it immediately. 
The φιλοκαλία is also an Orthodox Christian spiritual text, about a way of being: how to attain that way of being, through prayer and mindfulness. And true to the spirit of this place, the text is not meant to be read at once - nor is it to be read alone, without the guidance of a spiritual elder.
Knowledge or information is thus not to give us power (as the modern world would have it, you can watch Episode 4 of Everything is a Remix to see what I mean). Rather, it is meant to help us in our way of being in the world, which is at once loving and mysterious. "The stars are beautiful because of a flower that cannot be seen," says the Little Prince.
Given the rich philosophy of The Little Prince, months passed before I decided how to use the notebook. I finally decided for it to be a repository of hopeful ideas, like: creativity as antidote to fear.
That thought is not my own, but something I heard on this fantastic radio show called On Being (learned of here). The show asks questions like, how do we restore meaning to words like love and friendship? In the interview with John O'Donohue, he says that if we offer each other the spirit of love and friendship, we will be less and less exposed to pressure zones. He also says that true friends are those who fiercely confront us about our blind spots. Friendship is a dynamic category, not just a Kodak moment. Somehow, thinking about all the possibilities that good will affords leads to an inspired state of mind, that washes away all the mishaps and misunderstandings...
So, for today's Much Love Monday, I love finding those quite words that motivate us to see a way out of problems, leading us to inspiration and creativity. I love the learning that makes life more beautiful. Do you know the Navajo chant, "In beauty may you walk?" The version I linked to ends, "In old age, wandering on a trail of beauty, lively again, may I walk. My words will be beautiful." Well, that is what I hope for us all!

Elements: maybemej.

Much Love Monday

Last week, I rediscovered an artist's blog by the name of At Swim Two Birds, which featured the tree in the photo below, a tapestry now belonging to the MET. It is called The Tree of Life, but I am thinking about the tree of plenty, and how it relates to the kind of creativity needed to get good work done.
There are so many theories about what it takes to find inspiration. I read an article this week positing that one can get creative just by being boring (via), hmmm. There's also a new book out about the varying cognitive techniques to get smarter, be more productive.
But I am beginning to think a lot of problems in this world are caused by working too hard to get solutions before they are due. Think of all those people beleaguered by work who spread that oppressive atmosphere to others. What happens to me occasionally is that I read too much too fast because I get impatient with my progress, then my mind is awash with ideas, making it near impossible to harvest anything from them.
This brings to mind that part of Ovid's Metamorphosis that recounts the demise of Orpheus - that composite character, part man, part myth. He sang so beautifully that not even the trees lashed out at him, though they were servants to the god he'd spurned. But the jealous, wild Maenads did attack, and in a very bizarre scene, they took his life. Ovid then has them being turned into trees as punishment for their terrible act. Their thrashing legs were rooted deep into the ground, and their flailing limbs hardened into static bark. I think all that crazy work is like that scene. Only when we are calm and orderly do we hear the music of the muse. 
With regards to how we come upon ideas, the philosopher Pierre Hadot suggests that there are two general methods: the Promethean and Orphic. Prometheus broke the rules and took scientific advance by force. Orpheus reaches the secrets of nature through the process of progressive revelation.
The idea I seem to be working on here, and in the previous post, is that the quest for science or creativity is all very fine and dandy, but the method may determine the quality of the outcome.
When we are calm, we are surrounded by the tree of plenty, and see more than enough ideas that we can pick from. When we are nervous, we take up tills and hoes (and other agricultural instruments abandoned by the oxen when they heard the crazy Maenads approaching), and work by force.
Where would you like to see a tree of plenty this week? And have you guessed what I love this Much Love Monday? Yes, blooming abundance, harmony.
If you need some songs to help you whistle while you work - à la Orpheus - may I suggest the music links I discovered this weekend: a jazz "goat rodeo session" with Yo-Yo Ma; Bach to download; Vosotros, a site presenting the contemporary music of various artists.

Elements: needlework, retroframe: minitoko;

doilies, gingham, manila: pugly pixel.

Much Love Monday

M for me - Has there been too much emphasis on the Me since Walt Whitman's I sing myself... Or ever since the talking cure, it can seem that we only talk or write to become conscious of ourselves. Have you read the Atlantic article All the Single Ladies? A bit too forward/progressive in parts, but it makes the insightful observation of how the mothers of the '60's and '70's, through urging their daughters to pursue only what makes their 'me' happy, have caused unexpected outcomes.
O for omniscience: on the other end of the spectrum, and without getting theological about it, is that which is so much larger than ourselves; knowing us, seeing outside of us and all that is beyond us in time and space. That which sees through our fallibility, uniting us in the much greater category of love - maybe even despite ourselves.
S for special: "There is only one reason/we have followed God into this world:/ to encourage laughter, freedom, dance,/ and love," writes a Sufi poet. These gifts, that make time fly by, cause us to want to be benevolent to everyone; may we magnify that which is special in this way.
A for acceptance, like in that Bjork song, It's Not Up To You, or like what a Sufi poet wrote: "Whether your destiny is glory or disgrace (in other words: accept it if it's disgrace - you can't please them all), purify yourself of hatred and love of self." Acceptance has something to do with "becoming an unbeliever in your own self", in that there will sometimes come that moment, even if it's once in a few years, when our words cause chaos, and to get out of it, it's better just to accept that sometimes we are not our best self, sometimes we are not that self image we wish were always true. 
I for imagination. To realise that things are not what they seem: the painful experience can be transformed into a pearl, there is always space for beauty, but we have to let it percolate, and give space and time to our imagination to play with it until it is Fun or Bright.
C for communication, how we relate to other people. "Judge like a king and choose the purest, the ones unadulterated with fear, or some urgency about 'what's needed'," the poet writes. And how can one be calm towards others? First, be calm in oneself: "Do not worry so much about livelihood/ Your livelihood will turn out as it should. / Be constantly occupied instead/ With listening to God." We can only attain good will towards others when we are not worrying, when we believe in a greater good that accepts us, as well as others, just as we are. It's personal, in an impersonal way.
For today's Much Love Monday, I love the MOSAIC. The little tiny pieces that make up a bigger, coherent picture. If you feel at a moment in life, like I did last week, that you have been  reduced to a tiny shard of something, remember that there is a place for you in the bigger picture. I write that with certainty because we write our own stories in life. Our convictions set the course for our lives. Think about all that was passed down to you, without having been said, by your parents. Our beliefs and convictions never have to be articulated to have an effect. We may not realise exactly what we set out to achieve, but the essence will be just what we were looking for.

Elements: mod circles, needlework, paper: minitoko;

vintage flower: graphics fairy.

Much Love Monday

For today's Much Love Monday, I love the silence. We have been surrounded in silence since last week, as the snow has collected higher and higher, and is now towering over us, like a stack of vigilant doilies.
As I walked down the street yesterday, there were so few cars and so few people; so much white, like an open canvas, that single thoughts stood out, vividly, in the clearing of my imagination. But it is so cold that, for instance, when I cooked lunch, icicles glued themselves to the kitchen windows. If you want to see photos, a particularly interesting photo montage can be seen here.
Silence, like poetry, is an iconic word. Just thinking about silence can be inspiring. This wonderful New York Times article lauds its importance; Professor Thurman used to explain that not only is it important for studying, but it is also one of the beginning disciplines of spirituality (along with concentration). One of my favourite literary passages is partly about silence, despite all the sounds (listen for it as you read). It is by Chomei:
In the quiet evenings I look out of my window at the moon and think over the friends of other days, and the mournful cry of the monkey often makes me moisten my sleeve with tears. I might imagine the cloud of fire-flies to be the fishing-fires at Makinoshima, or the rain at dawn to be the patter of the leaves driven by the wind... When I see the mountain deer approach me without any fear, then I understand how remote I am from the world. And I stir up the embers of my smoldering fire, the best friend an old man can find by him when he wakes. The mountains themselves are not at all awesome, though indeed the hooting of the owls is sometimes melancholy enough, but of the beauties of the ever-changing scenery of the hills one never becomes weary. And to one who thinks deeply and has a good store of knowledge such pleasure is indeed inexhaustible.
To set aside time for one's thoughts is priceless. I think maybe some people are afraid of what they might hear if they listen to themselves, or have so little faith in their hearts. And while it is true that there is weeding that must be done, it is through the heart, through love, that we accomplish our greatest feats. We can come upon great ideas if we listen, like Chomei, to our thoughts, to the elements around us. A silent listening that reconnects us to the world, made greater through all the unspoken possibilities. It brings us back to nascent grounds: of the preverbal, emotive, driven.
If you look carefully at the photo below, you will be able to see the heart, which I drew in the several-meter-high powdery snow yesterday... A silent heart: present, awakening.

Elements: backrgound: minitoko; glitter, medallions: pugly pixel.

Much Love Monday

Once upon a time, when I was writing up my first real resume, my father told me to put down reading under the section entitled other interests. I was so shocked at that proposal, I thought - and yes, apparently I was a rather naive child - that everyone read.
Not living with my books of yesteryear has been very hard for me, for I always viewed books as prized possessions, far more important that toys, which for some odd reason depressed me. I remember spending hours reading Emily Dickinson's collected poems not on a chair, but on the floor, the rebellious youth that I was. The edition I had was printed on thick, slightly coarse paper; the binding was marbled.
Only last week did I discover her poems on Gutenberg. Finding them was like having a grand reunion with an old friend, finding that same old red thread intact, despite the shifts of time and age.
In my youth, I seemed to think that books had the answer to everything, but now I know they are weak and sybaritic if not employed to enhance life and experience. But it is interesting that as we grow, we begin to see where our affinities lie, what we resonate with. I seem to have a genuine "thing" for books. A few weeks ago, I ordered a few and was surprised by my joy when they arrived on Saturday.
The sight of the stack of new books has buoyed me; it is as if I can already hear their voices, feel the affirmation for being oneself - and then expressing it.

Unto my books so good to turn
Far ends of tired days;
It half endears the abstinence,
And pain is missed in praise.
As flavors cheer retarded guests
With banquetings to be,
So spices stimulate the time
Till my small library.

As for the spices that stimulate time - that pretty much sums up my weekend. Symbolic food was cooked, guests made merry and glasses were raised. Despite having grown up, travelled the world on my own steam, I am still that same little girl, relishing books and believing in the importance of writing the candid, heart-felt letter.
So, for today's Much Love Monday, I love following my bookish, hard-to-understand path with the faith that it will have a happy ending. A story can have a happy ending if we turn to books to fill in the empty spaces, when we need additional reminders of beauty, love and inspiration; when we consult with the authorities, who have realised their potential in harder times than ours. A story can have a happy ending if we are powered not only by our own hearts and minds, but also that of friends - some of whom reach us through stories.  

Elements: frame: maybemej.

Much Love Monday

I don't know if you've seen the stamps below, but the set of three stamps is the Purple Heart stamp, put out to honour army veterans. Curiously, the heart was not that visible in the photo, hence the heart shape I added to the photo, to make it fit for Much Love Monday.
The purple heart brings to my mind the essence of the ancient epics: gallantry, heroism and fidelity in times of great hardship. And that is the foundation of the epic: the extreme. It is said that you can't know a man until you've shared a sack of salt with him, but how much strength of character is needed to pass through the roughest of times not only unharmed, but having lent a hand to one's fellow man. It just goes to show that the truest of colours don't come out in the wash.
In recent days, I have been trying to figure out the connection between epic poetry and the modern mind set. Themes such as freedom, loyalty to one's country (or city), love are still extant.
While we don't generally live in epic situations, fragments of the epic are always around us. Yesterday, as a friend was talking about a person acting out of fear, he quoted part of an epic, which I will paraphrase: on hearing that his enemy would pursue him, the character fled immediately out of fear in front of witnesses, so it was that his enemy's spear pierced through the walls of his family home. 
It is the great stories that can remind us of how to behave in the littler moments. After all, each day we are writing a chapter in our own books. And as most of us are, thankfully, not at war, we have the luxury of developing our spiritual tools at leisure - some of which have been popularised by people like Miguel Ruiz, who tells his readers to become spiritual warriors. "It is a war because you are changing the old fear based on beliefs in your mind. There will be some battles lost along the way, but that is of minor concern in the longer term strategy of creating happiness in your life."
For better or for worse, I call such writers "American" for stating such matters as simply as possible, and also for addressing such problems without beating around the bush. I like that approach. Also, you can see again the themes of the epic: the battle, freedom (from fear), love...
May we take this time today to think of something that we have improved in ourselves, something could give ourselves a medal for. I am writing this not to add to the ersatz of post-1980's self-confidence inflation, but because there are times I need a reminder of the bigger picture of my life. We remember Hannibal as a great commander - but his tactics were not always flawless. It is the overall picture we are striving to improve, and it helps no one to become petty even in our own assessment of self.
So may we identify our medal, and wear it in our heart, and move forwards gracefully in our lives, beginning from where we really are. What is your medal for, what are your virtues? What are your dreams in terms of self improvement?

Elements: background photo overlay, 

washi tape, doily: pugly pixel.

Much Love Monday

For today's Much Love Monday, I am thinking about a line from Herzog's documentary on the Chauvet cave. The cave walls contain cave paintings, and these paintings are probably to be viewed as representatives of states of mind, or states of being, wherein trees become people that can be addressed, animals become symbols of spirit and so on. It was suggested that when it comes to interpreting the meaning of these paintings, "one must be received by the wall".
Have you ever had that experience when you try so hard to understand something, and you spend fruitless hours - akin to, and forgive the harsh comparison - banging your head against the wall? So, you put the task aside, and later, you return to it, and shazaam! Everything is clear, and it all falls into place. One is "received" by the task. One cannot complete it when one wants to just because one wants to.
This is like what mountaineers say. I had the pleasure of knowing a man who'd climbed K2 several times - but once turned back on an expedition that proved fatal for those who'd insisted on continuing to the top. He always stressed that one had to be received by the mountain, and look for the signs to see if one was being accepted. If things are too severe, it is better to turn back and try another time.
But the problem is that people invest so much time and effort into "completing the task" that they do not want to put the task aside and come back later - even if doing so will make the same task so effortless that it does not seem like work at all.
As is often the case, I write all this in half-understanding of what I am writing about. I write because I want to try to help myself learn. If I see that a task is going badly, I need to put it aside. And as I write, I am remembering all the bad class experiences that could have been saved by just giving up on what I am trying to teach and moving on to another subject. It can't be forced.
So, today I love going with the flow, or that Tao state of not forcing anything, but being led where one needs to go. There is a reason why we are not allowed to be "received by the wall": maybe if we understood it too early, we would abuse our knowledge.
And when things fall into place, naturally, there is that special peace and beauty that makes even the simplest things look so beautiful. I had a marvelous old lady friend, a pioneer journalist, who used to try to photograph those serendipitous moments of peace. At such times, she'd notice aspects of her flat 'as if for the first time', and would photograph those sights to remind her of that state later. She would also keep a selection of beautiful quotes around her typewriter for the same reason. Here is one: a verse, she had in the Italian, of Paradisio IV, 124-6: Now do I see that never can our intellect be sated, unless that Truth shine on it, beyond which no truth hath range.
And here's to letting our lives take their natural course, without forcing anything.

Elements: scallop and starburst: pugly pixel;

canvas: fuzzimo; marble paper: jsim.